Best Friends Forever

Rosie Simmons was my first best friend, though it wouldn't surprise me if I wasn't hers. I don't remember meeting her, which is pretty great because it means I don't remember a life without Rosie. 

Rosie was the first person to commission me as piano accompanist (4th grade talent show). She was the one who begged my mom to let me pierce my ears. The guest invited to watch My Girl in the theater and sleep over for my 11th birthday. The first person I told when I found out Mrs. Casdorph would be moving up to 6th grade with us. Rosie invited me to try out for my first community theater production, introduced me to Ace of Bass, gave me her hand-me-down designer label jeans, and remains the only person with whom I ever owned a split-heart best friends necklace.

Rosie and I were something else.  First, she was a full foot taller than me.  Each time I watch the tiniest girl in my 5th grade class at NPA walking alongside one of the tallest, I think of me and Rosie.  While we were vastly different in height, it was our quirky personalities that seemed to match so well.  

Many of my recesses were spent in a far corner of the field with Rosie, making what I think we called "potpourri pockets."  Or maybe "pouches."  I can't quite recall.  This consisted of two large leaves from the corner tree, gentle stitched together with fresh pine needles.  We would then stuff these pouches/pockets full of natural bits of whatever.  Grass.  Other leaves.  Stuff that, according to us, smelled good.  There was probably a hundred kids on the playground.  And two best friends, sitting under a tree, sewing with pine needles.

It wasn't always so nice, though.  Fourth grade brought the Epic Jinx Battle of 1991.  I remember it like it was yesterday.

Challenger had this awesome play structure made entirely of metal.  It was monkey bars, but so much more.  The sides were like large ladders, and opposite the monkey bars were the gymnastics bars.  Parallel bars, two high bars, and a lower bar.  If we weren't busy sewing, Rosie and I could frequently be found playing my favorite of elementary sports: bar tag.  Sometimes, I think I still have the callouses I worked up through hours of flipping and swinging.

One particular recess, Rosie and I were playing bar tag with some friends when we said the exact same thing at the same time.  "Jinx!" we both shouted.  And then came the battle.

"I said it first..."

"No, I said it first..."

While the details are hazy, I do remember this argument lasting days, and at one point I took off my BFF necklace and gave it back to her.  I remember the argument continuing on into the classroom, and our teacher, Mr. Gagnier, sending us back outside to hash it out.  I remember tears.  And finally, reconciliation.  It was literally the biggest fight I have ever had with a friend.  This I think of each time a student at school says, "Jinx."  

Although by 6th grade we'd each acquired a new official BFF (Shayla Billings for me and Courtney Jenne for her), we've been a part of each other's lives ever since.  Rosie and I made Madrigals at Alta High School together, a dream we'd shared since the group had performed assemblies at our elementary. We sang together in what we called our trio (the two of us plus Katie Baird), most notably singing "Breaking Up is Hard to Do" at the talent assembly. Rosie attended not only my wedding reception but the receptions of both of my sisters and made sure to buy a seat in the audience each time I have played a major role. She returned to the stage a few years ago, and we got to perform Joseph together - for the second time in our lives.

If I thought hard enough, I would likely discover that Rosie has been a part of 75% of my life. So when I got to go to her recent baby shower, I wasn't surprised to see people I knew from elementary, from theater, and from high school. As Rosie put it, "I don't really have family, so I keep up with my friendships."

As she patiently awaits the birth of her baby boy, she is preparing to have a huge impact on a new little life.  But what she may not realize is what an impact she has already had on mine.

TBT - Stories Behind the Pictures 02.13

Thanks to a series of unfortunate events occurring more or less at the same time, much of 2013 is in danger of being lost to me.

{the series}

• I was over scheduled and consequently not blogging much.
• My computer was stolen in September (and I lost about a year's worth of pictures).
• Kirk didn't have his phone's pictures backed up, and he didn't think to transfer them when he got a new phone in November.

But the silver lining lies in the simple fact that I had, at least, discovered Instagram.

Each time I would snap a quick picture and distribute it to the masses via the easy platform, I felt guilty.  There was a story behind the picture.  One I should have been telling using WAY too many words, as is my style.  But I clicked and cropped and published and hurried on.

Now I'm glad I did. 

Here is a more permanent archival of all things February 2013.

Original Post: I really needed this surprise this morning. Thanks, hon!  Kirk and I aren't particularly romantic.  You'll find no grand February, anniversary, or birthday gestures at our house, and that is how we like it.  In fact, as we watched several of our friends end up disappointed as Valentines came and went, I was once again grateful to have been proposed to over ramen noodles.  I knew what I was getting into, and Kirk knew that when I say, "I really don't need anything," that isn't code for, "Please go overboard in trying to come up with some extravagant holiday plan."  In looking back on last February's post, I am happy to see evidence of our simple ways.  A sticky note stealthily added to my computer screen at home so I would see it at work.  Perfect. I love you, too, babe!!

Original Post: Reasons why it is hard to date a 5 year old.  This has apparently become a February tradition, considering I recently posted a nearly identical picture of Dylan asleep on the way to the same theater.  Part of my gig with the UTBA has become that I'm a bit of a resident Young Audiences reviewer.  It works out perfectly, because I get to take my Young Audience members to see the show.  The boys have come to look forward to our "dates," and I've discovered that it's actually a great genre of theater.  The theaters who are doing it have money to put into the productions, so the production quality is high.  I've yet to hear an out of tune lead or microphone issues at these productions, and honestly, I have the attention span of a 6 year old, so the shorter shows are perfect for me, too!

Original Post: Showing off his reading skills to Grandma (and providing little brother with some storytime).  One of the magical things about Kindergarten is the world that becomes available when you learn to read.  Alex took to it more quickly than Adam did, which wasn't really surprising since he was always the one more likely to grab a book and snuggle with Grandma.  I am grateful for a family that will drop everything to read to my kids (or in this case, to be read to).  It's also interesting to look back at what kind of a book Alex was reading a year ago.  Now, he reads each morning - with relative ease - from the Book of Mormon.

Original Post: You may think this says, "Wo, wo." But in tonight's scripture study, we shared much giggling after Adam read, "Woo, woo unto Jerusalem..."  Speaking of reading from the scriptures, that is a habit we tried to start last February (it didn't take).  I actually remember as a kid reading our scriptures in the car as a family on the way to school.  One morning, Lisa mispronounced "Amulek" as "Alma-Yuck," which - to this day - I giggle about silently whenever someone mentions the correct pronunciation.  Well, "Woo, woo," has definitely become my family's "Alma-Yuck," as the kids now giggle every time one of them has to read the word "Wo" in the scriptures.  Think about it.  That's a lot of giggling.


Original Post: I am computing over the vent (on fan) again with the intent to keep my computer from overheating while I ask it to do the equivalent (according to a troubleshooting forum) of conducting an orchestra with a baton and - with that same hand - playing a fiddle. Come on, computer... you can do it!  Ah, the cursed Values Assembly.  When February rolls around, I get a little extra stressed as the audio-visual end of a major school assembly falls to me.  Thanks to the great programs available from Adobe (and a husband who finances my hobbies), I am able to mix the music and video to create some pretty cool stuff.  But my former computer (the one now stolen) just couldn't handle it.  I am glad I finally gave up on HP.

Original Post: Watching Alex double check the pictures to verify his read-aloud comprehension just makes me beam with pride. Each kid has different talents, and reading is one of his!  Another book!  It is plain to see what I was excited about last February.  Now I'm excited to see the big brothers passing along this love of reading to Dylan.  Last night, I had to delay bedtime by 15 minutes, because I found all three boys huddled together around a book.  Sleep is important, but I am a firm believer that a love of reading often comes from watching the examples of others.  Well done, Big Brother and Tiny Brother (Dylan never uses their names) for teaching Dylan that books are fun.

Original Post: Bob. More about him very soon at fifefamilyevents.blogspot.com  I actually followed through and introduced Bob to the world.  So all that is needed now is a Bob update.  Sadly, we don't see much of Bob anymore, but when we do, he is frequently accompanied by his newer buddies, Hank, and Baby Bob.  In reality, Bob is the reason I blog, because if I didn't take a picture and write it down, I would forget the specific stages involved as my kids turn into real humans.  I am grateful to have at least one picture of what was a really big deal in Dylan's life for awhile.  Hopefully when the next "Bob" moment comes along, I'll be ready with pen and camera in hand.

Original Post: Why yes, I do have the best mother-in-law ever. Two tickets to a touring Broadway production plus some cash for goodies! Thanks, Mom!  I took Michelle with me to the show, and unfortunately, we didn't really end up enjoying it.  For people who enjoy the style of music, it was probably great, but we both got pretty bored even before intermission.  However, it was fun to see the touring Broadway level production quality, particularly the amazing effects that can be accomplished when money doesn't appear to be an issue.  Someday, I would love to have season tickets to a theater like Capitol so I could love or hate really expensive productions.

Original Post: Breakfast in the car got a whole lot more practical when Alex informed me of a secret compartment for cups. Who knew?  Want to know the best part about this picture?  Today, I re-discovered that my car has a secret compartment for cups.  Want to know how many times I've used them in the last year?  None!  That's the best part about having a terrible memory; I get to discover exciting things over and over and over again.  A year from now, I'll probably read this post, see this picture, and think, "Oh yeah!  My car has a secret compartment for cups!"  It also means that Amy gets to tease me when I don't recognize the name of a major character - two weeks after book club, and that Kevin has to prove to me - with photo evidence - that I've played a certain game at his house.

It's not the essay I would have originally written about each picture.  I've lost the opportunity for back story, for context, for nuance.  But thanks to Instagram, I haven't lost the memories.

An Alexland Theory

I remember being worried that the structure of school might cause Alex's imagination to fade as he learned to supply expected answers.  If the little boy I found talking to his hangers yesterday is any indication, Alex is well into first grade with Alexland still holding strong.  Actually, carrying out full conversations with inanimate objects (which of course talk back to Alex and to each other) is one of Al's strengths.  He frequently reminds us of Fred Randall, from what is quite possibly my favorite movie of all time:




If someone were to ask me to list Alex's strongest qualities, the list would look something like this:

• Imagination
• Charm
• Charisma

People flock to Alex.  I hear Alex stories almost daily at work.  So I was quite surprised to experience a very different Alex story for myself.

Each Tuesday and Thursday I get to end my workday by teaching music to my own sons.  Alex's first grade class attends music from 1:10 to 1:30, followed by Adam's third grade class from 1:30 to 1:55.  Although I love teaching each of my 350 students, I am particularly partial to two particular Fife boys.  

Yesterday, I taught Alex's class an old African-American song called "John the Rabbit."  It's a fun little song about a rabbit with a particularly annoying habit of jumping in the garden.  We had discussed bad habits and their consequences, and I had taught the easy lyrics and repetitive medley.  Wanting to allow the students an opportunity to get out some wiggles in a creative way, I invited the students to stand and act out the story of the song, which includes the phrase "Yes, Sir," at the end of each two-measure phrase.  I encouraged the kids to choose an action to do each time they sang "Yes, Sir," and then fill in the rest of the story if they wanted.

I watched as 25 children wiggled and danced and giggled and sang and looked quite delighted to participate in a physical and creative way.  But as I scanned the classroom, I saw a very sad little boy who looked overwhelmed, confused and reluctant all at the same time.  My Alex was not moving a muscle!  

I scanned the room again; maybe he was not the only student who didn't find the activity fun.  When my eyes rested again on the sullen face of my typically vivacious son, I had confirmation that he truly was the only kid not participating.  I knelt near him and suggested a few "Yes, Sir" actions, each of which prompted only a negative shake of the head and brought Alex nearer to tears.

"I just can't think of something," he said, clearly frustrated.

Suddenly, I remembered an experience from Kindergarten.  His teacher had come to me with an example of Alex's incomplete journal.  Each day he had been asked to finish an open-ended prompt.  Yesterday, at lunch I _________________________________.  Something that makes me really excited is ___________________________________.  His teachers assumed his pretty constant lack of focus was prohibiting him from completing this independent work.  They had kept him in from recess to complete his prompts, and some days he had been late to art.  Nothing seemed to motivate Alex to finish this assignment during the allotted time.

After some investigation, I discovered it was neither obstinate behavior nor lack of focus that kept Alex from completing the sentences.  Rather, his huge imagination made the realm of possibilities so vast that he couldn't pick one.  While other students quickly settled on a finishing phrase, Alex sat, becoming more and more frustrated with his inability to settle on the perfect answer.

In Kindergarten, I fixed this by practicing with Alex in the car.  We would give him open ended statements and help him understand that it was even okay to make up an answer!  Soon he could confidently finish the prompts.

As I watched Alex's frustration grow, I remembered this experience.  He wasn't okay with just doing something, as I had suggested. He wanted something epic, and he just couldn't pick!  

I went back to the drawing board, ignoring the boring suggestions I'd given to clap his hands or salute.  Everyone else was already doing that.  Instead, I offered the sorts of solutions I figured Alex would eventually come up with: jumping twice (turning 180 degrees with each jump) and a large, silly, full body motion somewhat akin to a jumping jack.  Then I told him to pick one of those two options.  

He gave in, choosing the 360 turn.  Soon, the whole class was jumping, and that was okay with me.  Alex had joined the fun.  It didn't take long for him to stop thinking so hard about coming up with creative things to do and to just start doing them.  Instead of being the only kid not participating, he was the only kid lying on the ground at the suggestion of the cabbage being cut down.

How interesting that my intensely imaginative son has a really hard time being creative on demand.  How interesting that the seemingly simple request of a music teacher can send him into near tears.  How interesting that I witnessed, firsthand, how similar overwhelmed Alex looks to stubborn Alex.  It is no wonder last year's teachers thought he was just digging in his heels.

I am grateful for a life that allows me to observe my kids in a classroom setting and to discover the wonderful (and difficult) things their teachers already know about them.  I am grateful for Alex's first grade teacher who has helped him learn the behavioral and academic requirements of school without in any way damaging Alexland.  And I am excited to be entrusted with this very special child to help him learn how to stay himself in a world where no one else is quite like Alex.

**Side Note: 

A difficult side effect of Alexland is that Alex has a really hard time completing routine, independent tasks, like getting dressed each morning.  He regularly gets distracted somewhere between Step 1 (ie: picking up his underwear and lifting one leg) and Step 2 (ie: actually putting said leg through said underwear).  I require that he gets dressed with his door open, since my routine is designed to keep me nearby, putting on makeup in the nearby bathroom.  I can listen for the rustling sounds that indicate getting dressed verses the silence that often accompanies daydreaming.  However, my constant reminders have become as annoying to him as they are to me and resulted in daily fights just to get dressed.

I am proud to report that I recently came up with a genius solution, which has now worked for two consecutive weeks.  I share this not to brag but to offer an alternative if you find yourself sounding like a broken record, barking exhausted orders at a child who needs constant assistance staying on task.

He calls it "my video," which I noticed this morning he was reciting about 30 seconds ahead since he enjoys racing its descriptive reminders.  One particularly frustrated morning, I grabbed my cell phone, pointed its camera at a towel on the floor, and hit record.  I then patiently prompted Alex out loud through each step of getting dressed.  I got bored about 3 minutes in and started doing funny voices and singing made up songs.  My personal favorite is the "Belt Song"

Belt time, 

Belt time,

Alex is putting on his belt now.

I also enjoy the "Vest Rhyme"

Alex is the best,

Alex needs a vest,

Alex is the best, 

Alex needs a vest.

I think he's particular to the button up shirt section which references Alex the Contender, in my best announcer voice.  That's the part I heard him quoting this morning.

"Can he get a fourth button?  Why, yes he can! Alex has buttoned his fourth button, folks!"

The video is 8 1/2 minutes long and prompts Alex from drying himself off after his morning shower through pulling on each individual sock and shoe.  He has yet to finish after the video, and he prides himself on being able to finish ahead of the video at least a few days a week (since the first 3 minutes is literally me trying to get him to successfully put on his underwear, there's an easy way to get ahead).  

I feel calmer each morning knowing it will take Alex precisely 510 seconds or less to succeed in getting dressed.  I can stay focused on my own tasks (even venturing ALL THE WAY upstairs today while he got dressed) and know that at the end of the video, I'll have a clothed six year old.  We don't have to fight anymore, and each morning I get to praise him for getting dressed all by himself.

(Full disclosure: the fact that he wears a uniform to school makes this much easier; he wears literally the same items each day.  Also, he sets each item out the night before.  I can't even imagine how distracted he would get if he had to retrieve items from various areas of the room!)

If you have a kid who struggles staying focused in a room by himself, give my video idea a try.  For now, it's gold in our house!

TBT: 7 Ate 9

Do you know why six is afraid of seven?  Because seven ate nine!

Do you know why I never managed to blog about Adam's 8th birthday last year?  Me neither.  According to Instagram, I had good intentions:

I am pretty certain I had more pictures on my computer that got stolen in September, but one thing I've come to be really grateful for is the auto-backup feature of cell phone picture taking that preserved one full-dragon shot for me.

I wish I had the pictures of the family at our favorite Thai restaurant: MeKong Cafe.  I feel pretty proud to be the mother of a child who chooses Thai for his birthday dinner!  I also wish I had any other specific memories of the birthday or subsequent party.  But that's what I get for not blogging it right away!  :(

So I'm doing better this year.

Four weeks ago, Adam turned nine.  He requested a "Cyprus" cake this year in honor of his first football season as a Cyprus Pirate.  Although he still feels a bit lukewarm about the sport itself, the football banquet with all its assorted team branding has given him a healthy amount of Cyprus pride.  I knew he'd be expecting a football cake, but that seemed too easy, and I really wanted to surprise him.  So I went a different direction:

He was a perfect combination of surprised and delighted, especially when he realized his Cyprus Pirates cake came with a piratey addition to his beloved Disney Infinity collection.  (Thanks, Kirk, for that perfectly correlated gift addition.)

We also continued what he's requested become a birthday tradition: dinner at MeKong Cafe.  Not only does the birthday boy love the taste of what my family calls "Crying Tiger," (it's actually Thai barbeque beef, but its Thai name literally translated - according to Thai missionary Grandpa Casdorph - is crying tiger) but the sort of vegetarian redhead even eats the grilled pork.   

As for the birthday boy himself, he's gearing up to play baseball, joined the chess club at school, and touts science as his favorite subject (because he gets to do experiments).  He spends most of his free time visiting the new house or being the best cousin ever.  (I wish I could add "being the best brother ever," but his bossy streak runs a mile deep, and he's pretty much always pestering someone.)

He is quite proud of the fact that he's taller than my shoulders now, and I'm quite proud of the fact that he hasn't yet outgrown liking to hang out with me.  The day after his birthday, he got to be my date to Casey at Bat, a show I was reviewing for UTBA, and we both enjoyed the show and the Cracker Jacks.  And a few weeks later when planning an "activity with a family member" in order to meet the requirements of a Faith in God goal, he asked me if I would like to go on a date with him.  We made lunch together (frozen burritos), then headed to the dollar theater to see Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2.  I got the chance to talk to him one-on-one on the way to theater and was delighted when his questions turned to the subject of Joseph Smith and how he got to choose what church he went to.  (Adam was confused why one of his best friends couldn't continue to attend our ward after moving.  "Joseph Smith got to choose what church he went to...")

If I'm leaving behind an accurate, complete picture of this kid, I would also have to add:

• Whiny when tired
• Emotional all the time
• Can't remember to put his glasses on for the life of him
• Has to know the plan at all times
• Sloppy penmanship
• LOUD!

But all of that is balanced out by his sweet testimony, his nurturing personality, his quality school work, his responsibility, his helpful nature, his compassion, his athleticism, and his confidence.  Of all the nine-year-olds in the world, I am grateful Heavenly Father sent me this one.

Not as Trapped

With Princess Ty and Aunt Michelle around, I'm not as BoyTrapped as usual, and I have to admit it has been nice.  Recently when the Fife girls got together for their anti-SuperBowl girls' night, I stole a beautiful niece to attend with me.  (Michelle loves football and chose to watch the game.)

Although Tyler comes from a 50% girls family, she's definitely BoyTrapped most of the time.  She lives with my circus.  Her closest cousin (and long distance buddy) is also a boy.  She's given her heart to her daddy, and she has Uncle Kirk wrapped around her finger.  So it's kind of nice to think that if she ever needs some girl time, she's got "Anna."

As for the boys around here, they seem to get along just fine without us, too.  (Uncle Kirk isn't actually sleeping.  He's just resting with Ryder investigates his watch.)

Have I mentioned I love living with an adorable niece and nephew?

And that I miss this adorably photogenic guy ALL. THE. TIME.?

Of Mountains and Molehills

Part of the language arts curriculum at NPA is the sub-subject "Sayings and Phrases."  Each week, the students study an idiom, colloquialism, or cliche whose figurative meaning doesn't necessarily match its literal.  5th grade's list includes things like "The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence," and "birthday suit."  This week's phrase was "Don't make a mountain out of a molehill."

Have you ever been mid-mountain-making and known it, but still been unable to put down the shovel?  You recognize how un-worth-it the Thing you're upset about is, and everyone else is totally ready to move on, but there you stand, adding pebbles and soil and sometimes even planting pine trees for shade, if you plan to be there long enough.

I was surprised to find myself making mountains on Valentine's Day because it's such a small-deal holiday at our house that I would have classified any potential snafus as pre-molehill material.  Ant hills at best.  But I'm still getting used to the emotional response to the added pressure of being a full time working mom and being constantly at war with myself over not being with the family more.  Plus, this year we had decided to scale back our traditional "Old Spaghetti Factory and Bowling" date with the kids to a budget friendly "Make Spaghetti and Wii Bowling" since we're working hard to meet the financial requirements of closing on the new house.  I was anticipating a bit of disappointment from the kids, so in my mind, the cheaper substitution needed to be great.

So I had a few ideas of how to make the simple feel epic.  And since the root of our tradition is to teach the boys about dating, I wanted to turn it into a lesson.  Not every date needs to be expensive.  Just spending time together can be awesome.  I hadn't run my ideas by Kirk yet because I knew he had worked for my dad that day and wouldn't have been home long by the time I got home from work (around 5:30).  I figured I would get home, we could decide if we were too tired and needed to postpone until Saturday, and then we could discuss my ideas.

First, I wanted to make dinner together.  Spaghetti is pretty no-nonsense, and Alex has been mentioning lately that he would like to learn to cook something.  Second, I wanted everyone to dress up, just like we would have if we were going out to the restaurant.  I wanted to talk to them about the level of respect you should show on a date and remind them that how we dress affects that level of respect.  Finally, I wanted to talk to Kirk about the possibility of sneaking over to the new house with our spaghetti and a blanket.  I think it helps the kids when they feel like they're missing out because of The New House to give them concrete reminders of what we're sacrificing for.  Plus it would have been fun and special.

I was thinking about these options and weighing them against my level of tired as I drove home from work.  Kirk called to let me know our Wii wasn't working (which I had known) and to see if I wanted him to arrange for us to go to his parents to bowl.  I agreed with that plan, but Kirk sensed a bit of hesitancy in my voice.  "Are you alright?" he asked.  I responded that I was just tired, which was true.  By the end of Friday, I am generally pretty drained.

He then went on to let me know that Michelle had our spaghetti dinner ready and waiting for when we got there.  She had asked him if it was something I was going to want to make or if it was okay for her to make it, and since I hadn't told him my plans, he told her to go ahead.

And I got my shovel.

I calmly expressed my regret to Kirk and ended the phone conversation, not fully committed to the mountain yet.  I wanted to build it out of his sight and then choose to either show it to him in all its glory or kick it down and pretend it never existed.  So I texted a friend:

"Am I allowed to be bugged that my spaghetti and bowling night has somehow happened without my involvement or input, or do I just have to be grateful for a well-meaning sister and husband who thought they were saving me work?"

I wanted her to pick up a shovel and dig with me.  She didn't.

"Probably grateful.  You can complain to me, though."

I went on to explain how wronged I had been.

"I just wanted to make dinner with the boys.  But it is already made.  Also I am super tired and probably would not have done our celebration today.  I could have done it tomorrow when I was home more and not exhausted.  But they already made the spaghetti.  It's a dumb thing but I feel like what's the point of even celebrating now."

Yep.  Adding a bit of a tantrum to the mountain-making.  But I decided, at Amy's advice, to just be grateful.  I put down my shovel right where it was and put on a smile.  Oh well, it was just one Valentine's Day - a holiday I really don't care that much about.  I went home, greeted a sweet and cuddly Dylan, sat by my loving husband, and prepared to have Valentine's Day atop my self-made mound.

I considered asking the boys to at least dress up.  Kirk was still in his dirty work clothes from a day on a CASSCO site.  Dylan had chosen to wear sweat pants.  Adam and Alex looked nice enough in their uniforms, but not necessarily date-ready.  But atop the mound, it didn't really seem to matter.  I did notice, though, that Michelle had set the table with a tablecloth and some cute napkins, and it was clear she was trying to make our night special.  I tried to force myself to disassemble the mountain, but the dirt wouldn't budge, and I let my family take their seats in their everyday attire.

I was surprised to find that Michelle wouldn't let us dish our own food.  She intended to serve us.  As she filled our glasses, sprinkled cheese on our spaghetti, and refused even to allow us to scoop our own seconds, I immediately regretted everything I'd said or felt over the last 15 minutes.  Michelle knew our family might be a bit disappointed by our scaled back tradition, and she had done everything she could to give us the restaurant experience we were giving up.  And I'd been upset about that.

I am such a spoiled brat.

I climbed down my mountain, embarrassed to stand in its shadow, and enjoyed a meal I didn't have to cook, serve, or clean up after.  Michelle wouldn't even allow the boys to do their own dishes.  And I felt particularly ridiculous when I asked Michelle what she and Skye were doing for the holiday.

"I don't believe in Valentine's Day," she responded.  Which as I thought about it seemed completely true.  The pink.  The outpouring of emotion.  The expectations.  The non-Halloween-ness.  Michelle doesn't hate Valentine's Day.  She simply doesn't recognize its existence.

And she had spent the day making certain that my family got to enjoy a holiday she normally doesn't even acknowledge.

Spoiled.  Brat.

I thanked Michelle.  I fessed up to my earlier annoyance (knowing at this point that I would want to blog about my emotional epiphany and she would find out sooner or later that I had initially been annoyed).  I recalled that a student had given me a Valentine's cake mix and frosting which could replace the spaghetti as a means to cook something with the kids.  And I decided to enjoy the rest of the night with my family.


We made our cupcakes.  (Adam got egg on his finger and made his traditional pumpkin-guts face.)  We bowled.  (Alex schooled everybody but his mama.)  We talked about cheap dates, and I shared stories of a few of my favorites.  (When asked to share his stories, Kirk said, "I didn't really date.")  And we all had a great holiday.  I'm glad I stopped building mountain long enough to enjoy a great night with my family.

 

Fear Monologue

I don't know if anyone else monologues internally or if that is specific to my brand of crazy. I don't mean listening to a stream of internal thoughts... I mean actually composing and memorizing theatrical monologues.

Well, I have one I have been working on for a long time. Some day when I audition for something super dramatic, I will perform it and pretend it is something anonymous I found on the Internet because it is way too dark and personal to admit to writing myself.

It starts like this.

Bees.
That's what I would say if you asked me what my greatest fear is.  Or maybe "paper cuts on my tongue," because I am irrationally afraid of those, too.  You'd feel satisfied knowing you got an answer, and I would feel safe knowing the real answer had stayed with me...

Good stuff, right?

One of my major fears didn't make the monologue, though.  Not because it's so big I don't like to talk about it. But because it is hard to explain.

I am afraid of falling pianos.

Not like Wylie Coyote, ACME-type falling. Just falling over pianos. But still.

Sometimes it is hard to know if it's still a real fear, because it's not like I am really around that many falling pianos to see if they are still scary.

Well, today I was.  And guess what?

They are.

We had an assembly at school with a former Miss Utah contestant as a guest speaker. She planned to play the piano as part of her performance, so the custodian and a junior high boy lifted the school's digital piano onto the stage.  It didn't tip over. But it was perilously close as the front wheels rose higher than the rear.

I flew out of my seat toward the piano, despite being seated at a distance too far to do any good. I immediately felt foolish, but since others had at least been audibly concerned, my pride was largely intact.

It was during the ensuing moments that I realized how real my fear had been. Once out of danger, others resumed their enjoyment of the program. I heaved heavily, fighting the urge to leave the room to work through the minor panic attack alone.

So how does one acquire a panic inducing fear of pianos?

I don't have any aggregated data to support my theory, but personal experience suggests that having an upright tip over and land on your leg works quite well. 

The full story takes awhile to tell (if you tell stories like I do). Because first you'd have to understand the concept of pizza day at a school without a cafeteria.  Basically, on this one special day, students don't have to brown bag it, and the whole school smells mouthwateringly amazing. On one such pizza day while I was in eighth grade, the unthinkable happened: the pizza was late. Bored and hungry, my friends and I found something to pass the time. Amalie, an amazing pianist, sat down to play. I opted to watch, choosing the small ledge on the soundboard as a stool enabling me to see over the instrument's high back. Erica joined me in spectating but wasn't as fulfilled by watching and listening. She decided to gently rock the piano in time to the music.

Sensing the lack of sense employed in her decision, I suggested she stop. She didn't, and I didn't get down. 

(If I could change one decision...)

Now I have to interject my dad's description of my self preservation skills. 

"She has none."

It's true.  Most people have "fight or flight."  I have a third and fourth possible response, neither of which are particularly useful. I am generally stuck choosing between analysis paralysis (the dangerous state of neither fighting nor flighting), or the Signature Andrea: save the piano.

It probably goes without saying that this was a classic case of "Save the Piano." And the piano didn't get hurt at all when it pinned my knee to the ground.

Somehow I didn't break anything. I have nothing to show for the horrible experience except a thin scar from huge amounts of swelling, a legacy of warning signs on Challenger's pianos (do not move or play this piano without supervision), and a really awkward fear for a pianist.

I guess it's an okay story. But it would make a really weird monologue!

[BTW, you can ask but I probably won't tell. Sorry for being vague!]