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.

Benji's Plow

I took a technology class at BYU (taught by my dad, actually), and learned that the world changed with the invention of the plow. Once nomadic tribes got their hands and horses on a plow, they stopped traveling to find food, found homes near water sources, and grew crops in enough abundance to preserve some for winter seasons. Settlements turned into villages. Villages turned into cities. Art, music, civics, war; it all started with the plow.

Benji invented a plow. It involved pulling a chair over to the kitchen counter and climbing up. It opened a whole new world to him. Now he can watch mom mix cookie dough. Now he can help dad do the dishes. He can reach the Elmer's Glue. He can get his own slice of banana bread. He can open drawers and cupboards. Last week, mom glanced over from the sink to find him laying across the burners on the stove, fiddling with the knobs. Bad. There is no way to stop progress, short of removing all chairs from the house. So I keep the stove knobs in the cupboard. I removed knives from their beautiful magnet strip and put them in an inaccessible drawer. Now, how do I keep him from dancing on the kitchen table?

Benji starts nursery at church next Sunday. For those of you who may never have tried to attend church with a walking baby, this is a big day for us. A very big day.

Benji's recent advances may or may not have anything to do with the fact that I found the first GRAY HAIR on my head. I've had several gray eyebrows, but this is the first official gray hair. It was white, actually. I always kind of thought I'd get my mom's genes, and keep my silken brown until my mid 50s. Now I'm worried (which isn't going to help anything).