Transformation

Biff has always kept his body in great shape inside and out.  I wish I could say the same for his room.  I don’t have a picture of how it looked before I started cleaning.   

These pictures truly represent half-way done.  

Anyone who has been in Biff’s room can tell you that this is the cleanest it has looked from the day we moved in.

Actually it was clean one other time.  I took a picture for evidence.  But somehow I have misplaced that evidence.  Doesn’t matter.  I told Jenna that when David moved out, she could move into his room.  Not that her room looks any better

I had eight garbage bags FULL of Biff’s stuff (clothes mostly) I think three or four full of garbage.   

And four loads of towels.  FOUR LOADS.  This is a fraction of what I washed   

  

Jenna’s room was fine when we moved in four and a half years ago.  She was smaller then. Still in kindergarten.  We painted her room pink.  You’d think she would have learned to clean so it wouldn’t have crowded her out  

We’ll probably repaint it as it is going to be our computer/book room.  What will we do with all the extra space?

Jenna now likes the color blue.  We let her pick out her own paint color.

Once it was finished, we had purchased new curtains (well, new for her) and the decals she had received from Randy and Carrie for Christmas

Moved in most of her furniture  but also Biff’s old bed and dresser

She continues to add her personal touches

Though not all of her belongings have left the pink room, she has spent the last two nights in the blue room - her room which will NEVER EVER look like the first three photos on this post.

Perhaps It’s Just Easier to Honor than to Be Honored

          As a child, my perspective of Mothers’ Day was certainly different than it is now.  Mothers’ Day meant going to the store with dad to pick out a gift to give to mom.  Mothers’ Day meant singing to my mom on Sunday.  Mothers’ Day meant going to Grandma’s – often seeing my cousins.  Mothers’ Day meant more than just hot dogs for dinner – though from a child’s point of view that may have been the more satisfactory dinner.

I don’t know how my mom felt about Mothers’ Day.  I think that she enjoyed being honored.  Did she feel honored?  My mom, overall, was a positive person.  I don’t remember when she wasn’t smiling or showed gratitude on Mothers’ Day.  I know she enjoyed being a mother.  And she enjoyed visits from the grandchildren on Mothers’ Day.

Peggy, who lived across the street, loathed Mothers’ Day – or so that seemed to be what was projected.  She was the first person I knew who had a hang-up with what Mothers’ Day was . . . or had become.  I didn’t get it as a child, but as I got older, I also joined in the cynicism. 

Not every Mothers’ Day was a reminder that, “hey, you are single.  You have never dated a guy.  You may very well be motherless throughout all eternity”  but sometimes I thought it was very cool that I was given a chocolate bar or other gift without having to go through labor or wiping noses and such.

I remember Peggy once gave a talk one Mothers’ Day.  She briefly shared her feelings about the holiday and turned her talk into honoring not just mothers but women and “motherly actions” from those who were not mothers in a biological sense.  She used her own daughter as an example.  Though still in grammar school, she had the ability to show a nurturing side.  She took care of an injured bird – despite her brothers’ constant teasing.

There are many who have or are mothers in an estranged relationship.  Just yesterday morning I had read on face book that one of my friends refused to attend Church on Mothers’ Day because of a glorified limelight that often seems to take place over the pulpit but not in her personal life – not even close.  Mothers’ Day can be depressing for many.

I wasn’t in the greatest of moods yesterday.  My back was hurting enough to force me out of bed.  My allergies have come in contact with something that’s bothering.  I don’t know what though.  The past four or five days have been cold and wet and often windy.  I don’t know if that is what is contributing.

I miss my own mom.  I see pictures that my sibs have posted of themselves at mom’s last mothers day or from her funeral.  I am not in any of them.  I was watching Bill’s two when he was taking pictures at the assisted living the week before Mothers’ Day.  Roland and I had left her the cemetery before Bill started taking pictures.  That would mean he’s not in any of the photographs either.

And as I have written in this post, I don’t especially feel worthy of being honored as the expectations I had for myself haven’t quite worked out to my satisfaction.  I wanted to be more like my mom and not the uptight person I have become.  I wanted to have the love and respect that I had shown my own mother.  I’m not saying my own children don’t respect me – but often I don’t feel as though I am.  Then again I suppose it’s possible that my own mother felt the same way. 

I’m thinking that Peggy might have felt the same way that I do.  And yet she has created such a wonderful legacy.  She wasn’t just a mother to her boys – but me and my brother as well.  Or so that’s how I saw it.  I had one biological mother but countless others who had mothered me.  She just happened to be one of them.

I really appreciated the speakers’ words yesterday.  They truly brought in the Spirit as they spoke about women and roles and motherhood that reach beyond those that bear the title “mother”

The first speaker started out her talk recounting the beginning of the Young Women’s theme.  I think that was what she read.  Or reference in a handbook that I just can’t seem to find. The statement was relating the women’s position as a daughter of Heavenly Father.

She asked us to consider six movies: The Wizard of Oz, Star Wars, Despicable Me, Superman, Jungle Book and Spiderman and I can think of a few others she didn’t mention, like Tarzan for instance.  What do all of these shows have in common?  The main characters were raised by “other mothers” who could still care for and nurture without haven given birth.  Though she honored her own mother and mother-in-law, her talk seemed to focus mostly around these “other mothers” which really impressed me.  I think my facebook friend would have found comfort in her talk.

The second speaker continued with the “other mother” theme and praised women and their sense of being and the diversity between men and women and though they may never truly understand one another, there is a greatness in being a woman or knowing women for he has learned a lot from all the women in his life and is grateful for what he has learned and continues to learn from each of them – not just his mother or wife.

I miss my mom so much.  But it was a nice send off really.  I look at my daughter-in-law, Rochelle, who lost her mom only two months after she and Tony were married.  They were living in Texas when her mother passed away in Utah.  She had such a great mom.  All of my daughters do.

And then there’s this story that may put a scar on so many who knew this women, particularly her children who lost their mother so close to Mothers’ Day.  What a painful memory.  Makes my last post about segregating Mothers’ Day seem so ignorant.

I don’t remember the weather so cold on Mothers’ Day as it was for us yesterday.  The sun is shining now, but the air is cold still. 

Two of my boys stopped by and we played games.  That was the highlight of Mothers’ Day.  Playing games with my family.

No FRY in Friday - Yesterday was WET and Cold

          I don’t know why I didn’t notice that Jenna didn’t have a hat on when we left the house.  It was drizzling.  I did have an umbrella.  But we hadn’t used it before we got on the bus.  We did when we got off. 

Wet rain fell upon the umbrella that somewhat shielded us both.  I was willing to walk her to the front doors of the school, as I knew she would be allowed in the building yesterday.  But she didn’t want to go inside.  I asked her if she would like my hat.  She said no at first but then changed her mind.  So did I.  I kept the hat and let her keep the umbrella.

It was a gamble on my part.  Last year her umbrella got stepped on and broke.  She lost my green one that I let her use.  We both got umbrellas at the beginning of this school year.  The wind tore the fabric from one of my spokes.  She misplaced hers.  We used my purple one today – despite the uncovered spoke.

I came home soaked.  Well, my hat and sweatshirt were.  When it came time to return for Jenna, both hat and sweatshirt were still wet with moisture.  I kept the hat but traded sweatshirt and pulled my long coat from its hook.

I had to let Highness out – just long enough to go to the bathroom and then I’d let him back in.  Unfortunately a back gate had been left open.  It took less than a minute for him to discover and disappear.  I couldn’t afford to look for him.  I needed to walk to the bus stop.

That was rather traumatic.  For the thunder clapped too close to the lightening flashes.  And then sky  hailed.  Frozen rain pelted at my face each time I tried to search for the bus.  I could use that umbrella now.  Highness would be getting pelted, too.  Perhaps he’d return home before we did.

    My coat was drenched as well as the bottom of my pants which are light blue, but appeared to be periwinkle below the knee where the rain and hail were biting me.  I don’t know why I kept my hands in my pocket – well, because I didn’t have gloves.  But I think the wet pockets made my hands seem even more ice cold.  The cold moisture also pierced into my shoes and made my feet wet.  But I didn’t have time to return and change my shoes.  If I missed the bus I would have to wait for the next one and school would let out before I arrived.

  

After I got off the bus, I walked up the street and passed several puddles lakes and rivers that hadn’t been there that morning.  As I made my way nearer the school, the rain eased up a bit.  I walked all the way to where her class is located and stood outside under the shelter of the brick eaves.

 She did have a hat on her head as she exited the building, but had her jacket around her waist.  Really?  We walked a few steps before she hurried to catch up with Noreen.  Her umbrella was a lot larger than mine.  They walked down the field and parted ways and then Jenna ran ahead to be with some other friends.

As we were headed up the driveway, Highness followed from behind.  At first I did not recognize that it was him.  He had a stick board in his mouth. He was even willing to play fetch.  He has NEVER been playful from the moment we got him.  I think the weather must have made him delirious or something.

I Understand the Desire for Those Who Wish to Segregate Mothers’ Day

I understand the desire for those who wish to segregate Mothers’ Day

Jenna asks, “What would you like for Mothers’ Day?”

“I would like you to clean your room?”

“No, really.  What do you want?”

“That is what I want.  To have my daughter show me some responsibility.”

“Mooooommmm.”

Are you honoring my motherhood?  What are we celebrating exactly?  Taking a break from the dishes and finding them in the sink on Monday is NOT taking a break.  I don’t even think half the chores I do is what makes up a mother.

I am certainly not a housewife.  I did not tie the knot with any building – especially this one.  I’ve looked into home improvement.  But the expenses all add up and I need to budget for just one thing at a time – not empty out my bank account and then some.

They got me chocolates.  I know because Jenna told me.  She and her friend were wrapping the boxes and came to me to ask my permission if they could have one.

“Enjoy your gift.  The chocolates were delicious.  Here is a box you might like to use for stationary.”

Jenna really wants to surprise me – really wants me to enjoy this “holiday”.  She practiced throwing confetti at me this morning.  Granted, it was a cute idea on her part.  Very colorful.  Also very messy.  And guess who gets to clean it up?  Mother.

When my own mom would get me gifts for Christmas or my birthday or whatever, she would ask, “What would you like?”

Sometimes I was specific.  More often than not I would say, “to be surprised” I rarely was.

Mothers’ Day started out as a holiday to honor a specific mother and then it grew.  I think at one point in history maybe it really was a special holiday and did honor mothers – maybe not all mothers.  There’s always those who feel left out – who don’t feel honored though the system tries.

“You’re not a mother.  Perhaps you never will be.  But here’s a rose to say we care.  Here’s a plaque to always remind you of the commercialism involved. But then I guess that’s with any holiday.  Commercial desecration.

I mean some places have a ligament claim – such as Hallmark.  But I personally don’t know any “mothers” who find anything appealing about Henry’s smoke shop.

I find amusement in sitcoms such as the Middle or Everybody Loves Raymond when the Mothers’ Day outcome really isn’t that great at honoring mother yet capture the role of a mother.  Most sitcoms show the hoopla ends up creating more work.  And dad as well as kids seem oblivious to the true emotions of the mother who just assume NOT be honored if it’s just going to create more work.

So Happy Mothers’ Day to those of you who truly feel honored and glorified on your special day.  To the rest of us: Happy Human Day.  At least we’ve got that in common.

 

The First Week of May

 

This morning we got ready

to start the day 

I grabbed a sweatshirt to

wear to the bus stop 

I could hear rain falling but

did not see at first.

The skies are grey

and cold like early March or November. 

I put my overcoat over

my sweatshirt. 

I shouldn’t have to wear

such a heavy coat

in May.

We waited for the bus.

It feels so much longer

in the rain.

I took a different route

on the return home

I didn’t have to wait at all

I did have to run

to catch a transfer bus

Fortunately the driver waited for me.

I have since returned home. 

I am dry. 

a little cold perhaps. 

I would like to return to bed.

I am so Grateful for my Decision to Give Up Driving

     I believe there are seven traffic lights between the bus stop nearest our house and the bus stop nearest to Jenna’s school.  Three of those lights are at major intersections – though the middle through street doesn’t seem to have as much traffic as the other two.   

     Truth be known, I would go out of my way for that particular street – but this morning there was a terrible accident and I would guess all of the emergency vehicles that arrived on scene had blocked the traffic in all directions.  One could move west and south initially, but that probably came to a halt.

     I had gotten off the bus at that particular intersection because I wanted to purchase three ingredients that were needed to make my enchiladas.  After I had made my purchase, I returned to the bus stop and saw that the bus would be delayed and I might be better off finding a different route. 

     Normally I would be riding north but had chosen a route that was headed west and normally turns south at said intersection – but there was just no way it would be turning.  Especially when the paramedics turned in front of the bus and blocked the lane where the bus would normally turn. 

 

     The driver, less than thrilled with the situation, continued west and detoured through a neighborhood to get back to the main road we needed to be on.  I had to back track where I had already been, but eventually made it to the TRAX station where I got out. 

     First I walked to the library to return a book and then I went to wait for the train.  I got off the train two stops later and waited for the bus and got off three stops later to continue to my house on foot. 

     Car accidents are such a pain – not only to the people driving, but those behind them and those who are waiting for the bus unaware that an accident has caused the bus to detour and perhaps have taken a detour around the waited stop.

 

     One of the worse accidents that I remember having detoured around took place as Jenna and I neared Kearns high school where she was taking a theatre class.  I didn’t have my blog then and was actually driving at the time.

     It was a Wednesday.  Jenna was in the first grade, I think.  We were living in West Valley and though the class did not start until 6:30, I would pick her up from school and drive to Kearns and we would park in my sister’s driveway and then visit with different neighbors until about 6:00 and then we would walk to the high school from wherever we were.

     On that particular day we had a five-hour window rather than our usual three, but I drove my usual route towards Kearns rather than returning to West Valley.  I saw the slowed traffic ahead and took my own detour.  It was before 2:00.  It didn’t occur to me that the instructor would be detoured four hours later due to the same accident.  

     Traffic was soooooooo soooooooo slow that night – as though the entire valley had been rerouted.  Everyone seemed inconvenienced.  It wasn’t until the next day that I heard about how severe the accident had been and how one or two people had to be flown from the scene to the hospital.

 

     It was actually a poorly marked intersection.  I had been in an accident at the same exact intersection only two weeks prior. I don’t know that they really fixed the situation.  There were more traffic lights added with x’s and arrows and extra lanes.  I really dislike that street.

     Before I started this post I could hear sirens.  All morning long I’ve been hearing them.  I’m thinking more accidents.  People just don’t take precautions anymore.  I don’t understand why so many were ever issued driver’s licenses.  Apparently in Utah, the written test is open book.  You think maybe we should change that?

     I really don’t remember when I last took the written test.  I would think I was still single.  I was surprised that they didn’t have me take it when I went back to renew just a few months ago.  But that’s okay.  I’m not planning on driving where there is traffic.  I’m okay with the dessert.  I’m okay with hick towns.  But I don’t want to drive where there’s traffic.

The Pantry Fairy Strikes Again

     When Roland and I lived in Kearns, we spent time volunteering at the pasta plant.  We once purchased a very large order while there.  A mammoth order actually – which was good, because it carried us through several years of hardship.

     I think it was just right after Christmas when we passed out the remaining pasta to our boys.  Within a week I found a huge box of food had been left at our door step.  No note.  No hint of who may have left it.

I didn’t know if the church was taking up a collection and Roland had given our address as a drop off – but it was on Sunday when I found it – meaning whoever dropped it off was a lot faster getting home from church than we were.  It was odd.  And so I actually started taking things out to sort them into groups.

    

It was an odd assortment really.  Bags of pasta.  A variety of canned goods.  A box of two pack muffins and some tasteless marshmallow twists.  I didn’t know if they were intended for us or if it was the wrong house or if the stuff was really any good.  It was though someone had raided their own pantry – oh, perhaps it was from one of our next door neighbors.  Because the box of muffins came with information given in Spanish, I thought perhaps it was our neighbor to the west who had cleaned out her pantry.

 

Neither neighbor said anything about the box.  I think it was only a month later when we were hit again.  Also on a Sunday.  We had survived the last food without getting sick.  But I still questioned the safety of the food, or who it was from.  When I found pudding from the bishops store house I figured it wasn’t from anybody on our street – unless it was from the couple on the corner but I really didn’t believe it was from them.  Oh, my word.

The most likely candidate I would have considered right away was Frank and Marie.  But they had moved out of our ward and are living in another county.  I think they’ve encountered more financial struggles than we have, actually. They had lived in a double-wide trailer when they first moved to West Valley.  Monthly payments became a burden and they moved from their double wide to a single.  When they moved they’d given us an assortment of food – much like what was in the box. 

When they moved a second time, it was just easier for them to part with their food than to pack it.  I don’t think we got all of it, but they did include us in the division of their storage.  Funny how I received a phone call as I was going through the storage.  It was Frank and Marie.  I asked if they had left the food.  They wanted to keep it anonymous.  They knew that we had had struggles.  They don’t know we actually seem to be out from under it now.  I don’t know if they found themselves in a similar situation.

Jenna and I were both home when the pantry fairy hit again.  This time it included Easter candy.  I’m certain that they had Jenna in mind – for they love her. Roland was certain that someone keeps leaving the goods at the wrong house.  I once again explained that I had talked to Frank and Marie and told him why I thought it was them.  How kind of them to willingly drive from Ogden to West Valley.  I sent them a note to thank the pantry fairy should they ever see him/her. 

Little Reminders

     I decided I would take an early bus and get some snacks for the girls.

     When I first walked in the store, I noticed the display set up for Mother’s Day.  A sign said, “Don’t Forget MOM” Tears welled my eyes as I thought, “I won’t.  I can never forget her.  I wish she were still here with us.”

     After I purchased the snacks I went on my way and passed drug store advertising some kind of Shingle prevention shot – at least that’s how it appeared.  I thought about the commercial that advertises that if you have had the chicken pox the virus is already in you. 

     Mom told me that she could find only three chicken pox on my entire body.  It’s quite unfortunate that the worse case of chicken pox she had ever seen was that of my brother Patrick.  She said he had chicken pox on top of chicken pox all over his entire body.  She said he looked like a little monster . . . or something like that.  That must have been terrible for both of them.  

     I also remembered when his children, Ellen and Kimball were quite younger, they were playing with the neighbors across the street.  There must have been five or six of them total.  They each took turns playing a toy flute or a whistle of some sort.  Gradually all of them came down with chicken pox.

     With each step I took, I could feel my pants slipping and would have to tuck and adjust.  Could I actually be losing weight? 

     The sun’s been hot, but there’s been a cool breeze for the most part.  I continued on my way to the school and noticed that ball fields are being made over.  Season is about to start.  Won’t bother me so much now that I’m not driving anymore.  At least I don’t think it will.

I sat on the first bench I came to.  The sun was too warm.  I moved to another that had more shade. I read a bit as I waited for the bell to ring and school to dismiss.

     Jenna had her first friend-from-class play date and I didn’t know what they had planned, but had suggested some options.  The girls decided that we would go home and they would picnic on their snacks.

 First they jumped on the trampoline while I prepared their snacks.  After two hours I got ready for a date.  Roland likes me to wear make-up.  I also wanted to change into a nicer shirt. 

The Fourth Grade Emcees

          Each year in May the dual immersion students will put on a program with songs and dances in featured language.  Last year there were two students from the fourth grade who had hosted the program.  They may have in previous years, but last year was the first year I had noticed them.

Jenna had come home last month to ask me what it means to “M.C.”  I told her M. C. stands for “master of ceremonies” and asked her why she had brought it up.  She said that she (along with another student) had been picked to M.C the dual immersion program performance.

She said she wanted to learn some jokes to tell.  We went to the library and found three or four books that were either too “over the head” or just very lame.  And so she turned to the Internet and found four or five that she thought might work.

She handed me an invitation earlier this week.  The performance for the parents was yesterday.  I wasn’t aware – although she had given me an invitation.  I looked at the back and front but was not aware of the message inside.  And so I missed it.

I walked with her to school today and stayed for the 2^nd program that they had preformed for the rest of the school.  They did a nice job.  I didn’t hear any jokes though.  I don’t know if they told them yesterday or not.

I left after the fourth grade had performed their two numbers.  I took a walk behind the SLCC campus and walked passed for bus stops before approaching the one that would take me to TRAX.  It was a nice walk lined with sidewalk (something that is severely lacking in my own neighborhood)

After I got off the bus and walked towards the train, I noticed several UTA police cars and police patrolling the area.  It was kind of freaky as I was just reading from “In My Hands” about a Polish girl in 1941 leaving Russia and entering German-ruled Poland to take the train to a part that is still Poland and is standing in lines patrolled by guards.  I personally think she should have stayed in Russia, but then it would certainly be a different story. But then I'm not even halfway into it.

I don’t know how many citations were issued.  There were five policemen and I heard one comment that they had cited the same people just five years ago.  Had to have been a different location though.  Fairbourn station wasn’t up at running five years ago.

I have to return to the school to pick up not only Jenna, but also a classmate of hers.  They are going to have a play date.  Do you still call them that when the children are ten years old?  Noreen is in for a treat today.  Her mom usually picks her up in a truck.  But today she’ll be riding the bus with Jenna and me.

I think we may take the same route which I did this morning.  I will ask them how quickly they would like to get back to the house.  I’ll let them make the decision.