Happy Housefuls

These four have had a lot of fun over the years. A lot. We're excellent multi-taskers. We can talk, laugh,  eat, cry, validate each other, and make inappropriate jokes all at the same time.

We spent the weekend together at our place with all of our kids (for a grand total of nine) and today the house feels strangely empty without them here. Usually when they come to visit, they accidentally leave an article of clothing. I was really jonesing for Becky to accidentally leave that gorgeous orange coat, but I can't find it anywhere.

We had a great time riding roller coasters, eating deep fried everything, watching movies, roasting marshmallows, and staying up too late. In other words, we had lots of fun. Lots of multi-tasking fun.

When I was young, I thought I'd have a bunch of kids just like my mom. Turns out, I only had two kids but a bunch of visitors, which means that I have a bustling houseful of people...on occasion. It suits me well, I think. It's a nice balance.

Sharing

I think I will look back on this period of my life as The Time People Felt Bad For Me Because of How Badly I Felt For Other People. And I think that my lack of writing very much has to do with the fact that a lot of the stuff I have been feeling bad about is not really mine to write about, but I also think I've been playing editor with this quirky online history of me. You know, if I don't write about it, it didn't happen!

And in 2278, when my online works are being studied by college students in space, they will write term papers hypothesizing the lack of content in late 2010 and early 2011 on this blog. Most of them will attribute this to there being a constant stream of the Real Housewives of Anywhere on TV. And they would only be partially wrong. (I'm two tablespoons deeper than that.)

So, I am going to tell you something sad that I have been feeling bad about.

I got a text from my friend Alyssa last week, telling me she had some heavy news and would rather tell me on the phone than by text or email. My stomach dropped a little. In the 45 seconds it took between that text and us talking on the phone, I considered a couple of possibilities. Maybe she lost her job? Maybe her dad is sick?

I never in a million years would have predicted that my healthy, active, globe-trotting, smart and sassy friend would tell me that she has breast cancer. She's thirty-five.

And then I said something supremely stupid: "Are you kidding me?" What, because people are always pranking each other with cancer scares? Duh. I immediately wanted to rewind and say something more appropriate, like, "Oh shit." (Which is a special word I save for such occasions.)

And then, in the course of our 30-minute conversation, she explained in calm collectedness how all of this began (with a lump found by her doctor), what she knew about her prognosis, what her plans were regarding treatment, how she'd spent the days between the biopsy and results reading and not-sleeping and gearing herself up for the monumental fight she knew-but-didn't-know was coming. As if to balance out her calm collectedness, I spent the half-hour with tears streaming down my face, choking on the news.

I invited her to come and stay with us for the weekend, and in the only act of emotionally-impaired decision-making I've witnessed thus far, she agreed to come.

I tried to pull my crap together before she arrived and did okay. We had a really nice weekend, one I'll remember forever. I'll especially remember how I've never seen anybody cope with bad news with such a level head and sense of humor. Even if she falls apart later on and becomes a slobbering, whining fool, she will always have five trillion bonus points for the grace and composure she is exhibiting in the moment. (And I'm keeping score, Cancer!) In fact, on that subject, our household psychologist Ryan made a point to tell her that she's been amazing to be around, but that we still want to be around when she's not so amazing. Amen to that.

We sent her home on the train and into the arms of appointments, doctors, consultations, and other scary realities waiting for her this week. In an act of courageous proactivity, she had her hair cut short (anticipating the chemo) and ended up with the sauciest hairdo I've seen in some time. Best cancer makeover ever. Of course, she sent her long, dark hair to Locks of Love. (Is she secretly trying to become the Oprah finale, I wonder? Will the tear-jerking amazing-ness never end?)

Alyssa said something interesting to me while she was here. As she has shared her news with other people, the burden of it felt lighter, she said. I've always known that in theory, but it was amazing to see it happen with my own eyes. The sharing of burdens really does make them possible to carry.

Guess who needs to learn that lesson? Yup, that's me looking sheepish.

So, I'm writing this here. I'm telling you that I'm feeling bad. Sad, but hopeful. Sad for my friend and for many of my loved ones fighting scary fights and unknown outcomes. But, yes, hopeful. Because I can't help it. People are amazing. I should know, I'm surrounded by them. And that includes you.

(You could and should keep up with Alyssa's story. She's making a triumphant return to blogging.)

A Ringing Endorsement

These are my friends Annie and Dan.

They are ready to be parents.

Guess what kind of parents they will be?

The best kind.

The kind that will read story books every night before bed.

The kind that will keep track of teeth brushing, fingernail clipping, and vegetable intake.

The kind that will say no when you should say no, and yes when you should say yes.

The kind that will surround their kids with loving cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents.

The kind that will make sure their kids never stay up or out too late (unless there's a really good reason).

The kind that will make birthdays and holidays and even normal days special.

The kind that will check for monsters under the bed and witches in the closet every night, if needed.

The kind that will wipe noses, clean up puke, and pull all-nighters when the occasion calls.

The kind that will give their kids tedious chores that they won't appreciate until adulthood.

The kind that will continue to buy Legos even after they step on a few strays 

left in the middle of the floor.

The kind that will gladly attend parent teacher conference and back to school night
and PTA meeting and soccer practice and piano recitals and fund raiser meetings 

and even a few blood-curdling tween concerts.

The kind that will be good examples of hard work and a strong marriage.

The kind that will answer all the tough questions as best they can, 

and admit when they don't know any more.

The kind that will smile and laugh at lame-o first grade jokes.

The kind that will give pep talks, hugs, and unsolicited advice,
no matter how many times the eyes roll.

The kind that any kid would be exceptionally lucky to have.

The kind our world needs more of.

Annie and Dan are adoptive parents, waiting for a miracle. 

I am their friend who is happy to share their story.

You  know, because.

Because maybe you know someone.

Or maybe you know of someone.

Or maybe you will know someone.

Someone who isn't able to care for a child.

Someone who is looking for a solution to a heart-wrenching problem.

And maybe you will think, Hey! I think I know who could help.

And maybe you will remember Annie and Dan.

They even have a website with more of their information.

Check it out.

Spread the word, if you like.

Hug your kids.

And keep my friends in the back of your mind.

Love for Millie

My brother Jesse, the musician, wrote a beautiful song for some friends of his whose little daughter, Millie, is battling leukemia.

Jesse wrote about the song on his blog. He said, "I had been wanting to do something special for their family, and had toyed with the idea of recording a song for her. I tried to think of the message I would want [my daughter] to hear if she were in the same situation."

You should listen to the song here, and then you should send up some happy thoughts and prayers for Millie. Then you should hug your kids.

MILLIE

Close your eyes, think of what you'll be
And everywhere you'll go and what you'll see.
A cowgirl on the range, or an astronaut in space,
Or a mommy with a babe, or all of these.

Millie Millie no matter what you do
We'll be right by your side
To share it all with you.
Millie Millie look around you'll see
Nothing but faith and hope from friends and family.
You're gonna fight fight fight 'till the sun goes down
Fight fight fight for the whole year round
You're gone smile and hope and believe.

What is red if we have no green?
The blue without the orange means nothing.
The shadows violet haze
Cast from the burning golden rays.
How can you pick a favorite one
From all you've seen?

Millie Millie you'll always have a friend
Someone to pick you up and dust you off again.
Millie Millie look around you'll see
Nothing but faith and hope from friends and family.

(Chorus)

Tilt your head, look up to the sky
And in the starry night you'll see a satellite.
And you can touch it with your eyes,
And you can wish inside your heart,
And it will be your shooting star every night.

I Miss Them More Than They Miss Me

Confession: I miss some of my favorite eating places in Utah as much as I miss some of my favorite people in Utah. I know that sounds shallow, but if you understood how much I love food, you'd know that was a sincere and lavish compliment to the people I love there.

Another confession: I had a secret desire to eat at all of my favorite places in the 55 hours I spent there last week. I guess I knew it wasn't practical, but still--I had hope. In a perfect world, I would have eaten my favorite dishes at the following places and then rolled on to the plane, blissfully bountifully bloated.

One of my first stops would be Cafe Trio and I would order the Garlic Chicken Pizza. And a house salad. And the Spaghetti Pomodoro. And I would draw on the paper tablecloth with my pen while I waited.

At Greek Souvlaki, I would order the Chicken Pita with white and red sauce, along with their divine lemon rice and a big Diet Dr. Pepper.

I would have made my way to Thai Siam for a lunch special with yellow curry. Or green curry. Or Massaman curry. Or all three. Because, you know, I'm only in town for a little bit.

I would only order water to drink at Tsunami, because I would need room in my tummy for the 21 Sunshine Rolls I would order. One for every month I've been gone. It's symbolic. I don't expect you to understand.

I would cleanse my palate with some Split Pea Soup from The Soup Kitchen and 24 breadsticks.

I'd make my way to Thaifoon and have some Mango Chicken and some Evil Jungle Princess.

At Morelia, I would nibble my pebble ice and wait anxiously for my Chile Verde and Bean Burrito. And I would savor the pickled beet garnish on the plate and eat yours if you don't want it.

I would sit in a vinyl booth at El Farol and order a giant platter of Bean Dip, because it's the best. And then I would order a pint of refried beans to carry on to the plane with me.

I didn't think I would miss Spaghetti Factory, but I do. I would order a Manager's Special--half meat sauce and half myzthra cheese.

How could I leave without a trip to Ab's drive thru for a Blackberry Banana shake? I couldn't. And while I'm at it, I'd order some onion rings. With fry sauce.

And then I would wonder if the fry sauce at Arctic Circle still tastes the same, so I would have to find out for myself. With a large side of fries.

I would end things on a light note and visit Yogurt Stop. I would concoct Christian's favorite and fill my cup with vanilla yogurt topped with hot fudge, cookie dough, Oreos, and Andes mints. (Srsly.) (Although, rumor has it that I'm going to have a new favorite yogurt place in town.)

If you live in Utah, will you please eat at one or all of these places? And tell them it's from me? Please, oh, please?

Breaking Bread

We celebrated Rosh Hashanah last weekend with our Jewish friends Steve and Nancy and their two daughters.  Earlier in the week Nancy realized that her family wouldn't be able to make it to their regular service at synagogue.  They were going to have their own ceremony, she explained, and wouldn't we--the Mormons--like to join them?

"Of course," I said.  It made perfect sense.

When the day arrived, we drove to meet their family down by the neighborhood lake.  In the privacy of our own car, I tried to explain the ceremony to my family and begged them (particularly Max and Ryan) to refrain from silliness, to try and be thoughtful and respectful.  After all, I explained, it isn't every day we celebrate the Jewish new year.

We went down to the lake and stood on a small bridge; it was important to find a spot where the water was moving.  Nancy explained the tradition to us: the new year is about seeking forgiveness from those we have hurt or offended, giving up our sins, and promising God a new and improved version of ourselves in the coming year.  We then break pieces of bread and toss them into the water, giving each one the name of a sin we pledge to forsake this year.  The water then carries them away.  Kind of a beautiful thought, huh?

Before we got started, Nancy turned to me and said, "The most important part of this tradition is the part where we ask forgiveness from others.  So, I'm sorry if I've been a pain in the ass to you at any point over the last year."

I laughed.  "Likewise," I said.

We turned and faced the water.  Nancy tore a piece of bread and threw it as she exclaimed, "Impatience!"

I was still holding my piece of bread, trying to decide how to organize my sins--alphabetically?  Or in order of most grievous?

"Impatience!  Impatience!  Impatience!  Impatience!" she rattled off, a small tear of bread for each one.

I already felt behind.  I tore a piece and tossed it.  "Financial stupidity," I said.

"Good one," Nancy said.  "I'm going to use that one too.  Financial stupidity!" She threw another piece in.

And then it was as if the floodgates opened, the sins lined up in orderly rows for each of us, anxious to be announced and airborne.  We all stood there, tossing our sins over the edge, one after another after another, and watched them pool in the slow-moving water below.

"My temper," someone said.
"Expecting too much of others," said someone else.
"Breaking someone's toy," said a voice that sounded like Max.
"Jumping to conclusions."
"Not being present."
"Not listening."
"Making a big deal out of small things."
"Not doing things the first time I'm asked."
"Not taking enough time for my spirituality."
"Being too hard on myself."
"Being too hard on others."
"Fighting with my sister."
"Making fun of my brother."
"Hitting my sister with a piece of bread." (Those Jews are hilarious.)
"Gossip."
"Not reaching for my potential."
"Hurting other's feelings."
"Being too sarcastic."
"Wanting what I don't have."
"Obsessing about things I want."
"Procrastination."
"Not enough exercise."
"Not listening to my kids." (I think this one got an "Amen.")
The lists went on.

Sometime around the point when my piece of bread was nearing vanish, Max came next to me, urgent to get another piece of bread.  He hadn't been standing by me, and I hadn't been paying close attention to him.  I was too caught up in casting away my many sins, I guess.  He took a stale roll and tore a piece.  He flung it out into the water and yelled, "Recycle!" and then tore another piece and shouted, "Be good at school and don't get in trouble for talking too loud."

I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he tossed piece after piece, shouting each statement with gusto.

"Love Jesus!" (This made the Jews laugh.)

"Be nice to America!"

"Don't yell at your mom!"

"When you meet a new kid, go up and say, 'Hi! What's your name?'"

"Don't lock your bedroom door ever again!" (His only real sin of the day.  I'd spent an hour dissecting his doorknob.)

"Pray!"

"Don't break your brother's toys!"

"Be nice to Barack Obama!" (I guess he's been reading my mom's emails.)

"Eat good food for your body!"

"Love someone in the heart!" (That's the maximum amount of love, according to him.)

He went on and on, until the stale little roll was gone and a scatter of little crumbs sat at his feet.  I was wearing sunglasses; they hid my big, fat tears.  I hadn't expected him, a six-year-old, to be so.....introspective.  He seemed to be so careful and thoughtful about this, and his observations were so universal.  I should have thrown another piece of bread and said, "Not giving Max enough credit."

But all the bread was gone.

We stood around for a few minutes.  We thanked them for inviting us and walked back to our cars.  I felt a little lighter, a little sober, more committed to a better new year.  I looked at myself, my husband, my children, my friends, with new eyes.  I thanked God for an unexpected spiritual moment.

And as our bread crumbs slowly made their way down the stream to disintegrate and dissolve into the memories of last year, we continued our celebration of Rosh Hashanah by going out for Chinese food all together.  It made perfect sense.

'Cause You Gotta Have Friends

I dropped our friends Erik and Becky off at the airport this morning after a wonderful few days together touring Washington DC and hanging out in our 'hood as only the Awesome Foursome can.

Talk, talk, talk, eat, eat, eat, see, see, see.  Rinse and repeat.  

One of the things I loved about having them here was creating memories with them in our favorite places, sharing some of our "new" world with our "old" friends.  That way, the next time we visit the place, we'll have a memory of them there and they don't seem quite so far away.

Interestingly enough, most of those "favorite places" are places to eat.  Go figure.

It's always nice when you meet your blogging friends and they don't turn out to be axe murderers

One of the highlights of my trip to Utah was the night I met up for an almost-didn't-happen-but-thankfully-did dinner with two of my favorite daily reads, Kami and Mindi.  My days just wouldn't be the same without either of these bloggers and their unique points of view.

I would not be surprised to learn someday that Kami is part Disney.  The girl is uber-talented, beautiful, thoughtful, assertive (she directed a perfect stranger to take 27 pictures of us), and would likely get along well with royalty, woodland creatures and dwarves alike.  She inspires me with her incredible design, photography, and do-it-yourself skills.  But most of all, she's really fun to hang out with.  (She also taught me about using Picnik, which has lead to my current obsession.  Can't you tell?)

Mindi--equally beautiful and thoughtful--is hilarious and exudes a cool factor in the 99th percentile, even though she recently admitted to using a refill mug.  And let's talk a minute about her generous streak, okay?  She tipped our waitress VERY amply and also offered to set me and Ryan up in a hotel room for the night, though I had to regretfully decline.  (Ryan and me alone in a hotel room?  What would my parents think?!)  I rely on Mindi's blog to keep me apprised of all things current, cool, and quirky.  Her sense of humor is unmatched.  

Time really flew by and before we knew it, the restaurant employees were locking the doors, mopping the floors, and wondering if the three ladies in the booth would ever shut up.  (The answer: no.)  We talked about so many things, not the least of which was blogging and how each of us has evolved in our relationship with this strange new medium of self-expression.  

It was a great night.  Thanks again, ladies!