Whistle While You Work

What did you do Saturday? This is what we did:




Needless to say, I was a lot happier than the girls were that I didn't have a bad headache all day and spent no time in my bed! It wasn't all work and no play, though. We also went to lunch, and half of us biked there. The girls didn't have the stamina to make it back home on their bikes, so I had mercy on them and gave them a ride home.

Of course, then they had to go grocery shopping with me which was almost as bad to them as the aforementioned chores. However, this did provide them opportunity to whine in public for pudding, cookies, fruit snacks, ice cream and cheesecake. Which made them lose the computer time they had earned doing chores. Yes, their lives are rough. I know it's no way to treat a Princess, but I'm pretty sure it beats leaving them homeless on the doorstep of the grocery store.

Bad News

I think my girls may all work in the billing department of a doctor's office someday. I know I told them several times last night to hang their towels up but somehow the message did not get through to them. This morning two towels are on the floor and one is on the bed. I rest in the hope that they will at least be employable by someone if they can't get a grasp on the English language sometime in the next two years.

Really? Seriously?!

Today I spent a good amount of my morning on the phone with the Billing Department at my Dr.'s office, where I am sure that they employ only those individuals that did not graduate from 8th grade. That, or they are all aliens who have not quite grasped the concept of our English language. I'm hoping for the alien thing.

Me: (after ten minutes of stating and restating the obvious and not so obvious, I sum up)....So, I'd like you to resubmit that claim to my insurance company.

Her: But, your insurance won't cover two mammograms in one year.

Me: I just told you that I called my insurance and they will pay for it if you resubmit my claim with the records that show I do not and did not ever have a lump in my breast. It was a follow-up routine mammogram.

Her: Well, have you ever had a lump?

Me: No. Never. I actually just said that.

Her: Really? Hmmm. But, your insurance won't pay for two mammograms.

Me: Normally they wouldn't, except in this case this is my first one, and the Dr. needed clear baseline pictures. We talked about that and my insurance said they wanted you to resubmit the claim.

Her: Just resubmit it?

Me: Yes. With my records from my appointment with the doctor that day.

Her: Oh. Well, we usually don't do that, because they won't pay it anyway. Did you have a lump?

Seriously? Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! And she's the fourth person I rehashed the story with.

I really would rather have a mammogram than talk with any of them again. Really, truly. And you could even add in a Pap Smear. Sign me up (but, please, not until next year...)

Parties and Promotions

Yesterday, we went to a lovely picnic with our ward family. It sprinkled nearly the whole time, but the rain didn't stop everyone from playing and visiting. We all loaded up on too much food and enjoyed blindfold wheelbarrow races, twenty foot ice cream sundaes, and a rousing game of kickball. Funny thing: three times King was congratulated on his promotion to Associate Professor. The friends had read it in the paper and thought it was a great accomplishment, which it is. The only thing is, this was the first time King had heard of his promotion. He assumes that when he gets to work today, there will be a letter in his in-box, but it was kind of funny that he heard it first from others.

It is now time to stop the long, enjoyable weekend and buckle down to get some things done. The girls headed off this morning for the first of their last seven days of school. They are getting the summer antsy pants, ready to be promoted to their fifth- and seventh-grade years. Today, I have laundry to wash and floors to mop. But, somehow, that pile of laundry seems so much less enjoyable than having dinner with friends and reveling in family togetherness.

The Plate of Torture

Every Thursday, I gear up for the moment in the afternoon when I remind Snow White it is ballet day. She's tired from a long day at school, and really prefers to be a bit of a homebody. She cries and whines and insists that she hates dance and doesn't want to go. Then, with tears and sweat, she gets fed a snack and dressed, and I drop her off at the dance studio. In two hours, I pick up a completely transformed daughter who loves ballet, is all smiles, and chatters the whole way home about what steps she learned and how cool her dance will be at recital.

Except for last week. When I got to the dance studio, she was sitting in the corner with her class, watching the younger girls show off their dance. Snow White was pouting and was the only girl in her class missing a 'plate'.

(Now, I'm not sure that 'plate' is the official term for this kind of tutu, but that is what Snow White's teacher called it, and the stiff white that theirs were made of did look an awfully lot like a large round platter that would go perfectly with my Corelle dishes, so I think the name fits. Here is a sample)--
As the little and bigger ballerinas filed out of class, I asked Snow White why she didn't have a plate. "Didn't it fit?" I asked.

"Yes," she scowled, "but I hate it and took it off. I never want to wear it again."

"Well," I kindly spit, "I don't care if you hate it, you are wearing it again for your recital. I spent almost one hundred dollars for that stinkin' plate and it's matching cover and corset, and you will wear it for recital if it kills one of us to do it."

"No way. I'm not doing recital then. It itches and it's ugly and stupid."

"What's stupid about a bunch of tulle? It looks pretty smart and fancy to me. You were so excited when you saw the picture of it. You look like a ballerina."

"Whatever. I hate it. I never want to wear it again," she seethed, and slammed the door to the van.

"Okay, we'll talk about it later," I said, then changed the subject, "So how was class today? Did you finish up your ending pose? Was everyone there?"

"It was horrible, and I'm never doing the dance again."

"What?! You love it."

"Well, I did before Miss M made me wear that stupid plate to do it. Now I hate it. It's too hard and I don't want to do it."

"What do you mean it's too hard? You had it memorized a month ago. You love it."

"But now when we wear that plate thing, Miss M can tell when we don't tuck in our bums. That stupid plate tilts wrong when you cheat on your posture, and Miss M kept telling me to "lengthen" my body. Ugh, I hate doing that. It makes me tired."

"Oh, so really you're just mad at Miss M, you don't really hate your costume."

"Yeah, it's hard to do what she said and it makes me more tired. You could never believe how many times she stopped the music and made us do a part again because our stupid plates weren't tipped the right way. Now she can tell when we are moving wrong and I hope she forgets them forever. But, I still hate my costume, even if it's cool. It itches. Bad."

Well, I finally gave up and started talking about something else. I figured it couldn't be as bad as she thought it was, and she'd get over it soon. When I searched for the picture above, I found it on this website that said, "On stage, the tutu fully exposes a ballerina’s technique while enhancing her aesthetic flair. These breathtaking constructions require imaginative design and intricate craftsmanship, as well as careful consideration for the dancer who will perform in them...For Principal Artist Lucinda Dunn, performing in a tutu has its pitfalls: “You can’t see your toes, your technique is exposed and, worst of all, the tulle gives you an itchy bottom!”

So, I've decided that at around one hundred dollars I pretty much got a sweet bargain. Not only is the plate the part of a pretty great looking costume, if I keep it around, I could use it as a torture device for Snow White. Either that, or I could fill in the middle with a dip bowl, and use it as a fancy platter. I can't wait 'til recital is over and the costume becomes mine! Wahoo!!

See Me (Them) Run

Mother's Day here was a beautiful day. We attended church and then were able to go and visit an older lady from our congregation who didn't have family visitors. The girls are always a bit uncomfortable visiting the nursing home, but, it's good for them. Shortly after we arrived, dinner was served and the girls tried to hide the pleasure they took in cutting our visit a little short. But, we promised to return soon and bring a game to play next time. The girls could barely contain their excitement. When we got to the van, they told us loudly and firmly just how thrilled they were that we had made this promise. Very loudly.

Despite this, we decided to stop and take a family walk. (Or, maybe because of it--it was really loud in the van.) The girls had a great time running and playing in the sun. I'm not sure why we decided that it was imperative that we get a picture of all three girls jumping at the same time, but it was. It took us, many, many tries. I'm sure this was exactly the kind of thing digital cameras were invented for. After several tries, they started using the cement benches to help them fly. It sort of worked. After about twenty more pictures, we finally had lift off. Three kids airborne at the same time. Yes!! We celebrated our achievement by playing a nice game of tag. By 'we' I mean the girls and dad ran and I videotaped. Just exactly why I videotaped, I'm not sure. The things we do for technology fun. (You're welcome for deleting out all of the screeches and head pounding squeals.)

The Tale of the Field Trip

Once upon a time, long ago (okay, so it was last Friday) in a kingdom far, far away (from most of their family) lived a princess and her two younger sisters. Their parents were not the kind of parents other royalty had. Their parents made them do horrible things like shower, read books, brush their hair, wear clean clothes, and clean up after themselves (the shame!). The princesses felt that they should be able to do anything they wished. After all, they were princesses and should be treated as such.

One day, a field trip was planned for all of the royal children in middle school. Princess Cinderella felt that she should have all of the latest and greatest food for snacking on the bus. Much to her chagrin, her parents packed her strawberries, graham crackers, regular fruit snacks, and store brand granola bars. Much better snacking food than was the normal in her household, but still, not good enough for her. She wasted no time in sticking her nose in the air at such an abomination. However, since it was 4:30 in the morning, and the bus left in half an hour, there was little she could do. So, with an "I'll probably starve to death," she said goodbye to her horrible parents. She did manage to choke out a "thank you" when given a camera to use, but it was done begrudgingly.

Once safely on the bus, out of her parents' sight, Cinderella relaxed, started smiling, and had a glorious time. She gobbled up her snacks, which were actually quite tasty (not that she'd admit that to the castle cook (otherwise known as the King)) and talked and joked with her friends for the five hour bus ride. Upon arrival to their destination, they toured museums and villages, and learned all kinds of great things. She snapped loads of pictures (that were mostly dark), and made sure she got a few perfect ones for her Grandpa D.

Meanwhile, back at home in the castle, Cinderella's sisters thought that they could never have a happier day. They got all of their parents' attention and none of their older sister's teasing. Queen, though, felt a little out of kilter. It was weird to have her oldest princess in a different state than her. Sixteen hours is kind of a long time, if you think about it. (Not nearly enough time to make it worth the fifty plus dollars she had to fork out for Cinderella's experience, though.) But, everyone survived the experience. Although, King was definitely worse for the wear. Getting up at four and staying up until eleven is something King hadn't done since his own school days, and it was hard to say which of these two lovely people suffered most from the lack of sleep. (But, really, it may have been Queen, who had to be nice to both of the sleep-deprived and drag them both to a dance competition the next day...which is a different fairy-tale all together...)

Angels Among Us

I've been a little slow with the blogging this week. It's been a busy week, and not my best as far as the migraines go, either. I've also been feeling a bit serious, maybe a little melancholy. We have a friend who just found out he has brain cancer. Scary. And humbling. It sort of makes your life seem small and a little insignificant when you realize that God is in charge and you never really know what your next challenge will be. But, as insignificant as we seem to ourselves, the reality is that Heavenly Father knows us each personally, and loves us for who we are. He knows the challenges we will face and is ready to face them with us. He'll be there, and He'll send people to be there also.

"...for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up." D&C 84:88

And, really, it's true that whatever trials we face, God knows that we can handle it. I don't know that I always think that having daily migraines is a trial, but I do know that sometimes it feels like one. But, you know, we've had people there for our family all along the way. Doing things that mean a lot no matter how small they seemed to the giver. Sometimes being a friend is the best, and only, thing that is helpful. I'm grateful for friends that God has put in my life, and in the lives of my sweet girls. Watching them face their fears and turn to Christ in their dark hours helps me know that I can do the same. We all can. It's the way it's supposed to work. And it's wonderful. (Tune in next week to hear about the field trip that lasted forever, the birthday wish that almost came true, and the ballet plates of torture...)

The Perfect Platter

When I got married, I decided that I would not choose china, serving dishes, and fancy stemware thinking that by the time I would actually have a home for entertaining, and a cause to do so, I would want a different style of china than my under-experienced twenty-year-old self would pick out. I was right. But what I didn't factor in to this great equation was that when I did want china, I would be the mother of three young girls, and the wife of one college professor, and the co-owner of college loans. And a list of wants longer than my arm, and my other arm, and both legs.

Basically, what I'm saying is that there were (and are) many things on our to-buy list that are so much more important than china. So, we use our trusty Corelle given to me by my loving aunts at my bridal shower.

I am ever grateful that the practical bride that was me chose the 'Winter Frost White' pattern instead of the other beauties that were popular around my wedding time.
I have nothing against sunflowers, seed packets, or bumblebees. I just think maybe my plate would be a weird place to encounter them. Every day. For fifteen years. Perhaps now you understand the relief that is mine. White is good. Sunflowers are bad.

So, the point of my reminiscing about plates and patterns--While I don't mind our Corelle that is trusty and plain, I do mind that I don't have any fancy large platters to carry treats and treasures to the occasional baby shower or church shin-dig. But, as predictable as this may seem, I want a white one.

But not Corelle. Something solid and large and plain and not earth shatteringly expensive. It may come as a surprise to you that these ample, modest and satisfyingly heavy platters also come with an ample price tag. Which is why I nearly cried out with glee when I was browsing the clearance isle and saw a perfectly simple, yet substantial, white platter for three dollars.

I snatched it up, and checked for flaws. One miniscule fingerprint on the bottom of the oval platter was not going to hinder it's performance at all, so home I went with my treasure.

I proudly showed my find to the girls, to the husband, and would have showed the neighbors if my family didn't stop me. I tempered my disappointment of it not being socially acceptable to run through the streets showing off my find by thinking about the many social events this fabulous platter would attend. It would be famous. I would be proud to carry it anywhere.

And now, I'm guessing that you are hoping that I will bring it to the next party you invite me to. Or, that you can at least catch a glimpse of it through the scientific wonderness called the World Wide Web. And, you shall not be disappointed. Here it is, in all it's glory:
In the garbage. Which is where it was a mere twelve hours after it joined our household. A glass dish was dropped on the platter, and the platter did not survive. The other dish was Corelle, so, of course, it's not going anywhere. It's been around fifteen years and aims to make it another seventy. Someday, I will have a large, plain, and perfectly heavy white platter to put my goodies on. And maybe it will be a Corelle.

On The Edge

The last week or so, we’ve been observing some robins in our yard. Two birds have been nesting, and we've been curious. One day last week, we took the kitchen step stool out to help us get high enough to get a peek at what occupied one of the nests. As we neared the tree, the mama robin nervously took flight and found safety in a nearby tree. As we climbed our way to peer in her nest, she flitted from branch to branch and kept a close watch on us. Inside the nest, we spied three lovely, shockingly blue robin eggs.

After our photo op, we quickly went back inside so the nervous mom could warm her baby eggs. After a few minutes, she returned to her nest and has been diligently sitting all week long. Every time we quietly check, we can see her red belly blanketing her babies and her tail feathers signaling attention, telling others that she is busy with important work.

We also checked out the other nest in our yard. We could not climb high enough to look in, but we could see a busy bird collecting worms and feeding three tiny triangles of beak. The mama busied herself feeding her babies and took no notice of the four observers watching her work so hard.

As we’ve watched these signs of spring, I can’t help wondering what the mama birds think. Do they worry when someone gets close enough to potentially cause harm to their babies? Do they look longingly at their eggs and wonder what it will be like to meet the babies that hatch out? Do they cherish each moment of their newborn babies’ days knowing that soon they will grow and leave the safety of a nice, snug nest?

The birds and the newness of the helpless babies being carefully cared for by their moms, has left me thinking about my little “birds”. The time has passed quickly. I remember waiting and looking forward to the day when my swollen belly would finally give me a baby (or two) to care for and love. I wonder sometimes if I got so busy gathering the worms that I forgot to take time to cherish the times that they were helpless and relied on me for their every need. They change so much, and it seems like just a spring has passed since I cared for them and waited for them to hatch. Now, it seems that I am watching them hatch all over again, as they become young ladies that love to learn and are growing into their own unique personalities.

I wonder if, as the robin feeds her babies, if she’s like me. Does she worry about the times she has to leave them to gather nourishment? About the time when she’ll stand at the edge of their safe home and teach them how to spread their wings? Has she taught them enough? Nourished them enough? Taught them to fly strong and soar as high as they can? Has she taught them all that they can be?

I stand on the edge of that spring where I am teaching my girls how to spread their wings. I cherish the times they are with me to practice, but each day they have more time that they flap their wings without me there at every wing beat. Some days I’m the mama robin in the neighboring tree. Watching. Waiting. Hoping they are safe. One day soon, we’ll stand at the edge of our safe nest, and I will have to let them go. I hope they soar. I hope they soar to the highest tree. And sometimes, when they are out on their own, I hope they let me soar with them.

Magnetic Fun

Last week, the girls and I went with our Activity Days group to a "paint your own pottery" store. They loved the opportunity to create and I loved watching them have fun creating and interacting with their friends.Sleeping Beauty chose a square magnet that she put an "M" on. Snow White, always thinking of others, chose a baby bottle magnet to make in honor of her first girl cousin to be born on my side in ten years. It's an event to be honored, in her mind, and what better way than making a cute magnet? (I'm sure that my brother and his wife never read this blog, or I would have kept it a secret. Snow White can't wait to present the magnet to new baby girl.)

And the amazing results? Drum roll, please.......

I think it's funny that from a wide variety, they chose their colors completely on their own, separate from each other, but they chose pretty much the same ones. They were so proud of their finished products, and amazed how different they were once they were fired. I'm thinking we will have to head there again to do some more creating. Such fun!

Less Words Wednesday--A New Talent

Cinderella cleaned the keys before she would practice. I don't blame her. Not only were those socks worn outside minutes before this amazing display of talent, they have FEET in them. Yuck.

Clarified

I'm always thinking of new ways to torture my girls. My best ideas, the ones that get the biggest reaction, are making them shower and making them brush their teeth. Those two unreasonable requests barely hedge out wearing clean clothes to school and brushing hair before you leave the house. I know, I have no compassion.

Saturday, I decided to push my luck just a bit more, and decided to do a clarifying treatment on everyone's hair. The only willing participant was Cinderella. After all, she had been convinced by an actual expert that doing this was a great idea. Despite the weeping and wailing, we had great results. Soft, shiny, incredibly clean hair and grouchy, picked on girls. Yes! (Imagine me doing a tremendous fist pump in the air.)

This is what we did:
+Mix one package of Kool-Aid Lemonade with a big squirt of Clarifying Shampoo.
+Put this mixture in your hair, and let sit for twenty to thirty minutes.
+It's best if you wrap your head in a plastic grocery bag to prevent dripping, like so:+Rinse out the Kool-Aid mixture.
+Put a good heavy duty conditioner on your hair, and let sit for ten to twenty minutes.
+Wrap your head again.
+Rinse the conditioner out of your hair.

If you have a few girls in your house, I would wear gloves (the lemonade stripped the moisture out of my hands) and a sturdy pair of earplugs. It was wonderful, for at least one day, for all of us to have clean, soft, and shiny hair. The girls then resumed washing their own hair, which leads to varied results. It really depends on whether they run out of hot water while dancing and singing in the shower before they rinse, or not. Or if they even remember to shampoo.

Pink

I've decided if I really want to seem young again, I need to have a colored laptop to carry around. The color I am choosing is pink. I'm picking pink not only because it's the most common color you see at the campus where my husband works, but because I could get it FREE! From 5 Minutes for Mom. You can go over there and enter yourself, but I wouldn't if I were you. It will be kind of hard for you to pull off the pink computer if you don't have a matching retainer. (Although, you can pick a silver or black one---Boring!)

Age Schmage

I went last week to Cinderella's orthodontist and got a miracle device. When I put it on, the good doctor said, "How does that feel?"

and I said, "I feel like a teenager!"

and he replied, "Yes, I thought you looked fifteen years younger."

And I think I do:


At least my teeth do. That's pretty much all that does. And soon, they will be back to perfectly straight like they were when my parents paid loads to make them that way.

The retainer's pink with gold sparkles (I spared you that picture) and sort of sneaky to wear--like wearing your fanciest underwear under your sweats to run to the grocery store. Nobody knows the bling is there. Although, I haven't done that underwear trick for years, which is probably part of the reason I felt like a tricky teenager again.

My disillusionment only lasted a few days, though. Shortly thereafter, I went to the store and bought this:


Minus the Clearasil (which is for Cinderella, but, unfortunately, I need it too), this shopping trip made me feel ancient. Polident denture cleaner (for the new retainer), Positively Ageless moisturizer, and All Bran wafers that have 40% of your daily fiber needs, which I found in my grocery store in the section labeled "Elderly Care". Nice.

My New Future Plans

Yesterday, I had the privilege of sitting in a room of teenage girls, listening to their chatter. It's Prom week and they had a lot to say. Most of the girls had a dress already and described them to their friends, or showed the picture on their phones. They asked advice about how to wear their hair and where to get it done. They questioned each other about what to have their date wear and where to tell him to get the flowers. Were they wearing wrist corsages or pin corsages? What were they wearing after Prom? Where would they go to dinner and what were they doing before the dance?

I sat there in shock. I listened, and as they talked, I became more and more terrified of having three teenage girls in my home at the same time. I think we will move to a remote part of Canada when Cinderella turns sixteen and is allowed to date. This will accomplish many of my new future goals.

• Live somewhere that is freezing cold so the girls want to wear a coat and sweater all of the time. No strapless tiny squares of silk for us, thank you very much.
  
• Live somewhere where it is nearly impossible to find a teenage boy that has time to date girls. If the area is remote enough, everyone will need to walk uphill both ways in the freezing snow to get to school. Plus, all the boys will need to help out on the Christmas Tree Farms they live on.
  
• Live in a place that is big enough for me, but mostly King, to have enough space so that he can get away from the girls once a month and not have to actually move out of the house. A big farm ought to do the trick. No animals, but plenty of outbuildings to house hormonal teenagers.
• Live somewhere where there is no cell phone service and people haven't heard of Prom Magazine.
• Live somewhere where the weather is so lousy it ruins your hair so even doing it isn't worth the effort.
  

The only problem with this plan is that it is quite possible that one of my now melancholy teenagers may meet a vampire and fall in love with him. At least I've read about that happening before.