Just a Thought

I'm putting this thought in a visible place where it will daily inspire/comfort/focus me. Worthy goals, and beautiful.

"To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly; to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely; await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common: this is to be my symphony."

*William Henry Channing*

I lost my ring. I lost my ring. I lost my wedding ring.

My stomach churned; I actually felt physically ill about my ring. I felt paralyzed by the loss, unable to concentrate on other tasks, and simultaneously surprised that I should feel so keenly. Yikes, it's not even alive. Why should a piece of jewelry matter so much? Besides the price-tag, what was the value in it?

Matt lost his original wedding band within months of our wedding; he lost his second (very cheap) band a few years later. (That one was miraculously recovered by the buyer of our old townhouse, who found it wedged into the carpet at the bottom of a closet.) I was never more than briefly exasperated at those losses. Surely, our rings weren't actual representations of our marriage--something that could be lost or found, missed or not. Surely we were stronger than the gold on our fingers.

But my ring. MY ring. Looking at my ring--even just a glance as it glimmered above my steering wheel--immediately invoked memories. A proposal. A ceremony. A sudden awareness of the ring's sharp edges as I held my first newborn. The way it sparkled when I had it polished for family weddings. Would those memories seep away if they weren't reviewed regularly, randomly?

Home on the couch, with the little boys down for quiet time, I felt dizzy, discouraged, distraught. Chocolate ice cream didn't help. Lost, lost, lost. My ring and I were lost. My eyes closed as I tried to think.

I saw myself putting the kids in the car, driving to the library, struggling with Nate through every second of storytime, and struggling with Nate as I checked out my books, paid my fine, put my wallet back together so it could tuck into my purse. I saw my hands grasping two little hands, one clamped resolutely on mine, one pulling and fighting to get away. I saw my exasperated arms placing Nate firmly in his carseat, buckling, adjusting, tightening the straps. I remembered holding all my frustrations inside, taking a deep breath, and promising myself I would cope with my book sometime during naptime today. And then...I saw my left hand placed at 12 o'clock on the steering wheel, and there was no glimmer.

I reviewed my routes again when Matt came home for lunch. Yes, I checked the library; I also left my name and number. I retraced my steps in the parking lot--twice. I searched both Nate and his carseat. Nothing. Matt kindly, calmly--why wasn't he freaking out? at least about the monetary loss?--offered to stay with the boys so I could resume my search in the library. I walked out the door quickly, hopefully, and with an instant prayer: "I know this isn't important, but...."

Sitting in the front seat of the car, I thought maybe I should double-check the car before I left. Still nothing but my deep, upset sighs. One more place, I thought--my purse? Just receipts, coupons, receipts, why do I keep all these receipts, comb, and...ring. My ring.

Goodbye angst and ache. Happiness and memories are here again. How silly to be so upset about such a little piece of jewelry, when it was safe in my purse all along.

(Thank you for listening to my trivial ramblings.)

Like a little puppy.

"Mom, I'm training Nate to not get into trouble!" Jamie Beth says happily.

Not looking up from the ratatouille that I'm stirring, I respond absentmindedly. "Mmmm. That's great, honey."

She's persistent. She wants my attention. "No, Mom, look."

I turn to see her proudly leading her brother--who is tethered to a short length of ribbon.

Summer to-do list

Around May we made a list of tasks that really, really needed to be done before fall. As September approaches, we now realize we were a bit ambitious and apparently unaware of the enormity of some of the projects.

We are now welcoming volunteers on any of the remaining work. (Just kidding...mostly.)

*Items in red are not yet done.
Aerate lawn
Caulk and fill holes in bathroom
Seal bathroom grout
Start sprinklers
Pull out tree stump
Cut down dead branches
Trip to the trash dump
Fill water barrels
Stain remainder of fence
Sand and paint peeling section of house
Fix broken shingles
Build garden boxes
Replace dead bush
Straighten tree
Put sand in sandbox
Call electrician
Fix electrical problems
Dig a deeper window well
Install window
Plant 4 trees
Schedule swim lessons
Schedule carpet cleaners

Daydreaming

Dallin and I are sharing a couch for quiet time today. I put my book down as I see him staring out the window, making interesting expressions, lips slightly moving. He must have seen me out of the corner of his eye because he suddenly turns to me and asks, "Do you know that I'm daydreaming?"

"Really?"

He looks down at his picture book version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and points at a character. "I'm in this page, and I see this bad wolf, so I'm gathering my armies to fight him. I have Star Wars armies, and lots of spells--like water and fire and quicksand--and I have the bad guys from Mulan..."

"Why would you want bad guys in your army?" I interject.

"They're on my side now."

"Oh. So they're good."

"Yeah. And I also have the 2000 stripling warriors. So we're going to beat the wolf."

Apparently, it is quiet time only on the surface. Inside my Dallin's imagination, great battles are being fought.

I need to write more, and so do my kids.

I needed this advice on encouraging kids to write.

I don't agree with all the author says--I tend to be an unapologetic spelling martinet--but I do agree with her principles and I like her suggestions.

Matthew the super reader could probably come up with his own stories with just a little brainstorming.

Jamie Beth, my reluctant scholar, would love to write if I gave her more interesting pens and paper.

Dallin likes using scissors, so cutting out words to make sentences is right up his alley.

Nate already writes on the walls, so he doesn't need additional help to express himself.

School's out.

I always have so many plans and intentions for the summer, I can hardly wait for the kids to be home again. We started out strong, with a visit to their favorite museum at BYU: the Bean Museum (which is actually the Monte L. Bean Museum, but which Matthew used to think was a museum of beans). I think they tout it as a life science museum, but it's a little more like a taxidermy exhibit. Very interesting, full of wild, exotic, rare animals, extremely child-friendly and educational...smells a little like formaldehyde. I'll tell you what, though; my children can hardly get enough of the place.

We've also gone to the BYU Museum of Art (have I mentioned how much I love living next to a university?) on a very exciting, very crowded family event day. The kids absolutely loved all the activities for the Walter Wick Exhibit--face painting, cookie decorating, building castles, creating bubble-blowers, playing musical instruments, and of course, the actual art pieces. Honestly, I prefer going to the museum on a regular, non-carnival day, but there is no denying that even Nate will remember this particular day more than our usual, quiet visits. I'm glad we went.

(After I took pictures of Matthew and Nate with their favorite exhibits, I learned that even non-flash photography of art pieces was not allowed.)

We've started swim lessons. Matthew, Jamie Beth, and Dallin have their lessons this week; Nate has his crazy-kid survival skills in a couple weeks, and is very disappointed every day when I strap him snugly into his stroller so he won't jump right into the pool. Here is a summary of each kid's reaction to swim lessons.

Matthew: "I don't need swim lessons; I know how to swim; I'm already good at this...I love swim lessons! Watch this, mom!"

Jamie Beth: "No, no, no, I'm cold, no, no, whimper, I can't, NO." Bless her nervous, timid heart. The gentle, patient teacher is able to get her underwater only by holding Jamie Beth in her arms and dunking together. Her backfloat is a study of frantic clinging and tense muscles.
Dallin: "Wow! I stayed underwater up to 16! Wow! I can fwoat on my back!" (Dallin's teacher--"My favorite part is the way he smiles...Dallin, come back here...Dallin, stay by the stairs until it's your turn."
Nathaniel: "Nate's turn for swim-swim! Nate's turn! I touch wa-wa! Mama, no stroller!"

It's funny everyday. And I think my legs are possibly turning a darker shade of white as I sit poolside for an hour daily.

And the kids' favorite activity, or maybe it's my favorite: A few days after real school ended, I reminded them that we would be having our fun! family! summer! school! a bit each day. (We actually do this during the school year as well, but they seem to think it's a less natural part of our routine as soon as the calendar turns to June. I don't know why. I'm sure it's fun, and it's certainly educational. After all, I enjoy our family school time.) So, they, led by Matthew, wanted to dub this learning time with a better name than school. After several suggestions, they decided on "Brainstorm" time. We try to have a half-hour every day of individual assignments--workbooks, journal-writing, puzzles, games, flashcards, and other activities. I know I sound like an uptight weirdo, but I swear they do have fun just as soon as they stop whining. And I know in my heart that if I were creative enough to just incorporate educational activities into the day, the kids would learn without complaining or even noticing. But, until I've reached that ideal, I know I can count on myself spending time teaching and learning with the kids much more regularly when I have it formally planned. They'll survive me, I hope.

And more summer, summer, summer. We watch our new, square-foot garden slowly grow. We take more frequent, longer walks. We stop at our neighbor's house--they are avid bird watchers and are teaching my children to sit quietly and watch the finches, quail, mourning doves, and occasional hummingbirds. We eat lunches on the back porch. I say, "Go play outside" a dozen times a day...and they go happily. We have more time for chores. More time for playing Zelda (umm...that does not include me, in case you're wondering). We eat Otter Pops and watch movies and sleep in sometimes (not Nate or Dallin). We read. We let other kids drop by to play, unannounced, unplanned. We love summertime.

(Now I feel more caught up, and possibly inspired to write shorter posts more frequently, rather than these long, rambling pieces once a month.)