Signs of Summer

As summer waits in the wings, there are a few things to signal its coming every year. BYU students leave and Provo becomes a ghost town. The schools start having their highly anticipated carnivals, field days, and end-of-year activities. And around here, the local park becomes a river, tempting all the local children to brave the freezing waters rushing down from the snow-capped mountains. It's a limited-time offer, so you have to take advantage before it's gone. But it is a test of will power and endurance for the tiny tots. Who can brave the chill the longest?

Broken Nose?

So, we're not entirely sure, but we think there is a good chance that Fisher broke his nose over the weekend. He pulled an end table over on top of himself and it landed square on his nose. I wasn't there to witness it, but Dan said there was blood everywhere! And the immediate swelling and bruising are usually a tell-tale sign. When I first saw him, I thought, "Oh no, he'll look like Jimmy Durante for the rest of his life!" Fortunately, however, he is looking pretty normal again. With this potentially being the third broken bone for my kids (the second for Fisher), I must reassure everyone that I really am an attentive parent, despite all evidence to the contrary.

The Fun Run

I didn't attend Rock Canyon Elementary School myself, so I originally thought the Fun Run was just that: a fun run. Oh, how naive I am! Last year I learned that it is actually a two-mile competitive race including cheering parents (and of course, the ones dragging their kids crying, kicking and screaming across the finish line.) There is a school assembly including medals, podiums, the whole nine yards! It is a big ta-doo in the community, and it's a great thing to watch. Taylor took fourth place in her grade this year and last. We are very proud of our little jack rabbit. Dan has run with her both years and more than anything, it's a great bonding experience for them.

Rite of Passage

One of the great rites of passage in childhood is learning to ride a bike. Yesterday was the watershed event for Loryn and it was a great day. She was incredibly proud of herself, and it was thrilling for me to be the one to share it with her. Dan taught Taylor, but I got the honors with Loryn. Definitely, one of the real rewards of motherhood. She was pretty amazing actually. It only took a couple of tries before she was off and sailing! She called everyone she knew to spread the good news. She’s a little tentative and nervous, but she is getting better and better.

Quincy and Fisher cheered us on from the sidelines. They were wonderful and patient cheerleaders.

Happy Mothers Day to All!

In honor of Mother’s Day I’d like to pay homage to the amazing women that have truly made me what I am. I have been blessed to be surrounded by myriad strong and lovely women throughout my life. The first and most revered, of course, being my mother.
And while no one could compete for the place in my heart for my mother, there have been hundreds of genuinely good women in my life.

You know who they are: the women you emulate, envy, and ultimately embrace as your heroes. From the pictures of seeming perfection to those who are honest in their struggles, I give heartfelt thanks to my own community of remarkable women. The grandmas, “surrogate” mothers, best friends, new friends, cousins, aunts, sisters of all degrees, neighbors, teachers, and the many objects of hero worship. Thank you and God bless you all. And Happy Mother’s Day, because whether you actually are a mother or not, you have been one to me.

Ode to My Mother

Every time Mother’s Day rolls around, I am glad to have a mother I can reflect upon with fond memories and genuine respect. I realize that many have not been equally blessed. All great mothers have the obvious things in common: they love us unconditionally, they would sacrifice anything for us, they gave us life, etc. And while those things are definitely the most paramount (and by no means small potatoes), they are not particularly unique.

The things that make my mom uniquely mine are (in no particular order): her color-coded and seasonally organized closet, her attention to detail and hyper-organization, her ability to remember and celebrate all holidays and special occasions with some thoughtful gesture, and her ability to see potential and promise in everyone. She is consummately classic and feminine, a veritable picture torn from the pages of Ann Taylor. But she’s never shied away from getting dirt under her fingernails. The woman is a workhorse, for lack of a better word.

In fact, as I was working in the yard yesterday, I was thinking to myself. My mom taught me how to do this. And lo and behold, within minutes, she was there at my side, instructing Taylor in the art of weeding. I’ve tormented her for being a cheerleader, but she is a warrior. She has met and overcome challenges and circumstances that many will never know. I’ve chided her clothing choices, her haircuts, and makeup techniques. But that’s simply because I’m her daughter, and I’m trying to compensate for the fact that she is continuously mistaken for my sister! I’ve mocked the way she talks to everyone like a first grader, but there’s no doubt it’s effective. Once Dooner teaches you something, you don’t forget it. A vast majority of Provo students will admit that her long-division dance is still embedded in their brains.

The mother-daughter relationship is a delicate and complex intricacy. But ultimately, in spite of and because of it all, my mother is my beautiful hero. I continuously fail at acknowledging or expressing it, but it is bespoken in everything I do and everything I am. And so I join with the hallowed words of Abraham Lincoln, “All that I am or hope to become I owe to my angel mother.”

Junior High: The Armpit of Life

My house is conveniently situated in the pathway between the middle school and several other adjoining neighborhoods. So at 3:00, I watch throngs of newly crowned teenagers walk by my house. The insecurity and angst we all felt at their age is so glaringly apparent, it’s all I can do to keep from running out, throwing my arms around them, and assuring them that it will be better someday. I was lucky enough not to realize it at the time, but junior high is quite possibly the worst, most awkward, and difficult time of life to navigate.

The mere prospect of having to send my own children someday literally turns my stomach. Its like sending sheep to the lion’s den, in my opinion. And yet, perhaps it is a necessary evil for social success. Maybe it’s like New York City, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.

Ode to Fisher

Frogs and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails. That’s what little boys are made of. Fisher is, and will be likely always be, the only little boy in our house. And every day is a new adventure in boyhood. This vintage Ford tractor has stood still in back of our house as long as we've lived here.

Until now, it has done nothing more than attract rust and birds. It now daily attracts the attention of my 100% genuine boy, Fisher. He has learned to say the word “tractor” this week and frequently looks out the window just to make sure it’s still there. You’ll also notice the fire station in the background. It’s just a block from our house and with each blare of the siren, Fisher runs to the window and demands to “see.”

Having a little boy has been an absolute revelation. Fisher was hard-wired to be a boy, that’s for sure. Like a moth to a flame is my Fisher drawn to every ball, bug, truck and tool within a mile radius. It’s a beautiful thing, especially for his dad.

What Dessert are You?

I have never taken one of those annoying quizzes on Facebook that ask, "What city are you?" or "What movie star are you?" or even "What 90210 character are you" or the like. Maybe you have and more power to you. But I've got a new one for you. What dessert are you?

My husband loves vanilla soft serve ice cream. Of all the desserts in the world, however decadent or gourmet, he prefers plain old vanilla soft serve above all. As he was extolling its virtues the other day, I had a moment of personal clarity--an epiphany, if you will. I am vanilla soft serve ice cream.

Do you remember the dessert discussion in My Best Friend’s Wedding? Cameron Diaz is crème brulee and Julia Roberts is jell-o? Well, apparently, I am vanilla soft-serve. It all makes sense now. Not overly sweet or sour, not colorful or flamboyant, not loud or confrontational or dramatic. I have never been particularly adventurous, spontaneous, or unexpected. But, to my credit, I am comfortable, consistent, and predictable—even keeled, easy to swallow. So, there you have it, I have eliminated any need to further explain myself or to launch into any introspective analysis. I am vanilla soft-serve. And either like or you don’t.

Ode to Taylor

It’s not a good picture, but it encapsulates everything that I love about my little girl and, as she grows, this image will remain emblazoned in my memory: a little girl, all alone in the goal box, shivering in the pouring rain. Taylor plays on a soccer team with girls two years older than she is, and she is the youngest in her class at school, but it never comes up much in discussion. She silently (or obliviously) accepts the challenge and rises to it. She has always been quietly tenacious, unassumingly dogged, in her pursuits.

My little girl never quits, and her persistence has taught me volumes. I remember the time her eyes welled with tears as she tried to conquer jump-roping. But she practiced for hours. And then she got it. Only then did she venture out of her room to share her new talent with others.

She learned to read at an early age, which is absolutely no credit to me. She just decided that she wanted to do it, and she didn’t stop until she had mastered it. She used to tell me she was going to play “school.” Only later did I realize she was painstakingly copying books, word for word, in her own scribbled hand. She read everything she could lay her eyes on. She wrote and wrote and wrote, on every empty surface (much to my chagrin at the time).

That is my Taylor in a nutshell. I have therefore concluded that, left to her own devices, she will be a superstar. My only job is to get out of the way and let her go.