Me as a kid

I used to imagine myself beautiful … not that I was ugly. I had big eyes and soft brown hair … all any kid needs to be considered cute. But I wore glasses, and never had much of a sense of style. In my imagination, I would come to school in a beautiful flowing white gown, with long hair, and sparkling white shoes with high heels. I'd walk into the classroom, and everyone would turn and stare. Kids would run to me, and ask if they could sit by me at lunch. And Janee Jolley, the snob, would be bald, her long curly locks taken by a sudden illness she had brought upon herself with snobbery, and her bald head would be misshapen and have bumps.

The dream would always be hobbled at this point. I couldn't imagine going to recess in my beautiful white dress and heels. The dress would get muddy, and it would be hard to run. So I in my mind I switched to beautiful white pants, which had the magical property of not getting dirty, no matter how hard I played. But they didn't flow when I walked, and iI would lose interest in the odd amalgamation of dream and practicallity.

I had two enemies in 3^rd grade; Janee Jolley the snob, and Chelsey Hillman. Janee didn't pose much of a threat … frankly, I wasn't in her league. She lived on the hill with the other rich kids, had beautiful long blond curls, and was surrounded by a bevy of friends on the playground. I didn't interact much with her, only on the odd occasion when we were assigned to the same group table in class. She was for the most part a philosophical enemy. She represented everything I hated, and wanted.

Chelsey Hillman, on the other hand, was real. She was a mean critter, with sharp teeth and claws. She and her divorced mother lived in our neighborhood. She attended my church, went to my library, and played with my friends. We went to summer camp together, and ate at the same table in the cafeteria. I hated her. She hated me. She and I vied for the same friends, and she tried to poison their minds against me. She watched for ways to ruin my life. I had to be vigilant to avoid her tricks. I had to be conniving to spar against her. She told Laurie, my best friend, that she would rather die than invite me to her birthday party, even if I was the last person on earth. Laurie told me this, with pity in her eyes.

I tried on occasion, to do what we were taught in church, and turn the other cheek. I tried to be nice to Chelsey. I tried to invite her to my birthday party … the sacred day on my eighth birthday when my mom would actually allow me to have a “friend” party, rather than just birthday cake with my own family. I had five brothers and sisters, and my mom would only let us have friend parties on our eighth, twelfth, and sixteenth birthdays. It was a once-in-a-lifetime event, practically, and the first time I would have this privilege. I prayed for the strength to invite her. I felt inspired to do it. I wrote her name on the back of an envelope. Then I erased it. Then I wrote it again and put it in my coat pocket on the way to school. Then crumpled it into the garbage once I got there. I pulled it out of the garbage, and saw that it was ruined. I threw it back. I had failed. I couldn't do it. This was my day, and I didn't want her to ruin it. I knew I was being selfish, and didn't care. I had a chance to bridge the chasm, and didn't. I didn't want to take the risk.

The greatest affront, perhaps, was that I had invited everyone I could think of, even a few boys. But I didn't invite her. Not if she was the last person alive on earth.

Memorial Day

I didn't get Memorial Day until the past few years. I appreciated the day off school, but I thought it was kind of hokey, all the tears and flags and bagpipes. Now I get it. I guess you have to be an adult ... or to lose someone you care about, and need a reason to remember them, to put flowers where their body rests, to let your thoughts dwell there for a day. Then to take a deep breath and get back to living. What a strange, delicate balance.

I started getting it days after September 11, 2001. I attended a assembly on campus at USU. We sang patriotic songs and had a moment of silence for those who died. We were all still in shock from the images on the television, the news over the radio. We were just beginning to process it all. I cried. I felt love for the nation I live in, and love for people I didn't know who were suffering, who had died.

Then I thought about the men I'd seen at parades, in old army uniforms, watching a flag move past, and their tears. They had their moment of pain years before. I wasn't a part of it, but it was still real to them. They needed time to remember their dead. I started to get it.

Life goes on for the living, but the dead are still a part of who we are. Aneka, Catalina, Robert, Grandma Crystal, MA Adams, Grandpa Spook. Deep breath, and on with life.

"I am poop"

is what Leo says when he means to say tired. I don't correct him because I think it is too cute. The other day, I yelled out of the kitchen at two fighting boys, "You lose-ed the game and he won-ed the game Leo! Don't fight about it!" Jeff stared at me in amazement, followed by a little teasing. I'm a word Nazi, after all. A word Nazi losing the great war. It is just too hard to say something, then translate it. Every word that comes out of my mouth seems to need clarification.

I am reading the great American classic "James and the Giant Peach" aloud to the boys. I love Roald Dahl. I try and use the words on the page, even though they fly up and over the heads of my young boys. I think it will eventually improve their vocabulary. Man, I love that book. Pure imagination. It speaks to the heart of a boy. We've already read "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," and "Danny, Champion of the World" is next in queue.

Today, I got a goal in outdoor soccer. My first ever. I generally play defense where I don't get in anyone's way unless I'm supposed to. Today, I tried offense. And got a goal. I think I am born to it. It went something like this:

Kelly-the-super-nice-and-super-talented-player-willing-to-help-a-newbie-along (from here on out I'll just call her Kelly): Lael, let's get you a goal today!
Me: Ya, let's do it!
Kelly: Okay Lael, run in front of the goal, I'll kick it to you.
Me: Okay!
Kelly fending off, two players: Okay, a little closer, a little closer.
Me: About here?
Kelly dodging someone and hitting the ball with her head: A little to the left.
Me: Right here?
Kelly kicking throught the legs of a defender, swooping around someone else, and picking it up again: Good. Stand there.

Kelly kicks it at my planted feet, and it riquochets off me, past the goalie, and into the net.

Me: WAHOO!

Like I said, born to it.

Teeth

I broke a tooth a few weeks ago -- back right molar. I was eating a bite of my frosted-shredded-mini-wheats and "pop" off it came. So I had it crowned. For those of you who don't know, crowning a tooth involves whittling it down to a little nub and putting a fake one on top. The dentist did a great job. It actually involved very little pain on my part ... except perhaps financially.

The tooth-breaking and the visits to the dentist have caused a resurgence in tooth dreams for me. (Note: I really hope I'm not revealing something twisted about my subconscious. You never know with dreams.) These dreams always are some variation on the following:

-I bite down hard on something, and my teeth crumble and fall out, or
-I wake up and my mouth is full of something, so I spit it out, and it is teeth, or
-My teeth have already fallen out and I spend the dream trying to find ways to put them back in my mouth and stick there.

I like to analyze things (shocked silence. None of you knew that about me, did you?) I've figured out lots of symbols in my dreams ... oceans and waves mean I feel out of control. Animals mean kids, and by extension responsibility ... but I can't figure out the tooth thing. Growing old? Inability to communicate? They are mostly unpleasant dreams, so I don't think it is something good. Fear of losing the ability to eat?

Back to reality, we were in the car yesterday and I reached back to wiggle Gabe's loose tooth ... the one that has been hanging out in his mouth for several months. Gabe doesn't like it when I wiggle his teeth. He thinks I'm going to try and pull them out. But this time I was fast. Pop, out it came. I didn't even pull that hard. We were both really surprised. This is number three for him. The tooth fairy switched from cute little presents to dollar bills because she is already tired of trying to think of fun toys small enough to fit under pillows.

I wonder if Gabe has tooth dreams? He will now.

Why they call it slick rock

We finally have our new camera up and running, just in time for the fun trip to Zion National Park with my folks, my sister and family, and Nana. Highlights of the weekend included ... baby sleeping through night while camping (first time ever), hiking Emerald Pools with most of the clan, delicious camping food, Nana pushing the kids around the campground on her walker, biking in the sunshine along the canyon floor, seeing a wild turkey (Papa: I can hear a wild turkey gobbling! Libby: Papa hears a Wild Goblin!!!), plus hearing the talented Jeremy play his guitar by the campfire.

Lover, Lovey.

My friend and I were talking about relationships, how in a lot of them one person is the "Lover" and one person is the "Lovey" -- you know, one person is more effusive emotionally, and does all the romantic stuff. The Lovey is the one who is sought after, and is less comfortable proclaiming to the world how they feel about their special one. It seems like these roles can change from time to time in a marriage, but some people fall naturally into one role or the other.

I want to be the Lovee, but the balance of my world doesn't fall that way. I'm trying to embrace the Lover role more, and although it isn't natural to me, and express more emotionally. It is tricky to do it right. My above mentioned friend challenged me to do one Lover task every day this week. It has been a very fun experiment, and has gotten me out of my comfort zone in a good way. The assignment is to do one thing for the Lovee every day, that would be meaningful to him, no strings attached.

It is the no strings attached part that is tricky. I find that a lot of times I compliment with ulterior motives ... I tell him he is a good handyman because I want him to keep being a good handyman. Compliments with baggage. So in true Lover style, I've done ... yes ... yard work. Because I know he likes the help, and he likes to spend time with me that way. No strings attached. Good for me.

We started outdoor soccer this week. I seemed so much faster indoors. I'm going to be sore tomorrow.

Baby Rattle Snakes

Gabe and Leo love April Fool's Day. I'm wishy-washy on it. I wasn't raised to appreciate practical jokes, but I feel like such a spoil sport when I don't facilitate my kids participation in some way. So I made a couple sets of the old "Rattle Snake Eggs in the Envelope" sets, and sent them on their way.

If you aren't familiar with this joke, it involves winding up a rubberband and a paper clip inside a small envelope marked "Rattle Snake Eggs." When the victim opens the envelope, the rubber band trips, and the paper clip makes a "Thut thut thut thut thut" noise, with the accompanying vibration. This, along with the suggestion of the possibility of hatching baby rattlesnakes (from the writing on the envelope) usually produces a pretty good jolt. And no one gets dirty or wet or too embarrassed.

Gabe brought his to school and handed it to the student teacher in his Kindergarten class. She FREAKED OUT and screamed pretty loudly. I was outside the class, hanging up Gabe's coat, and saw it all. I laughed so hard ... which was weird, because I'm really not a practical joker ... but it was so dang funny. She looked up at me with this mortified face, and I thought ... I shouldn't be laughing ... but it was so dang funny. She cracked a smile, and started laughing too. The whole event shocked Gabe, who was too scared to try it on his real teacher. But one of his friends tried it on dear Mrs. Simmons (who saw it coming from a mile away, but still put on a pretty good show for the kids). I guess you catch on to those things after 30 years of teaching Kindergarten.

We've ordered a new digital camera, so in 10-14 days, I'll have photos to accompany my posts. I can't wait.