I don't mean to be critical because truly, I love Edward, the vampire, like most women do. Not quite as much as my sister does, but her husband's name is Edward so for her fantasy and reality are all kind of all mixed up. But I would be the most devoted fan that Stephanie Myer could ever hope for if she could just make one small change in the Twilight Series: instead of sucking blood, Edward the vampire ingests fat cells from his victims. Seriously, although it is never mentioned that she needs it, Bella and every other woman on the planet we call Earth would love him so much more.
Please don't think I am critical. I am sure that Sister Myer is a gifted writer. Maybe she was just overly concerned about reaching the largest audience possible. I mean every woman has blood, right? I wouldn't want her to lose the support of skinny women who wouldn't have bonded with Bella if she was fat. But the ultimate fantasy book would have you fall in love with not only the most handsome and caring of men, like Edward, but a man who left you even better off than he found you, a man who made you even more beautiful after his understandably-selfish-draining of your body. After all, how a woman successfully loses weight is the most amazing secret that all of her friends and acquaintances try to unveil. A whole new level of intrigue would be created as other characters in the story attempted to solve the mystery of Bella's new phat (pretty hot and tempting) body.
Come to think of it, I don't remember chocolate being a big part of the story. What fantasy story has reached its full capacity with a chocolate-free story line?! If Edward periodically lipo-ed Bella's fat cells she could enjoy a whole new guilt-free appreciation of unquanified amounts of high-calorie desserts. As my friend pointed out to me today desserts is "stressed" spelled backwards. Imagine a story line where Bella has highly reduced amounts of stress and highly increased amounts of chocolate consumption. I don't even know if women in our society are prepared for the kind of thrilling fantasy that this kind of story-line would offer.
"Lying in bed, after consuming her third serving of chocolate mousse, Bella drifted into a restless and troubled sleep. She was awakened by the kiss of the Summer breeze from her open window. Strains of a hauntingly beautiful melody flowed through her mind, keeping her from retrieving the full-clarity of consciousness. Lulled by music and comforted by the chocolate haze, she slowly became aware of him, reclining on the mattress beside her. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and her vision was filled with his beauty. How he could want her, in her state of ultimate weakness, she couldn't know. But when he left, they would both be satisfied. He, because her greatest weakness made him strong. And she, because submission meant that she too, would have been transfigured into unqualified perfection..."
Sigh...it is time to make dinner for my ungrateful family. I can't eat because my weigh-in is at the end of the week. The closest thing I have in the pantry to Bella's dessert is chocolate pudding, the kind you have to stir and stir and stir while it cooks. The haunting music in my house is my twelve-year-old practicing the clarinet and if I tried to fall asleep with my bedroom window open I'm pretty sure the snow predicted for later this evening would blow in.
But I know what I am going to dream of tonight, after falling asleep much too late and anticipating the blaring rock music that acts as the alarm to pull me out of tomorrow morning's warm bed. I am going to dream of Edward, my Edward. And of his beautiful face as he thanks me for sustaining his life with my compassionate donation. Wish me luck as I stumble into the bathroom, turn on the light, and catch the full vision of my true physique.
Don't feel too sorry for me, though. There will always be tomorrow night. And another chance to dream of the time I spend with Fantasy Edward, the fat-sucking vampire.
Laugh, if you want. Someday I will write a novel...
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
My Children Exceed Me In Every Way
I did a lot of babysitting growing up so I don't think much about my children has surprised me. Tracy, on the other hand, was babysat by the television and--if we are honest here--didn't get a lot of significant information about children while watching Ozzie and Harriet Nelson or Mike and Carol Brady raise theirs. So one of the things Tracy has repeated to other adults over the years has been "My children exceed me in every way!"
I didn't have a problem turning 40 a few years ago...unless you note that for several days after my birthday I was still typing in the age 39 on the eliptical machine at the gym. But when my oldest child turned 20-years-old earlier in the month I missed a few heartbeats because of stress. How can she be two decades old?! Have I taught her enough? Is she really ready for the big, bad world? Then I started thinking about my oldest son, moving more than 250 miles away from home at the end of the Summer. He will have one year away at school and then be leaving for his mission. Is he ready? Can he cope?
And this is what I decided. My children are going to be ready enough. This is why:
The Top Ten Reasons Why The Beck Kid's Are Ready for Take-Off
10. They know how to communicate with others.
Our kids don't have as much life experience as Tracy and I do, but they are, and always have been, our social equals. I could count on one hand the times one of us has shouted, "Because I told you to....!" One of my children pointed out to me a few weeks ago in the car, "I really don't think you showed me respect this morning when you said... (episode details withheld, out of respect for privacy) It was wonderful to hear. I apologized, agreed, and rephrased my request.
We have purposely tried to discipline our children with kindness and firmness at the same time. It has created some wonderful things.
8. Our kids know that their opinion matters
We believe strongly in family council. Seems like it was a pretty big deal in the premortal family model and my kids have truly come to know that problems are solved as a family unit. To be perfectly honest, the solutions that the children have come up with in this family are so much more creative, effective and meaningful than ideas that their parents offered. Even when they were very young their solutions to problems left us amazed.
7. We have tried to teach problem-solving skills
My favorite experience is when, in the middle of a conflict, one of my family turns to me and says "Stop reflective listening!!!" For the most part, these kids know how to listen...how to show someone else that they want to understand what they are saying. And then to watch things cool down to a place where they are brain-storming possible solutions to a problem. The only time this kind of thing has gotten me into trouble was when one of my grade-schoolers would turn to me, furious, and yell "Don't use that parenting skills stuff on me!" I learned to not preface things by saying "In class we teach parents..."
6. I have internalized and used an understanding of the Four Mistaken Goals of Children's Behavior.
Once I was taught that children want love and attention from their parents but will misbehave to get it; finding out that children and parents get stuck competing for power; being clear about children acting out in revenge; and occasionally witnessing assumed disability--when a child completely shuts down--I could focus on what our children were really looking for and find ways to change their inappropriate behaviors. Seriously, if I had never known about these things I would have often assumed that my children hated me or at least wanted to hurt me.
5. We understand something about "social interest"
As explained by Alfred Adler, a psychologist from the 1800s, children want to belong and are motivated into action by that strong desire. It explains why kids join gangs, why they fall with peer pressure, why they want to please. A misbehaving child is a discouraged child. What an amazing thing for me to learn. Made it really clear to me why positive discipline was a better idea than punishment.
4. Encouragement is the most effective tool of all.
We have two choices: to strip our kids of courage (discouragement) or to fill them up with courage (encouragement). I think it has been enough years that our kids kind of do this automatically. That is, if they can avoid the Beck sarcasm. Did this come from the Nelsons or Bradys? Actually I think it was the Partridge Family!! Unfortunately that is an automatic response for them, but when the chips are down and people are really hurting, they each know how to encourage.
3. Our children know how to laugh!
Tracy is the one who really taught us all how to find humor, even in the most difficult circumstances. Especially this last year, during chemo treatments for his cancer, he kept our spirits up this way. And it wasn't just us. He did it with his caregivers as well.
Even the most emotionally charged family events are easier. One family night Tracy ran things like a mock Senate. As he recognized each "Senator from..." so that she/he could have the floor to speak our moods were lightened and we dealt with serious business in a wonderfully entertaining way. Recently Tracy sent me a text that stated simply, "The only thing to fear is scary things..." Laughter has diffused many escalating situations in our home.
2. They know we couldn't have done it without them.
Lucky for them, neither Tracy or I are superheroes. We have only been able to accomplish what we have as a family because our kids were so involved. When we lived in California and I was teaching preschool and volunteering in parenting programs as well as early morning seminary, and Tracy was commuting 3 hours a day to and from work, our kids kept the housework and a lot of the cooking done. If you had asked one of them "Are you an important part of your family?" They would have responded "What, are you kidding?! My family would never make it without me!!" They buy their clothes, do their laundry, clean their rooms and thanks to the invention of Clorox Wipes many other surfaces as well! They don't always do their chores when they are supposed to but they have never refused when asked for help.
1. These kids know that mistakes are opportunities to learn.
The thing I was the least skilled in when I left home was the knowledge that mistakes are opportunities to learn. As a young adult and older I have been paralyzed at times by my mistakes. I never wanted to examine my weaknesses. I did a lot of "hiding" from them. As I have been willing to apologize and own my mistakes while parenting my children, they have seen me model that a mistake is only a stepping stone in getting where I am going. They know that my struggle with perfectionism has been ugly and hard. They are willing to learn from their mistakes without halting in the journey.
As much as I am going to miss them I am grateful that my kids are ready to fly...not perfect, remember? Just mostly ready.
Let's hope I am ready as well!
I didn't have a problem turning 40 a few years ago...unless you note that for several days after my birthday I was still typing in the age 39 on the eliptical machine at the gym. But when my oldest child turned 20-years-old earlier in the month I missed a few heartbeats because of stress. How can she be two decades old?! Have I taught her enough? Is she really ready for the big, bad world? Then I started thinking about my oldest son, moving more than 250 miles away from home at the end of the Summer. He will have one year away at school and then be leaving for his mission. Is he ready? Can he cope?
And this is what I decided. My children are going to be ready enough. This is why:
The Top Ten Reasons Why The Beck Kid's Are Ready for Take-Off
10. They know how to communicate with others.
- At the age of two, Ashley put two hands on either side of her father's face, turned him toward her and shouted, "Attention!!" When Ashley was four my mother commented: "Ashley is so easy to watch: you just do exactly what she says!" As a preschooler she used to quote entire Disney movies in the back seat of the car. And she was known to point to you and demand: "You say this...." until everyone in the room was having the conversation she wanted.
- When my shy boy Stephen was in sixth grade I mentioned in parent-teacher conferences that I hoped he wasn't too timid with others. The teacher started to laugh and told me that he was annoying all of the kids who were seated at his table because he sang out loud all of the time. He may not have a lot to say in normal conversation, but he will talk for hours with a tune and a guitar.
- We decided when Matthew was very small that any carjacker who took off with Matthew in the backseat would soon tire of all of the wee lad's questions and observations, spin the car back around, and beg us to take it--and our son--back. When he goes on vacations without me I spend frustrated episodes on the internet trying to find out information that he could have told me in a matter of seconds.
- Kirstin will tell you exactly what she thinks. When I was crabby recently about having to buy treats for one of her classes at school (the teacher "punished" the losing team in a contest by requiring them) she went to school the next day and told him "My mother is mad at you." He was apparently chagrined. And I was horrified/pleased that she can say what I don't have the guts to when someone is in a position of authority.
Our kids don't have as much life experience as Tracy and I do, but they are, and always have been, our social equals. I could count on one hand the times one of us has shouted, "Because I told you to....!" One of my children pointed out to me a few weeks ago in the car, "I really don't think you showed me respect this morning when you said... (episode details withheld, out of respect for privacy) It was wonderful to hear. I apologized, agreed, and rephrased my request.
We have purposely tried to discipline our children with kindness and firmness at the same time. It has created some wonderful things.
8. Our kids know that their opinion matters
We believe strongly in family council. Seems like it was a pretty big deal in the premortal family model and my kids have truly come to know that problems are solved as a family unit. To be perfectly honest, the solutions that the children have come up with in this family are so much more creative, effective and meaningful than ideas that their parents offered. Even when they were very young their solutions to problems left us amazed.
7. We have tried to teach problem-solving skills
My favorite experience is when, in the middle of a conflict, one of my family turns to me and says "Stop reflective listening!!!" For the most part, these kids know how to listen...how to show someone else that they want to understand what they are saying. And then to watch things cool down to a place where they are brain-storming possible solutions to a problem. The only time this kind of thing has gotten me into trouble was when one of my grade-schoolers would turn to me, furious, and yell "Don't use that parenting skills stuff on me!" I learned to not preface things by saying "In class we teach parents..."
6. I have internalized and used an understanding of the Four Mistaken Goals of Children's Behavior.
Once I was taught that children want love and attention from their parents but will misbehave to get it; finding out that children and parents get stuck competing for power; being clear about children acting out in revenge; and occasionally witnessing assumed disability--when a child completely shuts down--I could focus on what our children were really looking for and find ways to change their inappropriate behaviors. Seriously, if I had never known about these things I would have often assumed that my children hated me or at least wanted to hurt me.
5. We understand something about "social interest"
As explained by Alfred Adler, a psychologist from the 1800s, children want to belong and are motivated into action by that strong desire. It explains why kids join gangs, why they fall with peer pressure, why they want to please. A misbehaving child is a discouraged child. What an amazing thing for me to learn. Made it really clear to me why positive discipline was a better idea than punishment.
4. Encouragement is the most effective tool of all.
We have two choices: to strip our kids of courage (discouragement) or to fill them up with courage (encouragement). I think it has been enough years that our kids kind of do this automatically. That is, if they can avoid the Beck sarcasm. Did this come from the Nelsons or Bradys? Actually I think it was the Partridge Family!! Unfortunately that is an automatic response for them, but when the chips are down and people are really hurting, they each know how to encourage.
3. Our children know how to laugh!
Tracy is the one who really taught us all how to find humor, even in the most difficult circumstances. Especially this last year, during chemo treatments for his cancer, he kept our spirits up this way. And it wasn't just us. He did it with his caregivers as well.
Even the most emotionally charged family events are easier. One family night Tracy ran things like a mock Senate. As he recognized each "Senator from..." so that she/he could have the floor to speak our moods were lightened and we dealt with serious business in a wonderfully entertaining way. Recently Tracy sent me a text that stated simply, "The only thing to fear is scary things..." Laughter has diffused many escalating situations in our home.
2. They know we couldn't have done it without them.
Lucky for them, neither Tracy or I are superheroes. We have only been able to accomplish what we have as a family because our kids were so involved. When we lived in California and I was teaching preschool and volunteering in parenting programs as well as early morning seminary, and Tracy was commuting 3 hours a day to and from work, our kids kept the housework and a lot of the cooking done. If you had asked one of them "Are you an important part of your family?" They would have responded "What, are you kidding?! My family would never make it without me!!" They buy their clothes, do their laundry, clean their rooms and thanks to the invention of Clorox Wipes many other surfaces as well! They don't always do their chores when they are supposed to but they have never refused when asked for help.
1. These kids know that mistakes are opportunities to learn.
The thing I was the least skilled in when I left home was the knowledge that mistakes are opportunities to learn. As a young adult and older I have been paralyzed at times by my mistakes. I never wanted to examine my weaknesses. I did a lot of "hiding" from them. As I have been willing to apologize and own my mistakes while parenting my children, they have seen me model that a mistake is only a stepping stone in getting where I am going. They know that my struggle with perfectionism has been ugly and hard. They are willing to learn from their mistakes without halting in the journey.
As much as I am going to miss them I am grateful that my kids are ready to fly...not perfect, remember? Just mostly ready.
Let's hope I am ready as well!
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Warning: View With Caution
Warning: The following entry contains graphic details that may offend people who actually clean their houses on a regular basis.
Today I cleaned the refrigerator. That isn't a big deal for some people. For me it took everything I have learned in Psycho Cybernetics and Cognitive Therapy to even begin the project. Of course people who clean out their refrigerators regularly don't face the task I did. It isn't like there was rotting food. At our house we are all such good eaters that we don't have leftovers to put into the fridge in the first place. It is all about the accidental spills that occur on a fairly regular basis. The worst was the thick chocolate topping that had pooled and solidified on the top glass shelf. There was strawberry jam that had done the same on the side walls. Somehow pickle juice is always part of the mix and there is always that special discovery of what exactly has made its way to the very bottom of the refrigerator and taken up residence under the lowest drawer!
To complicate matters, the faucet of the kitchen sink started sending out violent sprays of water from its base as I finished the dishes this morning, so I was thwarted from engaging in my usual routine of soaking the kitchen counters and floor as I cart parts of the refrigerator shelving back and forth from a thorough washing at the sink. So I did what I do best...drag items to the bathtub and climb in! In the process I discovered that while the hauling back and forth felt a little like the early frontier settlers carrying their used dishes to the river, I actually made much smaller of a mess, and had much more contained water by using the bathtub method. And since you don't know my early marriage story about the showerbath in our tiny apartment I will take the opportunity to digress...
Tracy and I started our marriage living in "The Canal District" of San Rafael, California. It was the lowest rent, highest crime, and most ethnically diverse area in the County. And it was the place that we could financially afford. I forgot to mention that when we were first married we lived in the basement of my parents house in now-million dollar homes Larkspur, California. My parents, who had lived in that home for 25 years moved after having us as tenants for one year! So Canal District it was. Our apartment was tiny and the only door into it was a sliding glass door. You know how people check out of the peep hole of a door to see who is ringing the bell? Imagine your whole wall being glass!!
The three memories that are the most strong for me from that apartment are the night that the drunk man kept banging on our glass door, certain that our apartment was his; the weekly meetings held in our Hindu neighbors' apartment where so many people filed in that we couldn't imagine where they all sat; and the refrigerator sized speakers that our downstairs Haitian neighbor used for his music that used to shake everything in our apartment with its pulse! But for this story I will tell you what I did when Tracy called one afternoon to announce that his boss was coming for dinner. Having no time to spare, I rushed to a nearby restaurant for take-out, came home and put all that food in my own dishes, fried up onions and garlic for a fabulous smell and took the dirty dishes out of our sink and off of our spacious 2 square foot kitchen counter, deposited them all into the bathtub, and pulled the shower curtain closed! We had a lovely evening and the next morning the shower seemed like a brilliant way to get a bunch of dishes done at once! Lucky for me, the boss hadn't seen a need to peek behind the curtain.
Back to today's refrigerator cleaning...once my fridge was all fresh white plastic and squeaky clean glass I had the traditional compulsive desire to organize the food back into shelves and drawers resembling a grocery store. All the jars and containers are wiped clean, all the labels face front, and so on goes the craziness. As my kids came home, I proudly showed them what my hours of worked had achieved and showed them which still-dirty refrigerator door shelf I had saved for them to bathe with! As I returned to the sparkling refrigerator over and over again to open the door and appreciate the beauty I realized why I will never keep the perfect fridge for very long. If my refrigerator looked perfect all the time it would become one of those things I no longer appreciate. People who clean their refrigerator regularly get no "Wow!" from their kids opening the fridge door for the big reveal!
And then there is the fear factor. Matt confessed to me that the large chocolate spill had encouraged him to go for the quick-dive approach to food retrieval. Having relaxed his psyche, I feel particularly successful as a mother.
Who knows what I will have the privilege of scraping off of my refrigerator shelves in my upcoming adventures? What child will be psychologically burdened next by the dilemma of a strong desire to eat versus the trauma of opening the refrigerator door? And why won't my children return items to the shelves with the label showing?
Tune in next time for more confessions of the desperate housewife!
(Wanna come see my clean fridge? Admission is free. Messing with labels is strictly forbidden!)
Today I cleaned the refrigerator. That isn't a big deal for some people. For me it took everything I have learned in Psycho Cybernetics and Cognitive Therapy to even begin the project. Of course people who clean out their refrigerators regularly don't face the task I did. It isn't like there was rotting food. At our house we are all such good eaters that we don't have leftovers to put into the fridge in the first place. It is all about the accidental spills that occur on a fairly regular basis. The worst was the thick chocolate topping that had pooled and solidified on the top glass shelf. There was strawberry jam that had done the same on the side walls. Somehow pickle juice is always part of the mix and there is always that special discovery of what exactly has made its way to the very bottom of the refrigerator and taken up residence under the lowest drawer!
To complicate matters, the faucet of the kitchen sink started sending out violent sprays of water from its base as I finished the dishes this morning, so I was thwarted from engaging in my usual routine of soaking the kitchen counters and floor as I cart parts of the refrigerator shelving back and forth from a thorough washing at the sink. So I did what I do best...drag items to the bathtub and climb in! In the process I discovered that while the hauling back and forth felt a little like the early frontier settlers carrying their used dishes to the river, I actually made much smaller of a mess, and had much more contained water by using the bathtub method. And since you don't know my early marriage story about the showerbath in our tiny apartment I will take the opportunity to digress...
Tracy and I started our marriage living in "The Canal District" of San Rafael, California. It was the lowest rent, highest crime, and most ethnically diverse area in the County. And it was the place that we could financially afford. I forgot to mention that when we were first married we lived in the basement of my parents house in now-million dollar homes Larkspur, California. My parents, who had lived in that home for 25 years moved after having us as tenants for one year! So Canal District it was. Our apartment was tiny and the only door into it was a sliding glass door. You know how people check out of the peep hole of a door to see who is ringing the bell? Imagine your whole wall being glass!!
The three memories that are the most strong for me from that apartment are the night that the drunk man kept banging on our glass door, certain that our apartment was his; the weekly meetings held in our Hindu neighbors' apartment where so many people filed in that we couldn't imagine where they all sat; and the refrigerator sized speakers that our downstairs Haitian neighbor used for his music that used to shake everything in our apartment with its pulse! But for this story I will tell you what I did when Tracy called one afternoon to announce that his boss was coming for dinner. Having no time to spare, I rushed to a nearby restaurant for take-out, came home and put all that food in my own dishes, fried up onions and garlic for a fabulous smell and took the dirty dishes out of our sink and off of our spacious 2 square foot kitchen counter, deposited them all into the bathtub, and pulled the shower curtain closed! We had a lovely evening and the next morning the shower seemed like a brilliant way to get a bunch of dishes done at once! Lucky for me, the boss hadn't seen a need to peek behind the curtain.
Back to today's refrigerator cleaning...once my fridge was all fresh white plastic and squeaky clean glass I had the traditional compulsive desire to organize the food back into shelves and drawers resembling a grocery store. All the jars and containers are wiped clean, all the labels face front, and so on goes the craziness. As my kids came home, I proudly showed them what my hours of worked had achieved and showed them which still-dirty refrigerator door shelf I had saved for them to bathe with! As I returned to the sparkling refrigerator over and over again to open the door and appreciate the beauty I realized why I will never keep the perfect fridge for very long. If my refrigerator looked perfect all the time it would become one of those things I no longer appreciate. People who clean their refrigerator regularly get no "Wow!" from their kids opening the fridge door for the big reveal!
And then there is the fear factor. Matt confessed to me that the large chocolate spill had encouraged him to go for the quick-dive approach to food retrieval. Having relaxed his psyche, I feel particularly successful as a mother.
Who knows what I will have the privilege of scraping off of my refrigerator shelves in my upcoming adventures? What child will be psychologically burdened next by the dilemma of a strong desire to eat versus the trauma of opening the refrigerator door? And why won't my children return items to the shelves with the label showing?
Tune in next time for more confessions of the desperate housewife!
(Wanna come see my clean fridge? Admission is free. Messing with labels is strictly forbidden!)
Friday, September 19, 2008
Cuarenta Y Cinconera
I suppose it is the ultimate in tacky and that Utah probably would not recover...but I am seriously thinking of throwing myself a Cuarenta y Cinconera party next summer for my 45th birthday.
Let me explain...I attended my first Quincenera a year ago. Seriously, the Disney Princesses have nothing on the quinceaneras (teenage young women) South of the Border. These ladies, at the celebratory age of fifteen, are welcomed into womanhood with the party to end all parties! To be honest, I think my parents might have forgotten to celebrate my 15th birthday (happens fairly regularly in a large family). But in all fairness my family wouldn't have known what to do. Stupid Anglo-Saxons.
Why can't I be part of a hertitage that knows how to party?! I realize that the Bostonian residents of 1773 were trying to make the best of a bad situation, but was their Tea Party the best the Colonial English could do? Parties aren't even supposed to be violent (until two dashing men are fighting over the same woman of course). And although the wasting of a lot of valuable commodity (ever seen the amount of painstakingly created food at a quincenera eaten by non-appreciative Norteamericanos?) seems a bit over the top, it is clear to me that the Colonists were bored and wanted to stir up a little action with their tea. So what would it hurt for me to make up for a little lost celebration time? (Generations of it, apparently!)
I presented the idea to Tracy who didn't seem the least surprised to hear me come up with such an attention-seeking scheme. He responded, with only the dry wit that he seems to be able to master, that I certainly won't fall short of finding 45 men in theater who will want to participate in such an event. Well, Mr. Beck...I accept the challenge!
Once I can book 45 men for the event (in a quincenera the hardest part is finding 15 young men to pair up with your 15 best girl friends to perform a ceremonial dance. I have to come up with three times that amount!) then I can start hooking them up with my girlfriends. Here's where the problem lies...If all of my friends have party-pooper Anglo husbands who won't participate then they will have to be lined up with my 45 chosen theater-men and I'm not sure that we can have that event at the church (is there another building large enough?) because I don't think that the average, boring Anglo husband can handle seeing another man's hands on his wife. What started out as a simple, personal, attention-seeking event for a woman in high church standing (I do have a gold card!) might turn in to the beginning of my ex-communication proceedings. However, there is a loophole...having spoken and sung at the Spanish Branches in California I can promise you that I could hold such an event under the supervision of a humble Hispanic Branch President and not get into any trouble whatsoever. Come to think of it, I might need the Branch President to be my dancing partner because Tracy certainly will not attend my event!
I can see it now, I enter the room in my fabulous dress (of course I am skinny by then) through the arbor of roses on the stage, float down the stairs and take my place on the dance floor across from my dashingly handsome borrowed Branch President partner and alongside the other 45 couples who have been trained in the beautiful customary dance (have you ever seen those traditional Anglosaxon dances like in the Jane Austen movies? All they do is circle each other. How romantic is that?) We all glide through the graceful choreography across the floor of the First Unitarian Church cultural hall (the Branch President's cousin is a member there and booked us the room). Families that I love, who love me fill the tables--mostly made up of just the men who refused to be a dance partner and their children who are wrecking the table decorations and spilling cake all over the floor of the room that we put a cleaning deposit down on...CUT! This is my fantasy!
EDIT SCENE. REPLAY: All the children (mostly young girls who are staring at me in my princess dress with adoration and wonder in their eyes) are captivated and extremely well-behaved. The husbands look onto the dance floor with extreme regret that they are not currently partipating in the event. My 45 girlfriends (can I make 40 more friends by then?!) are having the night of their lives! They look at me with such gratitude that I know my family will receive anonymous treats left at our doorstep for years to come...
Wow!
I wish I could finish painting my party picture but my husband just walked in the door of the bedroom, saw me typing with a creepy-dreamy look at my laptop and clearly wants to know--without actually asking where dinner is--where dinner is. And feeling guilty that he just nuzzled my cat right in front of me, actually just nuzzled my neck!
Hmm...have to go. I have eight more months to plan my party but only one hungry husband. And he doesn't even have to imagine me skinny in my cuarenta y cinconera dress to act romantic!
Thank you cat! I think I'll go cook up a little action in the kitchen...
Hiding the remote control this morning bought me about 45 seconds until the TV goes on. If that happens, not even the cat will earn another glance.
Let me explain...I attended my first Quincenera a year ago. Seriously, the Disney Princesses have nothing on the quinceaneras (teenage young women) South of the Border. These ladies, at the celebratory age of fifteen, are welcomed into womanhood with the party to end all parties! To be honest, I think my parents might have forgotten to celebrate my 15th birthday (happens fairly regularly in a large family). But in all fairness my family wouldn't have known what to do. Stupid Anglo-Saxons.
Why can't I be part of a hertitage that knows how to party?! I realize that the Bostonian residents of 1773 were trying to make the best of a bad situation, but was their Tea Party the best the Colonial English could do? Parties aren't even supposed to be violent (until two dashing men are fighting over the same woman of course). And although the wasting of a lot of valuable commodity (ever seen the amount of painstakingly created food at a quincenera eaten by non-appreciative Norteamericanos?) seems a bit over the top, it is clear to me that the Colonists were bored and wanted to stir up a little action with their tea. So what would it hurt for me to make up for a little lost celebration time? (Generations of it, apparently!)
I presented the idea to Tracy who didn't seem the least surprised to hear me come up with such an attention-seeking scheme. He responded, with only the dry wit that he seems to be able to master, that I certainly won't fall short of finding 45 men in theater who will want to participate in such an event. Well, Mr. Beck...I accept the challenge!
Once I can book 45 men for the event (in a quincenera the hardest part is finding 15 young men to pair up with your 15 best girl friends to perform a ceremonial dance. I have to come up with three times that amount!) then I can start hooking them up with my girlfriends. Here's where the problem lies...If all of my friends have party-pooper Anglo husbands who won't participate then they will have to be lined up with my 45 chosen theater-men and I'm not sure that we can have that event at the church (is there another building large enough?) because I don't think that the average, boring Anglo husband can handle seeing another man's hands on his wife. What started out as a simple, personal, attention-seeking event for a woman in high church standing (I do have a gold card!) might turn in to the beginning of my ex-communication proceedings. However, there is a loophole...having spoken and sung at the Spanish Branches in California I can promise you that I could hold such an event under the supervision of a humble Hispanic Branch President and not get into any trouble whatsoever. Come to think of it, I might need the Branch President to be my dancing partner because Tracy certainly will not attend my event!
I can see it now, I enter the room in my fabulous dress (of course I am skinny by then) through the arbor of roses on the stage, float down the stairs and take my place on the dance floor across from my dashingly handsome borrowed Branch President partner and alongside the other 45 couples who have been trained in the beautiful customary dance (have you ever seen those traditional Anglosaxon dances like in the Jane Austen movies? All they do is circle each other. How romantic is that?) We all glide through the graceful choreography across the floor of the First Unitarian Church cultural hall (the Branch President's cousin is a member there and booked us the room). Families that I love, who love me fill the tables--mostly made up of just the men who refused to be a dance partner and their children who are wrecking the table decorations and spilling cake all over the floor of the room that we put a cleaning deposit down on...CUT! This is my fantasy!
EDIT SCENE. REPLAY: All the children (mostly young girls who are staring at me in my princess dress with adoration and wonder in their eyes) are captivated and extremely well-behaved. The husbands look onto the dance floor with extreme regret that they are not currently partipating in the event. My 45 girlfriends (can I make 40 more friends by then?!) are having the night of their lives! They look at me with such gratitude that I know my family will receive anonymous treats left at our doorstep for years to come...
Wow!
I wish I could finish painting my party picture but my husband just walked in the door of the bedroom, saw me typing with a creepy-dreamy look at my laptop and clearly wants to know--without actually asking where dinner is--where dinner is. And feeling guilty that he just nuzzled my cat right in front of me, actually just nuzzled my neck!
Hmm...have to go. I have eight more months to plan my party but only one hungry husband. And he doesn't even have to imagine me skinny in my cuarenta y cinconera dress to act romantic!
Thank you cat! I think I'll go cook up a little action in the kitchen...
Hiding the remote control this morning bought me about 45 seconds until the TV goes on. If that happens, not even the cat will earn another glance.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Around the Corner
My husband hates surprises. I used to think that was sad. But the more surprises I get in life, the clearer his experience is for me. I love surprises...but only happy ones. Scary, tragic, heart-stopping surprises that are full of disappointment and loss are nothing I look forward to.
Last night I got a phone call from a sister that my mom had fallen and was taken to the hospital. As I made the calls to get more information and to pass that information on to five siblings, I was reminded of all the surprises that have come over the years by phone call: The call when I was eight months pregnant with Matthew that Tracy's dad was dying in the hospital as the result of a car accident; the call that my dear friend had died (too many of those calls to count them); the call that Daddy had a massive stroke; the call that Tracy's brother had cancer and then the call nine months later that he had died; the call that my sister had attempted suicide; the call that my best friend's baby was stillborn...
Then there are the myriad of surprises that I experienced up close and in person: the attempted murder of an apartment neighbor in the middle of the night; the doctor telling us that Tracy had cancer; the suicidal young woman who came to our home for help...
I would just have to agree that I don't like surprises either, except...I remember clearly the feeling of going around the corner of a huge monolith in the rise to Mt. Whitney, after hiking for hours and hours up steep and rocky terrain and suddenly, unexpectedly there appeared a vista so intense and beautiful that it took my breath away; and then there was our sealing ceremony where I was so overwhelmed by the blessings we were being promised that my mascara ran down my face (not the look a young bride is usually going for); there was the birth of my baby when I couldn't believe that she was really mine--after so many months of pregnancy you would have thought I would be ready for that!
I guess surprises are just part of life--sometimes wonderful beyond description and sometimes achingly tragic. And there isn't really anything to prepare us for them or they wouldn't be surprises after all.
This discovery makes me all the more dedicated to creating the best moments that I can when I have the choice of what things will be: knowing that if I greet my children with a homemade snack at the end of a school day that they will smile; predicting if I clean the garage that Tracy will be so grateful; spending time thinking about how much I love to live with these people who bring so much laughter and excitement into my daily life.
When all is said and done, the corners we turn, happy or sad, are so much fewer than the long stretches of every-day straight away. So if I make the best I can of the long, predictable stretches then the curves won't have me stomping so furiously on the break pedal, which my daddy always told me makes a smoother ride! I don't think you will ever see me accelerating around a curve in the road but even if I slow down a little, I won't stop. There are too many sweet surprises ahead of me... and that keeps me on my way.
Last night I got a phone call from a sister that my mom had fallen and was taken to the hospital. As I made the calls to get more information and to pass that information on to five siblings, I was reminded of all the surprises that have come over the years by phone call: The call when I was eight months pregnant with Matthew that Tracy's dad was dying in the hospital as the result of a car accident; the call that my dear friend had died (too many of those calls to count them); the call that Daddy had a massive stroke; the call that Tracy's brother had cancer and then the call nine months later that he had died; the call that my sister had attempted suicide; the call that my best friend's baby was stillborn...
Then there are the myriad of surprises that I experienced up close and in person: the attempted murder of an apartment neighbor in the middle of the night; the doctor telling us that Tracy had cancer; the suicidal young woman who came to our home for help...
I would just have to agree that I don't like surprises either, except...I remember clearly the feeling of going around the corner of a huge monolith in the rise to Mt. Whitney, after hiking for hours and hours up steep and rocky terrain and suddenly, unexpectedly there appeared a vista so intense and beautiful that it took my breath away; and then there was our sealing ceremony where I was so overwhelmed by the blessings we were being promised that my mascara ran down my face (not the look a young bride is usually going for); there was the birth of my baby when I couldn't believe that she was really mine--after so many months of pregnancy you would have thought I would be ready for that!
I guess surprises are just part of life--sometimes wonderful beyond description and sometimes achingly tragic. And there isn't really anything to prepare us for them or they wouldn't be surprises after all.
This discovery makes me all the more dedicated to creating the best moments that I can when I have the choice of what things will be: knowing that if I greet my children with a homemade snack at the end of a school day that they will smile; predicting if I clean the garage that Tracy will be so grateful; spending time thinking about how much I love to live with these people who bring so much laughter and excitement into my daily life.
When all is said and done, the corners we turn, happy or sad, are so much fewer than the long stretches of every-day straight away. So if I make the best I can of the long, predictable stretches then the curves won't have me stomping so furiously on the break pedal, which my daddy always told me makes a smoother ride! I don't think you will ever see me accelerating around a curve in the road but even if I slow down a little, I won't stop. There are too many sweet surprises ahead of me... and that keeps me on my way.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Ready, Set...School!
I wish I was one of those moms who cried when their kids went to Kindergarten. It just seems so loving! I was so busy laughing, and dancing, and smiling that tears just seemed inappropriate. It's not like I don't like my kids. Fourteen years since the first drop off to Kindergarten I'm still trying to figure it out.
You know what else, since I'm being painfully honest, I'm also the first one to figure that my kids are flawed. When some parents exclaim at the disclosure of kids-behavior-gone-bad "It couldn't have been my child!" I'm thinking, "Oh, man, what have my kids done now?!" They are awesome kids, I just know that they are human and I believe, as they like to quote me in parenting mode that "mistakes are opportunities to learn!"
So, if we're all here on earth to learn and we shouted for joy when it was confirmed that we would be coming here, is it really so bad to shout for joy (or dance a jig) when they are about to embark on a new journey? And now that I've moved to Utah and the school bus does all the driving (three different campuses and 2+ hours of driving a day before we moved from California!) I don't see what I have to be depressed about when they leave.
Maybe I have too much faith in teachers. I am a teacher. I love to teach. But not all of their teachers do. For instance, without fail each of my children had the world's worst 6th grade teachers. And I would console them with words of comfort like, "Don't worry...you're going to have a boss some day that is just as crazy as this teacher and you will know just how to work with them!" Doesn't mean I didn't write the letter to the teacher that they deserved. It's okay to request that a crazy teacher changes their behavior, just not smart to think that they really are going to. Being a teacher, I always gave my kids' teachers the benefit of the doubt: maybe it was a tough day, forgot to take their meds, forgot they entered the teaching profession because they love children...But truth was always revealed at parent-teacher conference. A crazy teacher can't hide their bizarre attributes if you know what to look for in your one-on-one with them. Last year, as my daughter and I walked out of the school together I verified, "You're right, Baby, she's scary!" Maybe I secretly like the crazy teacher thing because then my kids think their mom is saner than they had thought :)
I have some pretty fabulous stories from teaching school. Many of them are about crazy parents. But most of them are about my craziness as a parent. For instance, I was always embarrassed with my mini van's assortment of junk on the floor until the day that I dropped Matthew off at school and was greeted by a friend who had arranged a play date to take Kirstie. There was my toddler, in not-yet-changed night time soggy diaper, footy jammies, and crazy, slept on hair (can't remember for sure but syrup-covered-face is a large possibility). Thanks to my overwhelmed- mother-can't-keep-her-van-clean syndrome I was able to find a clean diaper, wipes, a change of clothes, and even a plastic fork to part her hair and create pigtails with!! It was a moment of creative superiority that I have never forgotten. I can never boast about my organizational skills but when it comes to spontaneous bursts of wisdom in a crisis, I pretty much am The Bomb.
And personally I think Kirstie turned out great even though I have a photo of her taking a morning nap in a t-shirt sales box at school while I was immersed in PTA President business. Most preschoolers nap at home...lucky for me she was an easy child!
So how evil does it make me that I actually throw a party every morning before my kids leave for school? It's true. Throughout the universe, moms are greeting their children at the door when they return home from school with warm cookies and milk. Not me. I'm cooking up a storm to help them get out of the house in the mornings. We call this "Breakfast Club". It all began when I started feeling guilty that I am lousy with my kids at night. I am a morning person, big time. I don't know if it is the chance to start a new day and get it right this time or what, but I love mornings and fresh starts. So last year I proposed to my kids that we start a Breakfast Club where they could invite any of their friends to come eat a homemade hot breakfast before school. Breakfast Club rocks. They leave happy and they leave which creates happy me. Isn't happiness the point of our existence?!
One day I will answer for all my sins. I only hope my excitement about the first week of school isn't one of them. It is just too fulfilling to be wrong!
You know what else, since I'm being painfully honest, I'm also the first one to figure that my kids are flawed. When some parents exclaim at the disclosure of kids-behavior-gone-bad "It couldn't have been my child!" I'm thinking, "Oh, man, what have my kids done now?!" They are awesome kids, I just know that they are human and I believe, as they like to quote me in parenting mode that "mistakes are opportunities to learn!"
So, if we're all here on earth to learn and we shouted for joy when it was confirmed that we would be coming here, is it really so bad to shout for joy (or dance a jig) when they are about to embark on a new journey? And now that I've moved to Utah and the school bus does all the driving (three different campuses and 2+ hours of driving a day before we moved from California!) I don't see what I have to be depressed about when they leave.
Maybe I have too much faith in teachers. I am a teacher. I love to teach. But not all of their teachers do. For instance, without fail each of my children had the world's worst 6th grade teachers. And I would console them with words of comfort like, "Don't worry...you're going to have a boss some day that is just as crazy as this teacher and you will know just how to work with them!" Doesn't mean I didn't write the letter to the teacher that they deserved. It's okay to request that a crazy teacher changes their behavior, just not smart to think that they really are going to. Being a teacher, I always gave my kids' teachers the benefit of the doubt: maybe it was a tough day, forgot to take their meds, forgot they entered the teaching profession because they love children...But truth was always revealed at parent-teacher conference. A crazy teacher can't hide their bizarre attributes if you know what to look for in your one-on-one with them. Last year, as my daughter and I walked out of the school together I verified, "You're right, Baby, she's scary!" Maybe I secretly like the crazy teacher thing because then my kids think their mom is saner than they had thought :)
I have some pretty fabulous stories from teaching school. Many of them are about crazy parents. But most of them are about my craziness as a parent. For instance, I was always embarrassed with my mini van's assortment of junk on the floor until the day that I dropped Matthew off at school and was greeted by a friend who had arranged a play date to take Kirstie. There was my toddler, in not-yet-changed night time soggy diaper, footy jammies, and crazy, slept on hair (can't remember for sure but syrup-covered-face is a large possibility). Thanks to my overwhelmed- mother-can't-keep-her-van-clean syndrome I was able to find a clean diaper, wipes, a change of clothes, and even a plastic fork to part her hair and create pigtails with!! It was a moment of creative superiority that I have never forgotten. I can never boast about my organizational skills but when it comes to spontaneous bursts of wisdom in a crisis, I pretty much am The Bomb.
And personally I think Kirstie turned out great even though I have a photo of her taking a morning nap in a t-shirt sales box at school while I was immersed in PTA President business. Most preschoolers nap at home...lucky for me she was an easy child!
So how evil does it make me that I actually throw a party every morning before my kids leave for school? It's true. Throughout the universe, moms are greeting their children at the door when they return home from school with warm cookies and milk. Not me. I'm cooking up a storm to help them get out of the house in the mornings. We call this "Breakfast Club". It all began when I started feeling guilty that I am lousy with my kids at night. I am a morning person, big time. I don't know if it is the chance to start a new day and get it right this time or what, but I love mornings and fresh starts. So last year I proposed to my kids that we start a Breakfast Club where they could invite any of their friends to come eat a homemade hot breakfast before school. Breakfast Club rocks. They leave happy and they leave which creates happy me. Isn't happiness the point of our existence?!
One day I will answer for all my sins. I only hope my excitement about the first week of school isn't one of them. It is just too fulfilling to be wrong!
Thursday, August 7, 2008
P.C. (B+), F.C. (D)
I guess it must be that rumors of school starting again are in the air...mind you I'm not forbidden at my house from saying the word "school" it's just not a good idea. This is what people call "the elephant" in the room--largely there but not spoken of. I don't know if it is because my kids see so much of me in Summer or the fact that they are so under-stimulated that they need something to contemplate on, but I am starting to feel like an organism under the microscope in Science class. Take yesterday, for instance. My youngest daughter (she who knows all at 11 & 3/4 years) pinched my shoulder and exclaimed, "Mom, those aren't shoulder pads!!" I smiled. I'm not a complete idiot. I have watched several episodes of What Not To Wear on the TLC Channel. "Yes," I replied, "notice how thin they are...you can't even tell they're there. They add structure to my shoulder, drawing attention to the sturdiest part of me, lifting the eye toward my face!"
"Oh m'gosh!" It was much too late. She had stopped listening at "Yes," and was madly texting on her cell phone to a friend, possibly a sibling, hopefully not directly to Clinton and Stacey at TLC. All the while she was walking in circles around me, stopping occasionally to pinch a shoulder pad once more. This is not the first time I have been accosted by the local fashion police, nor the last, I fear. When the report card is published I'm anticipating the following grades: Political Correctness (B+), Fashionable Correctness (D).
Maybe the problem goes way back. When I was eight years old there was no "Achievement Days" Program at Church like there is now. Perhaps my generation was improperly trained. Instead of completing "Achievement Days" at the end of my twelfth year I completed "Merrie Miss". I think that "proper attitude" must have been in fashion. We had goals and lessons but clearly the focus wasn't on "Achievement" but on "Merrie".
My oldest daughter, now an adult, was fortunate enough ten years ago to attend what we called "(Name Withheld)'s Charm School and Boot Camp". This Achievement Day Leader held a dinner for the parents to show off their daughters' newly acquired etiquette skills. She also made the girls "drop and do twenty!!" when they had a class in fire-building but failed to create a flame. Was my "Merrie Miss" Leader too easy on me? I adored her. I still adore her. When I made reference once to my awkward "Merrie Miss" years she gasped, "You were fat?! I don't remember you being anything but beautiful!" Having weighed in at 126 pounds in 5th grade I'm baffled by her sincere memory of me. Love, love, love--that's all I remember her teaching me. That's all I remember feeling from her, toward her. It was amazing and wonderful. Come to think of it, she might have worn shoulder pads too, thin ones.
Maybe my problem is best illuminated for me as I sit here and write in the parking lot of The Mall. I don't shop. Had I been a mail-order bride I like to think that would have been a selling-point. "Here's a woman who's not going to sink the family budget through fashion purchases!" So I drive my daughters, who are obsessed with shopping, to the Mall and sit in the car as they skip happily in to spend their money. Their money. Ask them about it sometime, they would love to complain. And so I have a little break: take a nap, work a cross-word puzzle--I fared better in the Bay Area of California where the weather is mild. On extreme purchase trips in the desert of Utah (Mom in the car waiting for 2+ hours) I have wasted a lot of gas turning on the car a few minutes for heat in Winter and cooling off the car for a few minutes in Summer. That didn't seem like a big deal until filling up my car with fuel cost in cash what I used to make after an entire day of work at the office!!
When I tire of resting, or puzzling I start to people watch. Just a few minutes ago, for instance, I saw a woman and her four children emerge from a vehicle all wearing the same color scheme. All of them had light brown shirts, with different patterns of shorts. I was shocked. Yesterday, I don't think my daughter and I were even dressed in the same season! My bad...I look so good in Winter. Brown, oh yes, I remember hearing last Fall, that brown and pink together were the latest. Family friends feel so sorry for my kids at the beginning of the school year that they kindly offer "Do you want me to take you?!" School shopping that is. And they will come home, purchases in hand, excited to show me in fashion-show-style what is theirs.
Bring it on, Stacey and Clinton. Until the $5,000 Bank of America card with my name on it and my trip to New York to have you two throw out my wardrobe, I'll have to just settle for my "Merrie" personality and my barely-passing grade!
"Oh m'gosh!" It was much too late. She had stopped listening at "Yes," and was madly texting on her cell phone to a friend, possibly a sibling, hopefully not directly to Clinton and Stacey at TLC. All the while she was walking in circles around me, stopping occasionally to pinch a shoulder pad once more. This is not the first time I have been accosted by the local fashion police, nor the last, I fear. When the report card is published I'm anticipating the following grades: Political Correctness (B+), Fashionable Correctness (D).
Maybe the problem goes way back. When I was eight years old there was no "Achievement Days" Program at Church like there is now. Perhaps my generation was improperly trained. Instead of completing "Achievement Days" at the end of my twelfth year I completed "Merrie Miss". I think that "proper attitude" must have been in fashion. We had goals and lessons but clearly the focus wasn't on "Achievement" but on "Merrie".
My oldest daughter, now an adult, was fortunate enough ten years ago to attend what we called "(Name Withheld)'s Charm School and Boot Camp". This Achievement Day Leader held a dinner for the parents to show off their daughters' newly acquired etiquette skills. She also made the girls "drop and do twenty!!" when they had a class in fire-building but failed to create a flame. Was my "Merrie Miss" Leader too easy on me? I adored her. I still adore her. When I made reference once to my awkward "Merrie Miss" years she gasped, "You were fat?! I don't remember you being anything but beautiful!" Having weighed in at 126 pounds in 5th grade I'm baffled by her sincere memory of me. Love, love, love--that's all I remember her teaching me. That's all I remember feeling from her, toward her. It was amazing and wonderful. Come to think of it, she might have worn shoulder pads too, thin ones.
Maybe my problem is best illuminated for me as I sit here and write in the parking lot of The Mall. I don't shop. Had I been a mail-order bride I like to think that would have been a selling-point. "Here's a woman who's not going to sink the family budget through fashion purchases!" So I drive my daughters, who are obsessed with shopping, to the Mall and sit in the car as they skip happily in to spend their money. Their money. Ask them about it sometime, they would love to complain. And so I have a little break: take a nap, work a cross-word puzzle--I fared better in the Bay Area of California where the weather is mild. On extreme purchase trips in the desert of Utah (Mom in the car waiting for 2+ hours) I have wasted a lot of gas turning on the car a few minutes for heat in Winter and cooling off the car for a few minutes in Summer. That didn't seem like a big deal until filling up my car with fuel cost in cash what I used to make after an entire day of work at the office!!
When I tire of resting, or puzzling I start to people watch. Just a few minutes ago, for instance, I saw a woman and her four children emerge from a vehicle all wearing the same color scheme. All of them had light brown shirts, with different patterns of shorts. I was shocked. Yesterday, I don't think my daughter and I were even dressed in the same season! My bad...I look so good in Winter. Brown, oh yes, I remember hearing last Fall, that brown and pink together were the latest. Family friends feel so sorry for my kids at the beginning of the school year that they kindly offer "Do you want me to take you?!" School shopping that is. And they will come home, purchases in hand, excited to show me in fashion-show-style what is theirs.
Bring it on, Stacey and Clinton. Until the $5,000 Bank of America card with my name on it and my trip to New York to have you two throw out my wardrobe, I'll have to just settle for my "Merrie" personality and my barely-passing grade!
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