Today's Hero, Edition 1 (Dec. 30, 2008)

We all have hero's in our lives who save us from potential ruin, lift us when we have fallen, support us at our most vulnerable or perform some other super-human feat that just makes our day. Steve is my Personal Super Hero. As are my daughters. The Ulitimate Heros--in my life and yours--of course is Heavenly Father and His Son and the Savior of the World, Jesus Christ. This post does not in any way diminish their impact on my life, but is a celebration of the everyday heros that each of us can be for one another. So, with a spectacular drum roll please, I announce Today's Super Heros:

Tim Allen (not the comedian, but Heather's husband and the most awesome employee at Zion's Bank who helped relieve my stress of an unintentional banking error that resulted in numerous NSF charges--thanks for reversing them. MWAAH!)

Sally from buycostume.com, who went above and beyond the call of duty to fix a problem and refund Kelsey's money.

Sandee, a client of my mom's who just got back from the BYU Jerusalem Center and has gone OUT OF HER WAY to call and come by to chat with Kelsey about what to expect for her upcoming study abroad experience.

May I do you justice by passing on your goodness.

Ahhhh, the 80's-

Hope the 80's were as good to you as they were to us!

That is my mom, my brother Matt and me looking pretty gorgeous on a summer day in Bellingham, Washington. This was taken right around the time that I was 18. I look at my daughters at this same age and wonder where they came from and how they learned to do hair and make-up so well. Definitely not from me-although, in my own self defense, at least I learned a little about make-up and wasn't using my lipstick to rouge up my cheeks like my mother used to do. Also, my girls rock the tube socks today almost as well as Matt did back then. I sewed the very attractive and figure flattering shirt that I am wearing in the picture. Now if I could only find that picture of my mom, my brother Mark and me all wearing our headgear....

BaaaaaHumbug!

"I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year."--Ebenezer Scrooge

We went Christmas shopping today, Steve and I. This is probably the first year in many that we have gone together. We really wanted to have the Christmas spirit. We really did. We actually started out pretty good. We drove down to the office so that Steve could pull off Shane's Christmas list from his email while I sent out a few more Christmas cards. We cashed my bonus check (thanks John Henry Smith--you rock!). We drove over to see Dennis at the (secret) store (don't want to give any surprises away!) and bought a present and then headed for the freeway. Do we take the north on-ramp and go to Layton Hills Mall or the south on-ramp and go down to Fashion Place? One has a great Macy's store, the other has Dillards and Nordys. Ahhh, south it is. Besides, we needed to check on something for Madi's gift at the (secret--shhh) store. But first, a stop at Hire's Big H for sustenance (two orders of Big H combo, extra crispy fries--burnt if you can, please-vanilla diet coke and onion rings. MMMMMM!) So far so good. The Christmas carols are playing on the radio, we have full tummys and we are juiced up on diet cokes. As we head down to Fashion Place, we find ourselves near a store that Steve remembered, and knew he could get Shane's gift there. Excellent. While he is in looking at boy stuff (YAWN) I walk into the neighboring nail salon--maybe I can get a quick manicure. They don't have time to fit me in that day, but no problem--I found a cute necklace to buy while I was there and had a nice conversation with the front desk lady about my gorgeous scarf that Jody brought back for me from Paris (thanks, Jody--you are the most awesome friend, especially because you now wish you kept this scarf for yourself). Steve and I met back up. We add Shane's gift to our growing stash of loot. I am feeling very accomplished. As we drive over to the the mall, we see stand-still traffic from the side streets just trying to get IN the parking lot. Yikes! Hmmm, do we really want to go to this mall? It looks like a mad house, and we haven't even parked yet. Well, we are all ready there, so I suggest parking in a neighboring business parking lot and just walking a little. It's not snowing, the roads are clear. This is fun. As we enter Dillards and walk out into the mall, we are literally SHOULDER TO SHOULDER with a mass of humanity. The stores we need to go to have 10 minute waiting lines just to check out. Steve's eyes start to glaze over. My eyes start to glaze over. The diet coke is slowing failing us as the crowds of people, the piles of STUFF, and the limited choices in the specific items we are looking for begin to sap our strength. We buy some things, and I am feeling like we are done, but we want to make sure we have what we need before we leave. I quickly calculate what I have so far for each daughter--who needs a little something more so everything is even? Since I have been paying cash for everything today, I made a quick calculation of what we have bought, and subtract from the amount I started with and realize with a horrible pit in my stomach that I am off by about $40. What?! I re-add the figures, but it is hard to focus with the rising panic and the jostling crowd and the noise. The Christmas spirit has flown, just that fast. I want to start crying--I am sorry, but $40 is a LOT of money to me. I quickly review what I am short, and how I paid for everything at each stop and conclude that it is possible that I may have given the lady at the nail place a $50 instead of a $20 for my purchase--that would explain the difference that I am short. Steve patiently and quietly tries to subdue my panic as we walk out of the mall and drive back to the nail store. He tells me of the time he accidentally left about $400 in a rental car when he turned it in, but when he realized his mistake and went immediately back to get it, it was gone. I start trying to tell myself that it was only $40, but still!! I am breaking down by the millisecond, and my cute husband, in an effort to save the day, pulls out his wallet and offers to give me the money. But no, I really wanted to pay for these things from the money I earned. The nail store had done their deposit for the day, and they were not over by $40, and there was no $50 bill in the cash to be deposited anyway. What more can you do? So we drove back home quietly dejected, yet trying to get back in the Christmas mood. At home we found the kind of mess you'd expect from kids being home all day without mom and dad--not horrible, but still a mess that I really didn't want to deal with. We put on Christmas music, started cleaning up, worked on putting together all the the Young Women Christmas gifts for tomorrow, visited with the girls and their friends, and finally closed up the house for the night at 12:30 AM. As Steve and I lay in bed together and reviewed the day, we--meaning he--came up with a beautiful analogy: life is just like running a marathon, there can only be one person in front and there is, unfortunately, also one person who is last, but the majority of us are right in the middle. I think that means that, while I am running around trying to have Christmas cheer, or a clean house, or hoping/wanting my kids to do what they are asked to do, that I should not fall apart when it doesn't all come together the way that I think it should. We all just plug along at a steady pace as we work towards the finish line. Sometimes we pass people and sometimes they pass us, but that doesn't (or shouldn't) matter, as long as we keep moving forward. So, thank you sweet Steven, for once more being the voice of reasoning and calmness in my life. Thank you for bringing me back to where I need to be. I love you, you know.

This was a long, round about way to say that I totally understand Ebeneezer Scrooge. He forgot that we have to go steadily forward, doing the best we can, loving each other, forgiving each other. He needed someone to remind him of that (just like I did yesterday) Once he remembered his blessings and the people and experiences in his life that blessed him, he was able to refocus on what was important: the business of mankind.

Oh, and the $40? This morning when I woke up, I was still bugged by that, so I went through the receipts AGAIN and found that I had indeed miscalculated. I still have the same amount of money left that I had last night, but it is all accounted for. The universe is once again in alignment.

A Mordue Christmas

My daughter, Madi, wrote the following essay for school last year. I think she captured our Christmases quite accurately:

A Mordue Christmas

Christmas, for most people, is a time of peace and rest. Remembering, celebrating and enjoying family. Most times, when people think of Christmas, they think of a quiet, holiday dinner, sitting by the fire and drinking hot chocolate, maybe even reading their favorite Christmas story. That was before they met the Mordue family.
Every year, my whole entire extended family get together to spend Christmas Eve and morning as a family, often times sleeping at my grandparents house in Bountiful, Utah. This tradition began when my sisters and I were the only grandchildren. My dad is the oldest out of my grandmother’s six children. Since then, my dad’s siblings have started families of their own. Currently I have seventeen loud, young, rambunctious cousins of various ages, ranging between six months and ten years old. This year, our celebration will begin around 4:30pm on December 24, 2007. Over the next hour, my aunts, uncles and cousin spill in. My cousins run, yell, scream and jump; while my sisters and I, being the oldest out of the seventeen, set tables and help my grandfather carve the turkey, serve the jell-o and mash the potatoes. Although you’d think eating our feast would be relaxing, it is almost a struggle to make sure your plate is full and your appetite accommodated for. The next half hour is the only true un-stressful time of the night. The adults sit around and talk while the oldest cousins, including me, clear the table and the little kids watch “Cinder-ra-ra” or “The-Movie-With-the-Red-Car”.
After the dining room is cleaned up, we head downstairs and pile onto the multiple couches in front of the fire. We start to fight silently, waiting for someone to make the smallest of movements off the couch so we can steal their seat. Obviously, our silent battles become shouting matches and football tackles. Gradually, my grandfather moves the younger cousins out of the living room and into the hall to get them dressed and ready for our traditional nativity.
My grandmother dims the lights so we can only see the small manger by the glow of the fire. Then, surprisingly silent, they march into the room wearing bathrobes and animal hats. Chloe, decked out in shawls, walks into our makeshift “stable” with Isaac, who is engulfed in a flowery robe. They lay the baby doll in the manger and sit perfectly still. After that, the “shepherds” use yard sticks and heard the rest of the crew in. The scene before us is touching and my mother and Aunt Kim get teary eyed. My grandfather clears his throat and reads Luke: 2 from the bible. As soon as he reads “…And unto you this day, a child is born,” Emery as the angel of the Lord raises her arm and brings her wand down on the baby Jesus’ head with a crack and yells, “Poof!” Her dad, Josh, snorts while shortly after her mom, Suzette, hits him and the rest of us try to keep our Christmas spirit directed toward the stable. Slowly, grandfather finishes the Christmas story and tells us for the some-teenth time that night how much he loves the Bible Christmas story. Its time to begin our talent show!
First up is my dad. I stand to help him read and show the pictures of “The Night before Christmas” that he had saved from the fifth grade. Everyone claps and Soni, my aunt, sings a trio with my older sisters. The next half hour is filled with half-finished Christmas classics from Caleb, random notes on the piano from Ashley and Jake, and finally Layla stands to sing to us and it’s all I can do to not pee my pants. Every year Layla is a sheep in our nativity. About two years ago, her mom bought her a lamb sweater with a hood and ears. Today, it doesn’t fit, and her shoulders are hunched up so the hood will fit over her head.
We all fight to control our selves while Layla sings the ABC’s, and loudly claps when she finishes. The final talent of the evening is my South-African uncle who sings a Christmas Rap that he made up his first year with us. The last part of the evening is watching the movie of Luke: 2 and singing the First Noel. At long last, we pray and say our good-byes. My family leaves for our home, less than a half mile away, while the others stay, trying to sleep, despite their anticipation for Santa.
The next morning after we finish our immediate Christmas morning as a family, we drive back to my grandparent’s house for breakfast and gifts. We give to our cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. Even at seven in the morning, my cousins still act as though someone put Red Bull in their juice. At the end of our Mordue Family Christmas, my grandparents give us the big gift. Usually we get a trip to California to stay in a rented beach house, or a Cabin in Wyoming for a week. It may sound glamorous, but my whole extended family goes, which makes the trip one big, messy, chaotic party.

What will my family get this year?

"Shingle Bells...."

Last week, Madi complained about not feeling well, and then showed me a rash that was developing on her torso near her left shoulder. Steve immediately said, "I think it might be Shingles." Shingles?! Isn't that what OLD people get? The word "shingles" brings to mind visions of nursing homes and sterile health care facilities. I told her that we should just watch it, and that we would go to the dermatologist on Monday (today). Meanwhile, I jumped onto the Internet to look at pictures of different types of rashes, hoping that it might be something fairly harmless, but on Sunday when I looked at it, sure enough the rash had now exploded to the blister stage and looked very much like the pictures on the Internet of Shingles. After shuffling around some classes (Steve had to teach Sunday School and I needed to be there for Young Women), Steve took Madi to the InstaCare and sure enough, she had Shingles (yes, Steve, almighty and correct one, you were right...I should have listened to you two days ago). My poor baby. The doctor told her that as it healed, it would be very painful. She has gotten through one day so far, and while she says that it does hurt, it's not hurting so bad that she has felt a need for the pain meds that they sent home with her. She is even keeping a good sense 0f humor about her, and was not in the least offended when Markelle started singing, "Shingle Bells, shingle bells..."