Peace and Quiet

It's been pretty quiet around our house for the past 2 1/2 weeks. Quiet's nice. Quiet's good. Chelsea has been in England for the past 2 weeks, lucky girl, visiting castles and palaces, Jane Austens home, Stonehenge and rocky beaches (we'll see if I can get her to blog about it) so she hasn't been hanging around home. Kayla, of course, is up at school and recently got a job, so we haven't seen her on the weekends as well. So, it's just been me, Tary and Trey, and although I love my boys, it's just not the same without my girls. For some reason, the guys don't want to hang out with me when I'm going to Roberts Crafts or Bath and BodyWorks. They didn't want to see the "Time Travelers Wife" or go to the fabric store to see their new Christmas selection. They dread hearing the words 'Gardner Village' and 'pumpkins' and 'pictures' in the same sentance. Maybe it's because the orange and brown outfits I pick out for them to wear matches the scenery. I don't know. But for whatever reason, I've been doing alot of things "alone" lately. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Sometimes a little alone time is good. I must admit it's kinda nice not to feel outside pressure when you've been staring at the same 4 bolts of fabric for 30 minutes, trying to decide which one is a must have. And scavaging through Kohl's clearance racks is not a task for the patient impaired person.
So, I have embraced my aloneness. It's not so bad. I can get in my car, alone, confident that the radio station which I chose in my car will not start screaming obsenities at me. And my grocery bill has been reduced since I'm no longer pressured into buying fruit snacks, cookies and pop tarts.
Although being alone isn't so bad, being lonely can be. And I've decided there are just certain things I will not do alone, for they seem to draw attention to how alone I really am. They are:

1- Going to the movies. Staying home with a box of kleenex and watching a good cryer alone is good. Going to the movies and crying alone, bad.

2- Eating out alone. Sitting at the kitchen table alone, with a good book and a plate of hot pasta and a big ol' brownie, eating and reading without interruption, is good. Sitting in a restaurant, all alone, pretending to be waiting for someone, looking all pathetic. Bad.

3- Going to a wedding reception alone...awkward. Standing in line, not knowing anyone around you, trying not to care that they are talking and laughing all around you while you stand there looking like a doofus cuz you can't laugh with them or they'll know you were eavesdropping. Then really wanting to stay and have a piece of cheesecake, but again, not wanting to sit and eat alone (see point no. 2)

I received an e-mail awhile back from my cousin which goes against my rule no. 1, but more power to her! I saved it cuz it was so funny...here goes:

I've got something funny to tell you but first I have to confess that I am a closet "Trekkie". I've always loved the Star Trek shows on TV and the movies they've made over the years.

I've been wanting to go see the new Star Trek movie that's been out for a few weeks now but Ross never seemed interested when I asked him to go with me. Finally, yesterday he told me to see if Marj would like to go because he wasn't interested. Well, I decided to go by myself. How hard could that be, afterall, it's something I see people do all the time but have never had the nerve to do. So, today I got online and looked up the times for the Payson theatre and found that the earliest for the Star Trek movie was 11:45 am. Great! I could go see a movie and be on with my day pretty early. At 11:35 I started out and realized that I'll be a few minutes late so I'm almost panicky thinking that there might not be a seat for me but I tell myself, of course there will be a seat, you only want ONE! But what if it's on the front row! OK, just breathe through your nose and try not to get a speeding ticket.

When I arrive I see there aren't many cars in the parking lot so I feel confident that-first, I'll get in easily; and second, I'll not have to sit on the front row.

I purchase my ticket and a soda and head for the usher to hand over my ticket. She directs me to theatre 4, which is close by and I can hear the movie previews playing as I walk in. I not only have a seat but I can have ANY seat in the house because I'M THE ONLY ONE IN THE WHOLE FREAKIN THEATRE!!!

What a blast! I was the only one laughing, crying, SCREAMING...and I could drink my diet coke and eat my contraband candy (the stuff hiding in my purse) without a care in the world AND I could get up and try different seats for a new perspective. I could stand up and yell out loud with my mouth full, AND leave my cell phone on, just because I could!

One thing I hadn't taken into consideration was that my bladder would be getting pretty full before the movie let out and, even though I had to pee REALLY BAD, I couldn't leave and go to the restroom because there would be NO ONE to ask, "what did I miss while I was gone"? So I suffered through.

I now have one more thing added to my bucket list and I do believe that I would do it again-most definitely!

Thanks for the laugh Charmaine! You are much more confident in your aloneness than I am. And thank goodness I won't have to suffer my sad state of loneliness much longer...my girls are both coming home this weekend! Pull out the orange...Gardner Village here we come!

Peace and Quiet and so over-rated.

A silver lining.

It's been awhile since I last blogged. If it's any excuse, I've been in mourning. Why is it that we always take those things we love for granted, assuming they'll always be there for us. For the past 21 years, she's been at my side, helping to make every birthday and holiday extra special. And has been there for me on the dull drab days in-between, always giving her warmth to the heart of our home, never asking for anything in return.

She started getting sick last November and has been slowly deteriorating. Finally, just a few short weeks ago, I found her just sitting in the kitchen, lifeless and cold; dead cold. I couldn't revive her. I tried everything, but all the tricks I could do before to get her to warm up to me just wasn't working. I knew her time had come. My oven had gone to that Great Appliance Compliance in the Sky. But I wasn't ready to give her up. I called the GE repairman, their motto is, afterall 'We bring good things to life', she was good, and I needed her desperately back in my life. Fall had just arrived and I needed her to celebrate with me. I needed her for my peach and apple cobblers, my traditional halloween mummy calzone and pumpkin cookies. Not to mention all the upcoming baking associated with Thanksgiving and Christmas!

I made a date with the repairman, my next day off work, which also happened to be the day I had planned to make chocolates with my friend and neighbor Carla. I don't know why the thought of having Carla see my dirty kitchen didn't bother me, but when I realized a complete stranger that I would never see again was coming to inspect my oven, it sent me in full spit and shine mode! Carla and I have raised our kids together, cried together, cooked and sewed together. She knows the intents of my heart, and I hers, so we know not to judge each other based on the layers of grease and grime that find it's way into the corners of the cupboards. But to have a complete stranger see my lack of kitchen cleanliness made the inner domestic goddess in me come alive.

I spent the night before preparing for the grand resurrection. First, I had to prepare the deceased. This included a thorough scrub job, inside the oven, under the burners, and shiny new foils for the drip pans were the final touch. She was beautiful! The rest of the kitchen paled in comparison. I didn't want the man kneeling down on my sticky floors, so out came the mop. One thing led to another, and soon I found the floorboards wiped down, sink scoured, bar and table cleared of clutter, dishes done, rugs vacuumed, and appliances sparkling...

All that work for 10 minutes and $69 later, and all he could do was to pay his respects to the deceased. Apparently ovens have a short lifespan. Mine was old when we moved in so she had exceeded the experts life expectancy. Her body parts couldn't be replaced. No transplant could save her, they've discontinued her kind. (Memorial services to be announced later)

As with most tragedies, one must look for the good amidst the bad. So with a sorrowful heart, I bid farewell to my friend, my baker of buns, my giver of goodies, my tempter of treats and caller of casseroles. You've served me well. I thank you.

Oh well...can't be sad for too long...I'm getting a new oven!
Yahoo!
And my kitchen is really clean too!

Fare thee well...Summer.

I don't care what the calendar says, fall has officially arrived in my mind. It usually comes after I send the last kid off to school, making it's way into my heart no later than labor day. This year, it actually looks and feels like fall. The nights are getting cooler, and the brisk air usually lingers throughout the morning. Thanks to all the fires, the air has a hazy, eerie halloweenish feeling to it, and makes the moon appear like a great pumpkin in the sky. It even smells like fall, due in part to the pumpkin spice wall-flower (it's an air freshener) that I have plugged in, and the scent of burning leaves outdoors (ok, it's probably Californian burning homes I smell but that doesn't make for a nice mental picture).

I love living in Utah and experiencing all 4 seasons. I think one the the reasons why I start craving christmas music in July is because I start yearning for a change. Not to imply that I'm not happy living in the moment, don't get me wrong...I love summer! I love sitting on a warm porch with a good book, watching the sun set at 9:00 at night. I love laying on the fresh-cut grass when it's dark, watching for falling stars. I love being able to go anywhere without having to bundle up in coat and gloves while waiting for my car to warm up. I love sleeping with the window cracked opened, listening to the chirp of the crickets while the warm breeze glides over the lone sheet that covers my hairless and somewhat browned legs. I love cooking outdoors on the grill, eating fresh corn on the cob, juicy peaches picked fresh from the tree, sweet watermelon and ice-cream sandwiches. Yep, I'm going to miss summer...and my flip flops...but it's time to move on. Fall brings other things that I love; a start contrast to all the things I love about summer, are the things I love about fall:
The days that get shorter...snuggling with my little man on the couch with a comfy blanket and slippers while we each get in our 20 minutes of required/enjoyed reading each night. The feeling that it's time for bed by 9:00 at night. Snuggling on same above mentioned couch with same comfy blanket and slippers and same above mentioned little man, watching the first snowfall of the season (have you tried to snuggle with your son in the summer? It's too hot and sticky, they're too busy playing, and little boys just smell funny in the summer).
Hot, home-made soups, hot rolls from the oven, the smell of dinner in the crock-pot awaiting you when you arrive home from work. Hot-chocolate with warm pumpkin bread.


Saturday mornings on the football field, watching your son score the winning touchdown. Warm cozy sweaters, and the warm glow of candles lit in the fireplace.
Scarecrows, witches and pumpkins that adorn every nook and cranny. The smell of pumpkin and cinnamon spice, and even the musty smell when you first crank up the heater after a long summers rest.
Carmel apples and apple pie. Pumpkin and pecan, and experimenting with new flavors before they make their debut at the Thanksgiving table.
Snuggling under a pile of blankets at night, warming my cold feet next to my heater of a husband.
The anticipation of all things childlike and magical. Halloween, Thanksgiving...Christmas!

That is why I love fall.

And I know, sure as anything, that winter will bring it's own special time of the year. And by the middle of February I'll be looking forward to the promise of Spring. And of course, spring is just a teaser for what lies ahead...Summer. And by then, I'll be ready for it again, but for now...I bid thee farewell Summer.

Thanks for the memories...

I have no one to blame but myself.

So, all this sad, woe-is-me talk about how fast my kids are growing up, how hard it is to let them go, how life is never quite the same once they graduate from high school, has come back to haunt me.

It's not that I don't want them to grow up. I actually have enjoyed their teenage years. I love being able to talk to them without a "how come?" after everything I say. And the last time anyone threw a temper tantrum (you know the kind that looks like they're drowning and doing the backstroke at the same time) was when Trey was 3 years old and he didn't want to sleep in his own bed (yet another reason to rejoice that they're growing up). Trey slept in our bed for what seemed like forever! My mind has blocked out certain details to keep me from holding it against him for the rest of his life, but I do know that he only slept in his new crib maybe 5 times before he outgrew it and replaced it with a toddler bed, which he hardly used as well. This particular night I decided was the night he was going to have to 'man-up', become the 'big-boy' he was destined to be, and sleep in his own bed. 3 year olds can be extremely stubborn, but so can sleep-deprived, hubby-deprived moms. So, we left a tantrum throwing 3 year old in the hallway, locked our bedroom door, and tried to sleep with what sounded like a fire engine outside our door. Hours later (slight exaggeration, but it felt like it) we slipped out of our bedroom to the now quiet hallway. Trey wasn't there. Ahh, victory! We crept into his room to make sure all was well, but all wasn't well. He wasn't there! Maybe the living room? No! Panic sets in...maybe all that kicking and screaming was because some boogey man was torturing our little boy and kidnapped him while our heads were buried under our pillows! Luckily before we called 911, we noticed the bathroom door was shut and the light shining underneath it. The girls were softly snoring in their rooms, so we knew it had to be Trey. Unfortunately for us, his little 3-year old mind was thinking 'two can play this game' as he locked the door behind him. Thirty minutes, a bent kitchen knife and a screw-driver later, we were finally able to open the door. This is what we saw:

Yes, he's sleeping not in, but on the bathtub. We tried not to laugh out loud so as to not startle him awake, having him fall off his oh-so carefully balanced bed, knocking his head on the toilet on his way down. But we didn't have anything to worry about, all that tantrum throwing left behind a very tired little boy. He slept through the whole move, along with a few pictures and giggles.

Sometimes I get a little side tracked while taking trips down memory lane.
The point I was getting at, 200 words ago, was that while I've been mourning the loss of my second daughter's everyday presence in my life, daughter no. 1 has reminded me that it doesn't matter how old you get, kids never really do grow up...

Chelsea and side-kick Sam decided that Halloween should come early this year. So they poked some holes in garbage bags for their legs, stuffed their arms and crumpled newspaper inside, then found the neighbors porches to litter. I'm not sure how they rang the doorbell without use of their arms, but they found a way, then quickly dropped to the ground and became what looked like a bag of garbage. The unsuspecting door opener, confused by the odd delivery, when trying to retrieve the bag, it would suddenly jump up and run away, leaving a very startled, (but grateful that the trash took itself out) person.

Sorry Cameron. It really wasn't a big bag of balloons...you weren't getting asked to homecoming...you'll have to find your own date.

Oh Chels...you make me laugh! You've made me realize that growing up doesn't mean you have to give up the kid in you...that you can make your own fun with some black-make up and a garbage bag...that making great memories is better than making dinner (I should have gone with you) and that painting your face black is the secret to having really white teeth!

On second thought, I wouldn't want to encourage this type of adolescent behavior from my eldest, mature, responsible married daughter. I mean, what kind of mother would I be if...wait a sec...is someone penny tapping my window?

I have no one to blame but myself.