Owa Tagoo Siam

Have you ever done this singing exercise?  It's really a joke, demonstrating proper diction.  Sing it long and stretched out, all on the same note, connecting the syllables.  That will give you the punch-line.  And the proper title of this post.

#1 is preparing for high school next year.  This is not necessarily the straight-forward process that it is for most kids.  (Read why here.)  So we got an email last week stating that the transition meeting would be held at the high school on the 16th and 17th from 8am to 3pm.  The two-day time frame of the meeting led me to believe that this was open-registration style.  Which made some sense, because that's pretty much what we're doing.

So first thing this morning, with a sick #2 at home with dad, who was now also responsible for making sure the little kids exited the house in time for their bus, #1 and I headed over to the middle school to check out and then to the high school.

Reaching the HS office, the secretary greeted us in a slightly confused fashion.  She's usually notified about the transition appointments.  Uh-oh.  Appointments.  I didn't actually have an appointment--just this meeting time.  But I was positive it was today--the 16th and 17th.  I was trying to imagine what dates I could have confused them with, but we are on spring break the 26th and 27th and I only received the notification on the 10th.  She called the HS resource person.  No answer.  The vice-principal answered, but had no good information.  She tried to call the middle school resource person.  No answer.  So she very kindly said, "Wait here.  I'm going on a walk."  

I decided to call Larry to have him check my email.  Machine.  But he called me back quickly at which point I was glared at, likely because of the sign on the office door that reads: No Cell Phones.  I answered anyway, and Larry began to read over the email, "blah-blah-blah, blah-blah-blah, April 16th and 17th."  What?  April?  Really?  Oh my goodness.  I am SUCH a dork.

So now, I had to explain to the student office assistant the situation, sending my apologies to the secretary through her.  I had to take #1 back to the middle school to check her in and explain there how I got the wrong month.  Talk about embarrassing.  It was in fact, a runner-up for a most embarrassing moment, except that everyone involved was so darned nice about it.  I'd made a comment to #1 in the car about what an idiot I am, and she even replied, "Mom, you're not an idiot!"  I appreciated the vote of confidence, but I must admit that in my head I vehemently disagreed.

At least I mistook the month for one earlier, rather than one later.  I'd rather look like an air-head than an uninvolved, unconcerned parent.

Even New Music Makes Me Feel Old

So I have a little bit of a thing for John Mayer.  It's mostly the guitar playin' and the sexy voice and all.  What can I say, I have a history of falling for guitarists with sexy voices.  Ask Larry.

Many mornings as the kids are eating breakfast and I am making lunches, Room for Squares is playing over our marvelous sound system.  (Yes, it is the first album, but it is still my favorite.)  He's also frequently on throughout the day right now in a little of a rotation with Ray LaMontagne, Paul McCartney's Flaming Pie album, and the occasional Carly Simon.  I'm in a mellow music mood at the moment.

I also have this slight internet compulsion.  Maybe you've noticed.  When I read on Erin's blog about John Mayer's Twitter page, I enthusiastically signed right up.  I don't check it out often.  But it's a little interesting.  I sometimes wonder if he's trying to sound more deep than he is, in a random sort of fashion.  (Randomness is difficult, by definition, to create.  A lot of bloggers try.  For most, it's not a great idea.)   That's probably just me being skeptical.  Well, tonight I read this twittered gem:

Since when did news headlines come with question marks? "Is Talking To The Taliban The Right Approach?" I don't know! You tell me, THE NEWS.

3:17 PM Mar 9th from web

 Wow. I'd hardly call myself wise, or very politically savvy, but it occurs to me that the answer to that questioning headline would be what's called editorializing.  In other words, not fact.  Opinion.  Political commentary.  Spin, perhaps.  Sunday morning panel fodder.  Not the job of THE NEWS.

Is THE NEWS supposed to tell us what to think now?  Plenty of them do, but we take that with a grain of salt, right?  And we're a little put off.  Am I a fuddy duddy?  I'm only 4 years older than this guy, but I suddenly feel like his mother's bridge partner.  Maybe that's not a bad thing. 

Especially considering the fact that I can't figure out why this composing formatting has a tendency to go all funky on me when I copy and paste.  Like huge letters, and the wrong color font.  Trying to fix it makes it worse.  It usually publishes correctly.  It's a gamble.  See.  I fit right in with that canasta and pinochle set.  Rambling on about crazy kids today, muddling my way around these complicated machines ...

Friday Flashback: "The Good Wife"

Thursday, August 24, 2006

I received an email from a good friend. It was supposedly an article from Good Housekeeping Magazine from 1955 entitled "The Good Wife's Guide." While of questionable origin, it is interesting to reflect on. It was comprised of 18 bullet points, the main gist of each one being how to treat your man to keep him happy. We've come a long way since 1955. Some of those changes have been good, but in my opinion, not all.

GOOD CHANGES I almost have to laugh reading bullet #18, "A good wife always knows her place." Are we pack animals? I come in right after Larry? I could make some semi-nasty comments on "position," but I'll refrain here. My grandma used to say that the man is the head of the household, but his wife is the neck, and the neck turns the head. It's by no means an original, but leads me to believe that even in 1955, women had different ideas about their place.

Bullet #17: "Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him." Hello? I guess I'd be raving mad at this one also were I not busting a seam from laughter. When Larry was going back and forth with the grad school question, he always wanted my opinion. I never felt it was my place to give one because I was not the one having to attend school and do the work, and it was determining his profession, not mine. From Larry's point of view, although he is the one working, he's doing it on behalf of us as a couple and a family, and therefore didn't feel right about making that major a decision with out my input and mutual agreement. We have indeed come a long way.

UNFORTUNATE CHANGES If this were slightly altered, the same article could be called "The Good Spouse," and the information would be invaluable. I suppose it could be argued that it is precisely because if the one-sidedness of the suggestions that the article is shameful. I could see that point. I think as a society however, many of us try to drop the expectation on wives rather than extend it to husbands. 

The end of bullet #6 reads, "After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction." Someone (not, I believe, my friend) had incredulously underlined this statement. But it is true. And unless you have married a total jerk, catering to his needs with be rewarded by his catering to yours. That, my friends, is the basis of a good marriage. If I do all I can to take good care of Larry and he does all he can to take good care of me, both of our needs are then met in a very unselfish, giving way.

Bullet #3 reads, "Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him, His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it." Guess what, my day needs a lift, too. If I am fun and interesting, Larry will be, too. I've heard it said that people who are bored are people who are boring. There is a lot of truth to that. I married my best friend for, among other reasons, companionship. If I am a lousy companion, what was the point?

Bullet #12: "Your goal: try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquility where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit." Wow. That should be the goal for the benefit of us all! Easy to manage? Uh--no. But a good goal none the less. 

Bullet #8: "Be happy to see him." Do I even need to say "duh?" 

I am sad that our world becomes increasingly unconcerned with manners and respect, with kindness and selflessness. I think of an extreme case of a miserable person I know who feels that he is never shown enough love. But it's because he doesn't know how to show love himself. He only looks at what he thinks he's not getting, never at what he's not giving. It's a pitiful situation. Many of us, I'm sure all of us at times, could do wonders to increase our happiness by looking outside of ourselves and giving more. The Savior said that those who lose themselves for his sake would find themselves. I think that general sentiment applies to Christians and non-Christians alike. There is great satisfaction to be had in being a good wife, husband, mother, father, friend, child, citizen of the world.

The Fish's First Video Post Ever

I had this emailed to me last night, and I actually forwarded it to a few of you, but this morning I cannot resist sharing it with you all.  I keep watching it over and over with an enormous grin across my face.  It is actually pretty amazing.  But more than that it's as adorable as all get out.  (Is that the phrase, Annette?  Or am I going to be featured on a WNW post soon?)  

Please enjoy the Smartie Pants Dance ...

**Added note:  I was watching this again, and was suddenly reminded of #2 at about 3 years old.  She'd rattled off something precocious, and Larry told her she was too smart for her shorts.  She replied, "But I'm not wearing shorts, I have a dress."

Scented Senses: Memories of my Grandma

**Please visit my friend Octamom's post:  Morning Musings ... Aroma Memory**

My maternal grandmother visited us back east nearly every year once my parents were divorced.  It was generally a three week trip, as airfares in the early 80s went down after extended stays.  She'd sleep on a cot in my room, and I loved having that temporary roommate.

Grandma had a square yellow make-up case, resembling a small hard-case suit case which would now be a nightmare with the FAA.  With her purse, it comprised her carry-on luggage, and I am positive she would have been quite reluctant to check it.  Inside the case, a tray on top removed to reveal larger items stored beneath.  The case contained make-up, creams, lotions, powders, toothbrush and paste, a shower cap, hair-rollers, pins, and aerosol spray, all neatly and precisely organized.  This box encapsulated the scent of Grandma.  It magnified it, even.  And every morning and evening I would sit in the bathroom and watch Grandma make her toilette, methodically using every item in that case, often do-do-doing (Grandma's answer to humming) to her reflection in the medicine cabinet door.

I can't conjure that scent out of nothing, but I'd always been quite certain that I'd recognize it the moment I smelled it.  But I'd never run across it.  Even other elderly ladies of my acquaintance never quite smell like my Grandma.  

I have a hard time with blushes.  I prefer light-colored shades, but those rarely match my skin-tone very well.  There was a Mary Kay color that I loved, but it was, of course, discontinued.  I have yet to find a good replacement.  Then this past fall, I found a color that looked like it would be a match.  It was a Cover Girl Cheekers in Natural Shimmer.  I was disappointed.  In the color, that is.  I have kept it, however, because it smells like my Grandma's make-up.  I think that if I bought a can of AquaNet that I could fairly reproduce the scent of the entire case.  As it is some mornings I open the little grey container, inhale, and transport myself to her arms, my small nose and lips against her soft, powdery cheek.

Grandma will have been gone for 8 years next month, and she'd been taken from us in some ways years before that.  In reality I spent a fair amount of time with a Grandma who lived 3,000 miles away, and the time was generally fun and comforting.  She was a blessing.  And until the day that I can once again throw my arms about her, I may have to be content to remember that smell, and remember her love.

Spiritual Thoughts, Temporal Behavior

For those of you unfamiliar with my family or my religion, I will start with two author's notes.

1.  I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, better known as LDS or Mormons.  We send out young men and women for 18 months to two years to proselytize, preach the gospel, and baptize.  They put aside their regular lives for these missions and far from being compsensated for their efforts, they rather pay for the privilege to serve.  To help them out financially (and also to get to know them) church members are encouraged to feed the missionaries meals at least once daily.  That meal is generally dinner.

2.  I have four children, three girls and a boy, whom I refer to on this blog in birth order as #s 1-4.  They are aged 14, 12, 9, and 7.  Numbers 3 and 4 are just under 23 months apart.  They have a love-hate relationship.  If we're keeping score, hate is usually ahead.

Now to my story.  A few months back, a new elder (missionary) was transferred into our ward and announced to the congregation.  His last name grabbed my attention, being my uncommon maiden name.  I leaned over to my husband and whispered, "If he's from San Diego, we're cousins of some sort."  He was indeed from San Diego, and we are second cousins--our grandfathers being brothers.  I introduced myself to him after sacrament meeting and suggested we'd have to have him to dinner.

The dinner calendar in our ward is in high demand.  In Western Mass, where I grew up, we had two sets of missionaries assigned full time to our ward  because of the geographical size.  In Southern California we usually had one.  Here in the Boise area we have 5 wards sharing a set.  The end of each month a calendar with 8 available dates is passed around Relief Society, and it's often filled after it has passed through 8 pairs of hands.  So I approached the woman who manages the calendar directly and asked to be put on for February.  Last night they came.

It was great to get to know Elder K. a little.  There wasn't much to catch up on.  The only person he had contact with in my family line was my grandfather.  And I did not grow up in San Diego anyway, and really had very little interaction with my own first cousins.  He was surprised my granddad wasn't a baseball fanatic like his.  I can't picture mine with sports equipment.  My uncles liked basketball.  And out-jumping each other.  Out-anythinging each other.  We did find that harassment is apparently a family trait that crosses over through all of us.  

At the end of the meal, Elder K. asked us if they could leave us with a short message.  This is standard.  And truly, I enjoy the spirit that the missionaries bring with them into our home, and usually this is part of that.  Usually.

We adjourned to the family room where Elder K. asked if we had something to blindfold one of the kids with.  A bandana was produced and tied around #3s eyes.  He had her feel our family Book of Mormon and #4 set it somewhere out of the way.  He spun #3 around several times and then instructed everyone to make tons of noise, except me.  I was to be quietly giving #3 directions to find the book.  I'm sure we all see where he was going with this.  It was a good object lesson.  Or it was until #4 ran and slammed into his blindfolded sister, tackling her to the floor.  He thought that would be a more effective distraction than the yelling in her face that he was previously engaged in.  He was right.  But no one was hurt, no one even cried, and once we continued with the search, Elder S., who we'd learned earlier was #8 of 11 kids in his family, had a difficult time keeping a laugh suppressed.

Scriptures located, object lesson completed, Elder K. tried to make the message concrete by talking to the kids about listening to the Spirit and the Prophet and their parents rather than the negative influences of the world.  This is the point at which #4, who had been laying exhaustedly on the floor, rolled to the side and let one rip.  "Are you kidding me?," I quietly yelled.  (You know that quiet mom yell.  If you're a mom, you've done it.)  Elder S. lost it this time, the suppressed laugh, that is.  It was so embarrassing.  Luckily the missionaries were in a hurry to get on to their next appointment before my son could act even more the part of the natural man, or I guess the natural boy.

It was so bad that when they left it was Larry who started the lecture about behaving with company in the house.  Although, he added the caveat that it would be okay to pass gas if the visitor was Dustin (an employee and friend of Larry's) or Uncle Eric.  Nice.  I guess they never truly out-grow this, do they?  

Brooke, Kim--be warned.  #4 has permission from his father to act like a slob in your presence. 

I would really like to have my cousin to dinner again before he's transferred.  I assume he'll be happy to come.  But I won't be surprised if he has his companion give the spiritual thought.

Priorities (3 of 5)

Sher asks: If you were told you had only one year left to live, what would you do?  What would you change, if anything, in your life?

I must say that a lot in my life would change.  Some of these changes would be changes that I should make in my life anyway ... I need to read the scriptures more, I need to spend more one on one time with my kids, I need to be less verbally critical of my family and less critical in my head of others.  I need to write in my journal and I need to throw away a lot of junk.  I need to go on more walks with my husband and kids.  I need to relax.

But there are many things that I'd change simply because priorities change with time.  When I am working on my "list" for Christmas, things start getting cut the closer I get to the holiday.  Does that mean that these were bad or not worthy of my time to begin with?  No.  All it means is that finding myself down to 4 days left, I need to start deciding what is absolutely essential, or nothing will get completely finished.  So if I were to learn that I only had a year to live, instead of the 40-50 more that I anticipate, I'd begin to cut out the non-essential.  That would include blogging.  That would even include being my son's team mom.  I'd still happily go to the games, but I doubt I'd spend my limited time to make sure everyone remembers their week to bring the snack.  I wouldn't worry about losing weight.  I'd hire someone to clean the house if I could afford it.   Like most of us, these changes would largely revolve around my family and my God and finding ways to spend every possible moment with them.

Some of you may argue that we never really know how much time we have left.  I could get hit by a bus tomorrow.  (It's always a bus, isn't it?)  Absolutely.  And I agree that I should work on those things listed in the first paragraph because of it.  But if I live my entire life assuming that it will be short, I will miss out on a lot of great non-essentials.  My kids would feel smothered.  I've written before about the end of summer and the growing pit in my stomach which develops as I worry that I'm not making the most of my remaining vacation time.  It makes for a less enjoyable time off.  I think the same would happen if I assumed my life was ticking down to a premature finish.  That's no way to live.

I am thankful for a long life expectancy and relative good health.  I am thankful that the days are getting longer again.  I am thankful for the beautiful rainbow we saw out our front window yesterday.  May we all live life a little more fully and be happy with where we are.

Back in the Saddle

Well, this has been like the good old days, before I knew what followers were and I just tried to post twice a month.  I often didn't make that goal.  But blogging also took what was probably a more health place in my priority list.  But more on that to come.

Moving.  We are IN!  Or we are out, depending on how you look at it.  Being in is more exciting, but being out is the bigger relief.  I love our house.  It's beautiful and it functions well.  A large percentage of boxes are unpacked and already off to their next job moving a friend of ours.  There is certainly more to do.  The further along I get in unpacking, the more obnoxious the chore becomes.  I want to be magically done, and I also would like to know exactly where all the silly little things with no obvious home should go.  I hate big stacks of boxes in the garage or closet that remain untouched for years.

In the past, I have hung art and photos as I have unpacked, considering it part of the process.  When I'm finished, the house seems decorated.  This time there is a combination of the open-concept lack of wall-space and very large expanses of the walls that do exist.  They are so large that I feel silly hanging the little pictures that I own.  And by little, I mean big.  Just not enormous.  The walls, therefore, remain largely empty.  That fact bothers me.  But I will just need to live with it until I have cash to go buy some jumbo wall art.

Lest I sound ungrateful, I have to tell you all some of the great things about the house.  We are wired for sound in every room.  I can plug in my iPod, turn on some soft hits of the 70's, and it will play everywhere if I want, or just in one room.  I love this feature much more than I expected.  I love two dishwashers, which means no dishes stacked in the sink.  Ever.  I love a heated kitchen floor.  I love a central vac system.  I love my mud room, but I wish that less mud and dirt tracked from it into the kitchen.  I love, love, LOVE my pantry.  And the up-stairs laundry room.  And my library.  I love the open family office off of the kitchen.  There is really nothing I would change.  I guess that's what building a custom home is all about.  It was a great experience and it is a fantastic result.  We are very blessed.

When I dropped off of the face of the blogosphere I'd been working on a series of questions from my friend Sher.  I am working on the next installment of that for Monday.  In the mean time, have a great week-end.  It's good to be back.

We're Moving!

It's official!  Months of waiting and worrying and watching construction will finally pay off.  We are moving into our new home this Saturday, February 7th. 

Um, yeah, the day after tomorrow.  When did I find this out?  This morning.  (To be fair, we were considering dates between the 7th and 14th.  I just assumed we'd end up with the later date.)  We had a small head start packing, so we really need to kick it into gear now.  A friend from our ward came over this afternoon and packed up our kitchen.  She was awesome!  The kids and I are now busy getting everything else boxed up.

Well, I just wanted to take a second to update you all and let you know that I haven't forgotten anyone.  I'll be back in the blogging game soon enough.

Here are a few photos of the new place.

The Laundry Room:

The Family Room:

The Kitchen (I am standing in the family room to take this shot.):

Any of you who Face Book with me can see more photos in my new album.

Weakness (2 of 5)

Sher asks:  What is your greatest weakness?  Why?  Another great question that makes me think.  I'm going to answer this in a couple of different ways.

My greatest weakness is lack of discipline.  I hate making myself do things I don't want to do, or stop doing things that I like, and I frequently don't.  I know it sounds immature.  It is.  But that is the root of most of my struggles.

When I was first married, any time I became frustrated with my life, I'd make a laundry list in my journal of every flaw, every major shortcoming, and I'd map out a plan to overcome each.  After a decade or so of this I began to look over past entries and found that nothing was ever fixed.  I struggled with the same issues again and again.  Bemoaning this fact to my husband, he pointed out that part of my problem stemmed from the fact that I am not a routine oriented person,  (editorial note: following a routine takes discipline) but I am, rather, a project-driven type.  This clicked.  It explained in one nice little sentence a seeming smorgasbord of problems.  It brought some degree of relief.  I felt a little less out of control--I really just had the one major problem to work on.

Three years ago I joined Weight Watchers and lost 30 pounds.  I'd kept to the plan and was successful.  I thought that if I could find control over this little piece of my life, perhaps I would be able to find it elsewhere.  Well, no sooner had I reached my goal than I was hit with a nerve disorder that consumed me for months.  Everything else, including good eating habits, was put on hold.  Once my meds were regulated and pain was minimal I returned to life as normal, except for the better nutrition thing.  Over the last 2 years I have regained 20 of those pounds.  For the past year I have been making feeble attempts to lose them, and have lost and found 7 to 9 pounds twice.  Clearly, I really don't have this discipline thing down after all.

Yet I find myself with a new problem.  I used to go to great lengths to hide these weaknesses.  I was mortified by discovery of any imperfections.   However, in the past year, and in the past few months particularly, I have experienced a shift.  I have gone from embarrassment over weakness to embracing it, strutting it about, even.  At first, I saw this as a breakthrough--being more honest about my struggles, feeling better about who I am.  And that sounds healthier, doesn't it?  Well, I am beginning to think that it is not.  In developing this new habit of self-degradation, in the name of coming to terms with my weaknesses, I have let go of responsibility to become something better.  I've given myself permission to fail.  I went from privately moping about how horrible I am to publicly laughing at my nature and viewing myself as a vicitim of it.  Neither outlook is adaptive.   

So my next move?  Well, I feel like I need to take some time to reconstruct my self-image.  I need to look at my potential, my talents and my STRENGTHS.  I need to do it without apology.  Discipline is nothing more than consistent good choices.  I need to decide that I am strong enough to choose to be better.  Again and again.  It doesn't mean I need to stop laughing at myself.  But it means I need to stop treating myself like a big slob to get laughs so often.  This will not be easily put into action, I know.  I also know that the outcome may be worthwhile.