All in a day's work

In the past 48 hours
I spent an hour and half getting splattered by hot bacon grease so a band of high-school kids would enjoy a more affordable week at band camp.

I stayed up till well after 12:30 a.m. packing son #2 off for band camp, rising at quarter after five the next morning to take him to Provo High for his departure. Within the next half hour we made three trips back and forth in order to make sure the band had all the supplies they needed donated and my son had his cell phone so he could contact us if needed. I laughed at this son as I asked him to come to the car so I could hug him good-bye but he gave me a hug and a big grin right there in front of all his friends.

Later and after a full-days work at the office I withstood (not entirely gracefully) an hour and a half being the target of hormonal pre-teen angst/anger while helping my daughter get ready for girls camp (and that was just round one).

I later spent two and a half hours at Wal-Mart trying to outfit said daughter for her camp. (To be honest it has taken me less time to outfit an entire troop of boys for a week at scout camp in days gone by.)

I then stayed up till well after midnight make sure she was packed and to complete round two.

I woke up at 5:15 a.m. this morning (even though I could have slept in until 6:15) in order to take myself to the doctor.

She wants to know why Im not feeling well and why I havent felt well for months. I want to reply, Because I am a mom. But she is a mom, too and an excellent doctor, so I keep my words to myself. (She probably has a clean house, too, but thats a topic for another day.)

I went straight to work except for a quick Jamba Juice run for some breakfast. As I waited in line I looked up at all the available boosts and found myself spending an extra dollar for snake oil that I desperately pray will at least put a dent the deficit of my bucket. Ill have the energy boost, the protein boost and the immunity boost, please. I stopped just short of asking the cheerleader at the counter to make them all double shots.

I left work long enough to throw a few things in a bag for son #4 who will be spending the night with his grandmother because there is too long of a gap between when my husband and I will pass the baton from his duties as camp chef and my duties as choir chaperone. Someone needs to keep an eye on the little guy.

Finally I turn my attention back to my only daughter. She has packed all the spoils of last nights raid on Wal-Mart and shes anxious and ready to go. She wants to go early to wait for girls camp with her friends. She phones a friend, finds B~ has already left, so I take her to the church parking lot. She offers me a tender embrace on my wrist when I tell her she will hug me good-bye. I grab her around the waist and give her a side hug as I kiss her on the cheek.

Two of my four are affectionate. The other two are not. Most times I respect that (although I have been known to sneak into their bedrooms and night and hug the porcupine kids while they are sleeping; because I believe all kids need a little lovin).

I drive off but then circle back around because I see a stranger slow down a little too slowly and take a little too long of a look as he drives past where I have left her with two of her friends. I want to make sure the girls will be safe until their leaders arrive.

I get home long enough to hear the phone ring again. Mom, I forgot my camera and will you bring rubber bands so the girls can braid my hair? Knowing the braiding of the hair is a necessary ritual of camp I oblige.

As I return to the church and drop off the requested items three of her friends walk up to the car complaining I had forgotten to give them a hug good-bye. These are to make up for all the hugs that L~ wont give to you, says one.

Bless their sweet souls. My heart is touched by their awareness that I might somehow be hurt by my only daughters aloofness. Usually I am not, but their kindnessthough it touches my heartmanages to nick my tough skin and I find myself surprised at both the depth of the nick and the quantity of feeling that bleeds out.

As I return home I glance at the clock. If if hurry I could grab a 10-minute power nap before returning to work at 11:30. But there are other things that need my attention and I have a compelling need to write down what I am feeling. I try not to edit too much because I still want to explore all the directions my thoughts and emotions want to carry me.

I will work longer today even though my house needs extra attention after 48 hours of neglect and I still have to pack for myself and help son #1 get ready to leave at 4:44 a.m. for a retreat in St. George.

I laugh aloud and mockingly at the word retreat, knowing it is a bold-faced lie.

To tell you the truth part of me wishes I could find someone to take my place because I have a nagging worry about the responsibility of driving myself, my son and other mothers children when although my cars gas tank will be sufficiently fueled I know my personal reserves are about dried up. But I want to go. Even better, my teenage son wants me to go. I realize by this time next year he could very likely already be in the MTC and that the dynamics of our home and family will have changed irrevocably.

I am a mixed up puddle of fatigue, even exhaustion, hope and fear, sadness and happiness. Contentedness and discontent. I look forward to half an hour while everyone is gone so I can just sit and rest my weary head. I look back and see how fast time has flown and notice right this minute how fast they are growing up and away. I both dread them leaving home and anticipate what it must feel like to get a good night's sleep.

I am not complaining.

I am a mother. This is just what we do.

All in a days work

Disclaimer: Lest you think I am someone I’m not, I need to assure you I am not “all that.” By definition I am what is known as a “slacker mom.” Even still:

In the past 48 hours…
I spent an hour and half getting splattered by hot bacon grease so a band of high-school kids would enjoy a more affordable week at band camp.

I stayed up till well after 12:30 a.m. packing son #2 off for band camp, rising at quarter after five the next morning to take him to Provo High for his departure. Within the next half hour we made three trips back and forth in order to make sure the band had all the supplies they needed donated and my son had his cell phone so he could contact us if needed. I laughed at this son as I asked him to come to the car so I could hug him good-bye but he gave me a hug and a big grin right there in front of all his friends.

Later and after a full-day’s work at the office I withstood (not entirely gracefully) an hour and a half being the target of hormonal pre-teen angst/anger while helping my daughter get ready for girls camp (and that was just round one).

I later spent two and a half hours at Wal-Mart trying to outfit said daughter for her camp. (To be honest it has taken me less time to outfit an entire troop of boys for a week at scout camp in days gone by.)

I then stayed up till well after midnight make sure she was packed and to complete round two.

I woke up at 5:15 a.m. this morning (even though I could have slept in until 6:15) in order to take myself to the doctor.

She wants to know why I’m not feeling well and why I haven’t felt well for months. I want to reply, “Because I am a mom.” But she is a mom, too and an excellent doctor, so I keep my words to myself. (She probably has a clean house, too, but that’s a topic for another day.)

I went straight to work except for a quick Jamba Juice run for some breakfast. As I waited in line I looked up at all the available “boosts” and found myself spending an extra dollar for “snake oil” that I desperately pray will at least put a dent the deficit of my “bucket.” “I’ll have the energy boost, the protein boost and the immunity boost, please.” I stopped just short of asking the cheerleader at the counter to make them all double shots.

I left work long enough to throw a few things in a bag for son #4 who will be spending the night with his grandmother because there is too long of a gap between when my husband and I will pass the baton from his duties as camp chef and my duties as choir chaperone. Someone needs to keep an eye on the little guy.

Finally I turn my attention back to my only daughter. She has packed all the spoils of last night’s raid on Wal-Mart and she’s anxious and ready to go. She wants to go early to wait for girls camp with her friends. She phones a friend, finds B~ has already left, so I take her to the church parking lot. She offers me a tender embrace on my wrist when I tell her she will hug me good-bye. I grab her around the waist and give her a side hug as I kiss her on the cheek.

Two of my four are affectionate. The other two are not. Most times I respect that (although I have been known to sneak into their bedrooms and night and hug the “porcupine” kids while they are sleeping; because I believe all kids need a little lovin’).

I drive off but then circle back around because I see a stranger slow down a little too slowly and take a little too long of a look as he drives past where I have left her with two of her friends. I want to make sure the girls will be safe until their leaders arrive.

I get home long enough to hear the phone ring again. “Mom, I forgot my camera and will you bring rubber bands so the girls can braid my hair?” Knowing the braiding of the hair is a necessary ritual of camp I oblige.

As I return to the church and drop off the requested items three of her friends walk up to the car complaining I had forgotten to give them a hug good-bye. “These are to make up for all the hugs that L~ won’t give to you,” says one.

Bless their sweet souls. My heart is touched by their awareness that I might somehow be hurt by my only daughter’s aloofness. Usually I am not, but their kindness–though it touches my heart–manages to nick my tough skin and I find myself surprised at both the depth of the nick and the quantity of feeling that bleeds out.

As I return home I glance at the clock. If if hurry I could grab a 10-minute power nap before returning to work at 11:30. But there are other things that need my attention and I have a compelling need to write down what I am feeling. I try not to edit too much because I still want to explore all the directions my thoughts and emotions want to carry me.

I will work longer today even though my house needs extra attention after 48 hours of neglect and I still have to pack for myself and help son #1 get ready to leave at 4:44 a.m. for a retreat in St. George.

I laugh aloud and mockingly at the word retreat, knowing it is a bold-faced lie.

To tell you the truth part of me wishes I could find someone to take my place because I have a nagging worry about the responsibility of driving myself, my son and other mothers’ children when although my car’s gas tank will be sufficiently fueled I know my personal reserves are about dried up. But I want to go. Even better, my teenage son wants me to go. I realize by this time next year he could very likely already be in the MTC and that the dynamics of our home and family will have changed irrevocably.

I am a mixed up puddle of fatigue, even exhaustion, hope and fear, sadness and happiness. Contentedness and discontent. I look forward to half an hour while everyone is gone so I can just sit and rest my weary head. I look back and see how fast time has flown and notice right this minute how fast they are growing up and away. I both dread them leaving home and anticipate what it must feel like to get a good night’s sleep.

I am not complaining.

I am a mother. This is just what we do.

Moaning Myrtles Moaning Meme

So not really. But I’ve been a bit worried that poor Moaning Myrtle might feel a bit a badly for being left out of all the excitement in Book 7, so I decided to send a little nod her way.

In any case I’ve been tagged by Anne Bradshaw over at Not Entirely British. I’ve only just “met” Anne, but I can tell you she is a writer, is related to one of my favorite musicians–Phil Collins (yes, I am old)–and is starting a feature on her blog called Water Wisdom. As a better appreciation of and more conservation of one of our most precious resources is something I’m a bit passionate about, I wanted to give that a nod as well.

And now back to the Moaning Meme:

5 people who will be annoyed I tagged them:

None. Because I wimp out when it comes to tagging. In a real life game of tag I would thoroughly enjoy my turn being “it” then I would just holler out “Whoever wants to be ‘it’ you’re it!”

4 things that should go into room 101 and be removed from the face of the earth:

1. Meanness
2. People who don’t stop for pedestrians (those in a cross walk, that is, if you’re crossing a busy street in the middle of the road you just made runner up in this list)
3. Anchovies
4. Bad published writing and trolls. (Yes, I cheated. But since I already broke the rules for number five…)

3 things people do that make you want to shake them violently: (boy this really is amoaning meme–I like it! But I am more inclined to hug people violently than shake people violently. Just a heads up on that.)

1. Did I mention being mean?
2. Lying to me
3. Demanding my opinion about something without giving me enough of the necessary facts for me to formulate a reasonably informed opinion.

2 things you find yourself moaning about:

1. When it stays too hot at night.
2. When we don’t get enough rain or snow. You will never hear me moan about having to shovel feet and feet of snow.

1 thing the above answers tell you about yourself:

It could be worse. And (cheating again–who knew I was such a cheater girl?) if my ship ever comes in, I really need to look into pruchasing a small cottage on the coast of Oregon.

As always, if you want to play, consider yourself tagged.

Moaning Myrtle's Moaning Meme

So not really. But Ive been a bit worried that poor Moaning Myrtle might feel a bit a badly for being left out of all the excitement in Book 7, so I decided to send a little nod her way.

In any case Ive been tagged by Anne Bradshaw over at Not Entirely British. Ive only just met Anne, but I can tell you she is a writer, is related to one of my favorite musiciansPhil Collins (yes, I am old)and is starting a feature on her blog called Water Wisdom. As a better appreciation of and more conservation of one of our most precious resources is something Im a bit passionate about, I wanted to give that a nod as well.

And now back to the Moaning Meme:

5 people who will be annoyed I tagged them:

None. Because I wimp out when it comes to tagging. In a real life game of tag I would thoroughly enjoy my turn being it then I would just holler out Whoever wants to be it youre it!

4 things that should go into room 101 and be removed from the face of the earth:

1. Meanness
2. People who dont stop for pedestrians (those in a cross walk, that is, if youre crossing a busy street in the middle of the road you just made runner up in this list)
3. Anchovies
4. Bad published writing and trolls. (Yes, I cheated. But since I already broke the rules for number five)

3 things people do that make you want to shake them violently: (boy this really is a moaning memeI like it! But I am more inclined to hug people violently than shake people violently. Just a heads up on that.)

1. Did I mention being mean?
2. Lying to me
3. Demanding my opinion about something without giving me enough of the necessary facts for me to formulate a reasonably informed opinion.

2 things you find yourself moaning about:

1. When it stays too hot at night.
2. When we dont get enough rain or snow. You will never hear me moan about having to shovel feet and feet of snow.

1 thing the above answers tell you about yourself:

It could be worse. And (cheating againwho knew I was such a cheater girl?) if my ship ever comes in, I really need to look into pruchasing a small cottage on the coast of Oregon.

As always, if you want to play, consider yourself tagged.

From the insomniac cafe update - don't bother me I'm reading

PROVO 3:35 a.m.–I wake up. I kick around a bit. Then I remember my husband observing 3:30a.m. would be a good time to run to Wal-Mart to pick up the latest and last Harry Potter book. I ignore the temptation to dash right out for about half an hour, then I can’t resist.

PROVO 4:30 a.m.–Don’t bother me, I’m reading.

PROVO 5:33 p.m.– Done!

insomniac cafe update: don't bother me i'm reading

PROVO 3:35 a.m.I wake up. I kick around a bit. Then I remember my husband observing 3:30a.m. would be a good time to run to Wal-Mart to pick up the latest and last Harry Potter book. I ignore the temptation to dash right out for about half an hour, then I cant resist.

PROVO 4:30 a.m.Dont bother me, Im reading.

PROVO 5:33 p.m. Done!

The worst part about having finished reading Book 7 already is not being able to say a single word.

From the insomniac cafe

PROVO Long after midnight–Still wound up after a great Lia Sophia party. Great friends, great product, pretty decent refreshments, stimulating conversation and just a really good time. I substitute post for a friend flat on her back with a broken foot, worry a bit about anotherfriend down with a sore back, flip through the paper (Star Jones is being coy about her new look and apparently “I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry” really stinks and “Hairpsray”is absolutely fabulous.) and a catalog or two then finally turn out the lights.

PROVO 1:30 a.m.–My eyes are shut, but still wide open. I’m deliberately trying to relax my brow, loosen my limbs and breathe deeply. Hoping the effort will be enough to allow me to drift off. It does not. I’m trying to remember to pay some bills tomorrow. Envisioning all our financial obligations lining up like sheep to jump over the bed. Wondering what we will feed the missionaries and how to time work so I’ll have time to fix something nice. Worrying a bit about how I will function at work on only 4 or 5 hours sleep.

PROVO 3:20 a.m.–Still wide awake, I’m tired of fighting it. The longer I lose the battle the more worked up I get over the war. I open up the computer, hoping to wind myself down. Dimming the brightness to minimal, I surf a bit. (Apparently La Lohan has turned herself in. I lament for a moment about how she’s turning out; she was such a sweet little girl.) Post a comment at Blog Segullah.

PROVO 3:50 a.m.–I turn off the computer–knowing full well what people think about people alone with their computers in the middle of the night. I try again. To no avail. Now I’m worrying about trying to function at work on only 2 or 3 hours of sleep.

PROVO 4:45 a.m.–Now I’m just bored. I get up. Straighten up the living room in the dark. Put a few of my dining room chairs back. Adjust the slip cover on my antique sofa. I could do the dishes, but that would make too much noise. I putter around, alone in the dark. Sit back in the recliner and wait for the rest that never comes. I feel compelled to go tweeze my eyebrows, but know the cardinal rule of insomnia–no bright lights. Contemplate the possible consequences of tweezing one’s eyebrows in the dark and decide that’s one more thing that can wail until daylight. Think about going in to work for a couple of hours, but realize that will just make it a really long day.

PROVO 5:27 a.m.–Dawn is just beginning to break. In about 30 minutes my oldest will be getting up and going to work. I may be able to doze off and on a bit before I go to work, but at this rate I may not. The neighborhood is starting to stir. The newspaper hits the door with a loud clunk. I’m starting to feel the nausea that comes with extreme insomnia. My eyes hurt. And my head is feeling a little fuzzy. In just a couple of hours I’ll somehow need to be able to pull off cheerful and competent for a full day’s work.

It’s been a long day already and it’s not even daylight yet.

"

from the insomniac cafe

PROVO Long after midnightStill wound up after a great Lia Sophia party. Great friends, great product, pretty decent refreshments, stimulating conversation and just a really good time. I substitute post for a friend flat on her back with a broken foot, worry a bit about another friend down with a sore back, flip through the paper (Star Jones is being coy about her new look and apparently I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry really stinks and Hairpsray is absolutely fabulous.) and a catalog or two then finally turn out the lights.

PROVO 1:30 a.m.My eyes are shut, but still wide open. Im deliberately trying to relax my brow, loosen my limbs and breathe deeply. Hoping the effort will be enough to allow me to drift off. It does not. Im trying to remember to pay some bills tomorrow. Envisioning all our financial obligations lining up like sheep to jump over the bed. Wondering what we will feed the missionaries and how to time work so Ill have time to fix something nice. Worrying a bit about how I will function at work on only 4 or 5 hours sleep.

PROVO 3:20 a.m.Still wide awake, Im tired of fighting it. The longer I lose the battle the more worked up I get over the war. I open up the computer, hoping to wind myself down. Dimming the brightness to minimal, I surf a bit. (Apparently La Lohan has turned herself in. I lament for a moment about how shes turning out; she was such a sweet little girl.) Post a comment at Blog Segullah.

PROVO 3:50 a.m.I turn off the computerknowing full well what people think about people alone with their computers in the middle of the night. I try again. To no avail. Now Im worrying about trying to function at work on only 2 or 3 hours of sleep.

PROVO 4:45 a.m.Now Im just bored. I get up. Straighten up the living room in the dark. Put a few of my dining room chairs back. Adjust the slip cover on my antique sofa. I could do the dishes, but that would make too much noise. I putter around, alone in the dark. Sit back in the recliner and wait for the rest that never comes. I feel compelled to go tweeze my eyebrows, but know the cardinal rule of insomniano bright lights. Contemplate the possible consequences of tweezing ones eyebrows in the dark and decide thats one more thing that can wail until daylight. Think about going in to work for a couple of hours, but realize that will just make it a really long day.

PROVO 5:27 a.m.Dawn is just beginning to break. In about 30 minutes my oldest will be getting up and going to work. I may be able to doze off and on a bit before I go to work, but at this rate I may not. The neighborhood is starting to stir. The newspaper hits the door with a loud clunk. Im starting to feel the nausea that comes with extreme insomnia. My eyes hurt. And my head is feeling a little fuzzy. In just a couple of hours Ill somehow need to be able to pull off cheerful and competent for a full days work.

Its been a long day already and its not even daylight yet.

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head...I wish!

Actually, if I were indeed melting that would imply (because I am part witch) that I would not in fact be so parched and dry.

I was raised in the lovely town of Eugene, Oregon, and its environs. Which meant I was accustomed to an annual average rainfall of just over 50 inches. Fifty glorious satiating inches of blessed drink of the Goddesses. Pure clear rainwater fresh from the heavens.

Provo, Utah (average annual rainfall of 16″ plus, in a good year, some snow) became my permanent home in 1982, during which Utah had what has been termed a moisture climax of 10 times the average annual rainfall. I still have a photo from the front page of The Deseret News that shows a river running down State Street in Salt Lake City. And the story about someone catching a fish from it.

Therefore I was deceived. It was not until I was married and settled here that I realized this one startling fact:

Utah is a desert.

And I had just relocated to this:
[broken link]

I have tried dutifully to become a good citizen of the arid land. To thrive in spite of summersfull of 100+ temperatures and endless days of cloudless, barren horizons. I fell in love with fire-red cliffs. I forsook the lush green underbrush in the forests of the Northwest for sagebrush; cloud formations for rock formations and roadside wild blackberries the size of your thumb for happy roadside sunflowers.

But in my heart of hearts I truly madly deeply miss the cool breeze, beautiful stormy skies, and constant pitter patter of neverending rain (along with the wild berries). I never found cloudy skies depressing. I found them encouraging.

This year I decided despite the fact we had no real spring, we are have record high heat and we are again in serious drought I was going to be a good sport. “Be one with the heat,” I would tell myself. Instead of constantly resenting the oppressing heat I would slow down, take a deep breath, and try to appreciate not being too cold.

But as of today I have had enough. After spending three hours in big airless tent in the middle of the mall parking lot, I must just say it out loud. I don’t like this one bit. I am wilting. Utah summers make me tired, cranky and completely non-productive.

What I wouldn’t give for a big old thundercloud right now.