Now we're getting to the good stuff!

Saturday, 9:55 a.m.

Six mid-pubescent Freshmen show up at the house in various stages of undress trying to create togas. They have just been kayaking and are due to serve a meal for some pre-prom activity for someone at 10:00. They are going to be late.

"Do you need pins?"

"No, I don't need any pins."

I continue to observe as they continue to improvise, never having done this before. Fast forward. I see them fumbling with corsages at their own junior proms. Struggling with a new language on their missions. Looking for the right words to tell their future wives of their undying love...

"Mom, I do need pins."

Yeah, I knew you would. I was just waiting for you to ask.

I wish I would've taken a picture of them before they tumble out of the van...dragging togas and articles of clothing as they run up to the front door of someone I don't even know. But these are good kids. I love these kids. Some of them who are not my own call me "Mom" too. I love that. I look forward to watching what happens over the next few years, knowing that it will not be without heartache, but looking forward nonetheless.

Monday, 4:30 a.m.

I have been awake looking at the clock every 15 minutes not wanting to sleep through the alarm. At about 4:45 three tall tenors arrive to kidnap my oldest son for "initiation." "Welcome to PHS Singers!" (Chamber Singers) they tell him--the one who hates getting out of bed in the morning. He jumps up and runs out the door--clad in only a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. I don't know any of these kids either. But I do know that every time I hear them sing, tears run down my cheeks. These are good kids. And I realize that my kid who has been waiting for almost half of his high school experience to find somewhere to fit in has finally found his niche. And what a rich niche. I think I am happier than if he would've made captain of the football team.

He dashes back in at 7:00. I stand at the stairs with my arms open wide.

"Aw Mom, do I have to?"

"You bet you do. Congratulations!"

I give him the hug, knowing at some point--in just a couple of years--he might be locked away in a grungy bathroom in a grungy apartment in some faraway place--fighting back the tears that want to flow over the latest really hard thing he will have to deal with on his mission--wishing he could have that hug again.

I hope the imprint of a thousand hugs over the years--before he decided he was too big--will remain.

So I keep trying to sneak in a few while I can.

It's something unpredictable
but in the end there's right
I hope they have the times of their lives...
(this in my best Green Day voice)

But I don't feel much like a princess...

Yesterday I bought a great pair of long white gloves for my darling daughter. We are invited to a tea party tonight and we can dress up. Usually I love to dress up. But I'm having a hard time faking it today. Apparently my ability to talk the talk has run its course. I can't dress up like a princess because I really don't feel like a princess.

My daughter will look great. And I'm going to really love that she looks great and that she will feel great about looking great. Although, I also know that because she is a daughter of Eve, she will be looking around her and thinking that all the other princesses look even more great than she does. And she will feel less great inside.

So my today my question is this: How can I spare my daughter that horrible empty feeling you get inside when you know that whatever you are, you are not enough?

Well, wouldn't you know? Guess who just had a baby?

As some of you know I spend my work days searching Google. It's a great job. I still can't believe I get paid to play on the Internet. And I have learned a lot about essential subjects such as heating and refrigeration, Canola oil, incontinence and the state of New Jersey.

Lately I have been working on a lot of publishing accounts and I come across some pretty skanky stuff too. Most of the time they pass the really gritty subjects to me, partly because I have fooled them into thinking I am mature but also because we don't like to scare the young and innocent. But sometimes I come across some really good stuff to know too. Which leads me to my latest discovery.

Rosie the Riveter still has no time to do her hair (I can relate) and therefore has not given up her bandana. But she apparently left the factory long enough to conceive. Who knew? And now Rosie is the spokeswoman not just for factory workers, but also for all moms. In her latest book. The Motherhood Manifesto. I can't wait to read it, especially considering who wrote it. (I will read it before I write a review.) But in the meantime I want to ask you mothers, what do you want? I am going to comprise a comparison list between what I read in the book and what I hear from the real world. Come on...tell me how you really feel!

Damned Insomnia I and II: in which we learn the true extent of Compulsive's neuroses

(Warning: The following may be quite disturbing. One is alarmingly candid in the wee hours of the morning. Read at your own risk.)

Damned Insomnia I (from the journal of an insomniac, March 19, 2006, 2:00 a.m.)

2 am...Well, almost. And I cannot sleep. I fell deep asleep while I was cuddling sweet Kyle to sleep, at about 9:45. Then I wake up at 11:30 and here it is, two hours and a nice dose of Benadryl later and I got nothin'! I got up did the dishes in the dark, hoping the avoidance of bright light would increase the possibilities of slumber, but to no avail. The body is exhausted, but the mind will not rest.

Here's what keeping me up:

Is it my fault the favorite of our four cockatiels died last night (thus two nights battling insomnia--I could tell she was on her way out but was so tired I knew I didn't have it in me to mount a death watch--so I made her as comfortable as I could and petted her and told her what a good bird she had been and what a wonderful mamma, too. Then I made myself go to bed, only to lie awake feeling guilty I did not sit it out with her to the end)? Sometimes I am surprised God trusts someone like me with small children, but, thankfully, they tend to be more resilient than the number of pets we have had that eventually did not make it. Somehow I secretly worry that it's my fault because I do not devote the care and energy into the keeping of pets as does Martha's sweet, if not weird, Marc Marrone. I shouldn't be allowed to purchase or inherit anymore pets. (I know it's not my fault. I do take care of them--just not obsessively--but you know how it is, when you are on a full-tilt guilt ride nothing is exempt.)

Lorien, I am so sorry I never called back to hear if you found Maddy and Ashley. And you have always been so kind to mount search and rescue parties for my various lost children. I had good intentions, but I was on my way out the door when you called and the hour I planned to be gone paying all the overdue bills turned into 3 1/2. And by then I was so depressed about still being way behind in the area of finances that I forgot. I am a slug and I don't deserve you for a friend, but thanks for being mine anyway. (Of course by now I assume you have found them or I would've heard about it.) I am glad you found them.

(Note: Lorien did, of course, find the children. And she has forgiven me. She promised me therapy over my guilt issues at GNO, only I was unable to attend--for which I also feel guilty. Maybe this month?)

Damned Insomnia Round II (from the journal of an insomniac, April 13, 2006, 3:45 a.m.)

This time it's 3:30 a.m. I've been fighting it for over an hour and I give. It's not happening any time soon, but maybe if I let out a little of what's rolling through my head this time I can try again in an hour.

Here's what's keeping me up tonight:

How I can't wait to get back to the mall and buy two things: One, another pair of the great green (yes the coolest color of green--so-cool-I-have-nothing-else-to-wear-with-them green) capris I bought at Meier and Frank's new clearance center on the third floor. Forty-eight-dollar pants for a total of $9.05--and that was without the coupon I'm going to find and take in tomorrow when I buy another pair--this one a size smaller because I promise I really will go back to the gym and lose some weight this summer. Two, Bath & Body Work's entire supply of breathe at nights restful lavender and vanilla milk intense hydration body cream. Of course if the lavender were a bit more intense I'd be sleeping right now, but I still love this product. It's like a layer of silk on your hands. Or wherever else you put it. And it smells heavenly. If only it would help me sleep at night...

How I'm still a bit rifled at a cutting comment by MIL last weekend (blog forthcoming). Please, please, please, don't ever let me do that to my kids. Ever. Please toughen my skin so I can start letting comments like that roll right off--like acid off a duck's back. Please.

How I have way too much to do tomorrow between work and quilt class at 6:00. It was daunting before, but the thought of doing it while sleep deprived haunts me. It's becoming increasingly obvious that I will not have time to return to the mall. Please let those great capris and a year's supply of breathe still be there on Friday. Please.

How I'm a little nervous I may have ruined two of my children's remaining years at elementary school when I politely asked the principle to rein in the president of a certain parent organization and ask her not to use her title when she states her opinion on TV and in the newspaper as if she represents everyone in her uninformed and misguided views. She is certainly entitled to her opinion, but she should only use her title when she truly does represent all of us. I let it go the first time, but her comments the second time cut too deeply and I had to speak my piece. Am I a bad person?

Well, there are other, more serious items of business--including, yes, death and taxes--rolling around in there too, but I'm not feeling brave enough to tackle them publicly tonight. Is it too late to take Benadryl? Will another dose of lavender help? Tune in next time...for another episode of "As the Rest of the World Sleeps."

That 70s hair

Is this déjà vu or a bad flashback? I feel like I'm caught in a time warp back to the 70s. The hair is the same. I think the 70s was when the term "bad hair day" originated--only it was a bad hair decade.

(Here is same son when he had eyes. Note the beater car--also from the 70s--in the background. January 2006 Heap of the Month at Provo High. We're so proud.)

The clothes are the same--except that we showed a little less skin and a lot less underwear. Just last month my daughter borrowed a pair of gauchos to wear at my friend's reception--that's one clothing item I truly never thought I'd see resurrected. Wrong again. (Disclaimer: Yeah, I know most all of you were mere babes in the 70s and were spared some of its worst fashion faux pas. But trust me on this one, OK?)

The music is the same. It seems in decades redux past you had to suffer through remakes of old music. But now the original versions are in. I will never forget the look on my 15-year-old's face when he wanted to download some U2 and I asked why download it when he could just get it off my CD. "You know who U2 is?" Better yet. "You have their CD?" Complete shock (but it bumped me up to "cool mom" status for all of about 15 seconds). Slightly more impressed than when he discovered my Lynyrd Skynyrd, but definitely right up there with, "You know the words to 'Stairway to Heaven'?"

I will have to admit that this time around there are some improvements: i-Pod beats 8-track both for bulk (or lack thereof) and sound quality. IM-ing is much more convenient than lying on your bed with a phone cord wrapped around you for hours at a time ("What's a phone cord, Mom?").

My question is this: The 70s weren't that great the first time around, so what's the attraction toward revisiting them?

The play's the thing...

I'm so excited. My entire family is going to see Arsenic and Old Lace tomorrow night (Thanks for the tickets, Mom)! Why am I excited? Perhaps if you have not yet experienced the joy of having two teenage boys, you might not get it. But the fact that we are all going together is a huge deal. Given all they know about the play is that it's about a couple of old women and they just have my word on the fact that it is supposed to be funny--a monumentally huge deal! How did I bribe my teenagers to join us? In addition to the usual threats, they were a little bit influenced by the fact that one of their favorite (Thanks Brother Hess!) seminary teachers is in the play. Cool.

This is also one of the things I really like about living in Provo. You do have access to some good cultural experiences here and in Salt Lake City--not just for yourself, but also to entertain and enlighten your kids.

I didn't get exposed to a lot of theater where I grew up. It might have been more due to the logistics of taking six kids to the theater than living in Eugene, Oregon. My cultural experiences as a child consisted more of Saturday's Market than of Shakespeare, but I'm not complaining. Somehow, mostly due to a great time at Ashland and a wonderful English teacher my junior year, I grew up with a love of the bard and I truly believe the play's the thing.

Of course I've seen Les Mis and Phantom when they came to town. And one of my best ever theater experiences--Macbeth--at the wonderful Utah Shakespearean Festival. But I have of late--and mostly thanks to a friend who is quite involved in the local theater scene (Thanks Julie!)--fallen in love with local theater as well.

My two oldest got exposure early on, thanks to my theater major brother (did I mention how much I love comp tickets?). Their most notable introduction to Shakespeare was front row seats to the rather violent Macbeth, which was performed at the Castle Theatre in Provo. It's always more fun if you know one of the performers. My boys were into the swordplay, but we left at intermission because 1). it was way past their bedtimes and 2). they had already far exceeded the acceptable norm for body count in one night.

Most recently we saw A Christmas Carol at Hale Center Theater in Orem. This is always well done at Hale (who, I might add, also did an amazing job with "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"), but was much more fun the year before when my second son got whacked on the leg by the ghost of Marley's chains as he exited one scene. An experience like that really puts the live in live theater.

Another great local venue is Provo Theater Company. It was the best homework I ever had when I had to accompany my oldest son to see Forever Plaid for one of those lovely "cultural assignments" that kids hate but parents who want their kids to grow up literate and with good taste love. It was great fun.

So, I'll post a review in the comment section afterwards, but I'm sure I won't be disappointed. BYU has some great talent in their department. Some of my favorites in the past have been "The Taming of the Shrew," "Othello," "King Lear," "The Importance of Being Earnest," a fabulously dark "Long Day's Journey Into Night" (decades ago) and "Wait Until Dark."

I suggest if you haven't yet sampled some of the local fare you buddy up with your closest thespian and beg for comp tickets (if you have a budget like mine) or pony up at the nearest box office. It will be money and time well spent. And--at least I'm hoping in my case--someday your kids will thank you for it.