Safety First

We had a workman come knock on our door, handing us a note, saying, "Just wanted to warn you."  Now, that seems a bit alarming, don't you think?  Just what is he going to do?  Well, let me tell you what the note said, and I quote:

"Resident:

Please be advised that we will be in your neighborhood 1/28 through 2/2 cleaning the sewers.

Due to the chance of water spray; please place towels around and over toilets. Please weigh down the toilet lids.  Also, please place towels or rags in all of your sinks.

Thank you for your cooperation in this matter and we will be done with the procedure as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Project Superintendent"

Okay, you clean sewers?  And that water can spray into your house?  And that "spray" is strong enough that you should weigh down your toilet lids?  [We interrupt this train of thought to report to King that a half empty box of wipes will not in fact weigh down a toilet seat as this box is much lighter than an actual toilet seat.  Just so you know.  In case you ever have to weigh down your toilet seat.  But, who ever would?  Right?]  Weigh them down?  For five days?  What if you need to go?  Do you get sprayed?  Do you hold it?  You clean sewers?!  And it can spray into your house?!

Um, yuck.  Just yuck.

Party At My House!

You are invited to the party of the decade!  You won't want to miss it.  We will be celebrating three simultaneous fantastic events:  my insurance company's decision to deny my appeal for coverage of Botox treatment for chronic migraines (on the grounds that it is "experimental"); the Doctor's declaration of failure of said treatment (not that he had to tell me that); and my return to a (false semblance of) real life, in which I stop maintenance medications that are not working, and instead use (and teeter on the brink of abuse) Excedrin anytime I dang well feel like it, no matter the consequences (stomach pain, jitters, bounce-back headaches, kidney failure--all good stuff!) so that more people around me will continue to think I feel fabulous all of the time.  Wahooo!

No gifts please--unless you can get your hands on one of those Costco size bottles of Excedrin or have found a new kind of ice pack that stays frozen for a full night.  Those I will accept.  Please bring drinks to share (non-alcoholic--dangit!) and plenty of chocolate.  Well, actually any kind of sweets will do.  I will be providing the artwork (lots of MRI films--they are so hip and modern framed and hung on the wall), the reading materials (lots of medical records!), and more chocolate.  And party hats.

More details will follow.  I will decide on time and date when I don't have a headache anymore.  So, um...watch for that...um, yeah.  It's gonna be super-duper fun. :) 

Be Careful What You Say

Just now I was talking on the phone with a friend.  We are going to another friend's house for lunch tomorrow (yay!) and were discussing the menu. 

"Well," said I, "I have some cookie dough in the fridge.  I'll pop some in the oven and bring cookies."

She said, "Are you sure you are feeling up to that?"  (Yep, she knew it's been one of those not so fabulous weeks for me.)

"Oh, sure, it will be fine.  They're already mixed up.  It will take me ten minutes to cook them.  Or I'll bring the dough and we can eat that."

"We could even bake them at N's house and then her house would smell nice, and they could have fresh cookies," she said. 

"Ooooh. Good idea.  That's what we'll do."

We chatted briefly about cancer (it sucks) and headaches and yucky things, and about Disney World and cookies and happy things.  And then we hung up. 

And I went to check on the girls and their homework progress.  And guess what they were eating? 

Oh, yes, they sure were.  With spoons.  And extra chocolate chips on the side.  (Sigh.) 

A Spooky Story

Our house has been a bit haunted lately.  We've had some kind of monster in our midst.  We sometimes see it skulking in the shadowy corners of the rooms.  Sometimes we feel it under the bed--hidden, lying in wait.  You can just feel it's enormity.  It's downright spooky, and we've had a bit of trouble catching up with it.

Until yesterday, when it must have met it's untimely demise.  We found it in pieces, strewn haphazardly in baskets about my bedroom.

We can now confirm that it was, in fact, a laundry monster.

The Massive Misadventure

I was a pretty good teenager.  I was somewhat helpful with my five younger siblings, went to church without making a fuss (mostly), and managed to avoid the major stupid things teenagers feel like they have to try out--drugs, drinking, smoking, sex.  But, I could be impertinent with the best of them. I know-you're thinking, 'What?  You?  I don't believe it, considering your children are absolutely perfect!'--but I really am serious.

One of my favorite times to be snotty was during Family Home Evenings.  I may not have always voiced my displeasure, but I could kill with my looks of annoyance and boredom, or thought I could.  But, despite my horrible attitude and contempt, I really did enjoy spending time with family and have warm thoughts when I think of the lessons and games we participated in.  Why must teenagers always pretend they are being tortured when they actually (mostly) enjoy the activity?

As an adult, I love Family Home Evening.  We have a great time together learning gospel principles and just having fun.  King and I are prayerful about what topics to discuss and about what we can best do to instill in our girls a love for family, their Heavenly Father, the gift of the Atonement and the Gospel of Jesus Christ in their lives.  We know it is important and know that our family will be blessed because of it.

"...Regular participation in family home evening will develop increased personal worth, family unity, love for our fellow men, and trust in our Father in heaven."
(Family Home Evening, 1976 — Spencer W. Kimball, N. Eldon Tanner, and Marion G. Romney

Enter our Family Home Evening on Monday night---

It was a fantastic failure.  Magnificent mess.  Stupendous sinking ship.  All three girls showed up with their best teenage attitudes (and by best, I mean that any one of them could have killed a large buffalo or small dragon with one piercing look).  We attempted to begin with a song, like we always do.  And, being girls who just hate to sing (despite choir, honors choir, special statewide choir, after-school choir and musicals on their resumes); this was their undoing.  How could we expect such a thing?  All the songs we could ever sing are stupid and boring.  They were NOT doing it.  What was so special about singing dumb church songs anyway?

Which was incredibly ironic, since the topic chosen for the evening's discussion was "the importance of music in gospel learning".  Funny, huh?

To say it ended badly is an understatement.  We all, including me, went to bed early.  No one got anything out of it, and, honestly, I gave up trying.  But, lucky for the girls and me, we will address the same topic next week, or the one after that, or until we get it right.  Or at least make a fair attempt at discussing and understanding.   

This whole week, I am rereading this thought until I either memorize it or have it burned into the back of my eyelids:

"We call upon parents to devote their best efforts to the teaching and rearing of their children in gospel principles which will keep them close to the Church. The home is the basis of a righteous life, and no other instrumentality can take its place or fulfill its essential functions in carrying forward this God-given responsibility. We counsel parents and children to give highest priority to family prayer, family home evening, gospel study and instruction, and wholesome family activities."
(First Presidency letter, 11 February 1999 — Gordon B. Hinckley, Thomas S. Monson, and James E. Faust)

It is important.  It is worth it.  It is my (and King's) divine responsibility and pleasure to be my girls' most dedicated teacher of the gospel.  And we will have Family Home Evening every week, even if it kills us.

Please, tell me, you wise parents of teenagers, (or those who lived through it), what in the world am I going to do to survive the next 4-6 years?  I must know your secrets.   

Just in Time for the Olympics

Cinderella and King have learned to ice skate.  They didn't make it to the Olympics this time and Cinderella's a little bugged King didn't perform in tip-top shape at the Olympic Trials.  But King's just happy to have hair again.  (And isn't that some spectacular hair King's got going on?) :)

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

Productive

We've enjoyed our day off of school and work.  Well, I've enjoyed it.  The girls didn't think it was really a day off at all.  Cleaning, organizing, laundry.  You know--fun stuff.  The girls also did a little homework, and I helped them.  Wahoo!  Aren't holidays great? 

And, just when I thought this day could be perfectly productive, Cinderella had to insist that I finally take her to see Twilight: New Moon.  So, off I go to pick her up at play practice and head to the theater.  (Did I tell you they are doing Beauty and the Beast at her middle school?  She is the Milkmaid, with a little solo singing part, and a castle servant.  Perhaps a fork or a napkin?  Who knows.)  I'm super excited for the one on one time with my little girl.  And the popcorn.  The movie---well, if it is anything like the first one, it may be tolerable.  Maybe.

Change

I was really tired of my old background.  Not that it was any kind of background--I kept it simple and boring, so I wouldn't get tired of it quickly.  But, I was tired of it.  So I changed it.  And I will most likely get very tired of this one much, much sooner.  But, it's a new year, so I will try something new.  And we'll see how long it lasts. 

And, did you know that when you write, you should never begin sentences with so, and, or but?  So.  And.  But.

Cheeky

Perhaps you'll remember Snow White's obsession with the British last year.  Maybe that is the reason this note I found from Cinderella tickled me so:

"Dear Father:

As I am writing this, I am speaking in a British accent. 

I think you are swell.

Love,

The Best Daughter Ever

(Cinderella) :) "

So funny.  Or perhaps it is not, and it just seems that way because I am up at 2 in the morning with a bad headache, bad cramps, and spending my sleepless night sorting through the pile of papers we call the computer desk.

 Top 'o the mornin' to ya.  Cheerio.

Phew

We have three girls that are different in almost every way.  Including how they deal with their teen/preteen hormones. 

We have one moody sulker.

We have one spit-fire screamer.

And we have one soggy crier.

Which is super lucky, don't you think?  Because if we could expect only one reaction when the girls are asked to do something horrific, like fold their clothes, then things would be way too easy and calm around here.  Phew. 

p.s.  I'm still waiting for our previously inexperienced in the girl hormone ways (sister-less) King to figure out that if he moves a couple of chairs in his office, he could probably fit a nice small futon there.  Please don't tell him.  We have a lot of teen years yet, and I don't want him to get any great ideas. 

The Family Pics

In the Fall, we needed our pictures to be taken.  The grandparents would be unhappy indeed if they didn't get copies for Christmas.  And, for the last several years for Christmas cards, we have sent pictures of only the girls.  It was about time our friends and families saw how wrinkled and bald we've gotten over the years.  So, we grabbed our friend and favorite 4th grade teacher, and headed to campus.

It was a bright, beautiful day--which is lovely, but it made taking pictures of the girls with their darn transition lenses a little bit annoying.  (Why did I buy those things anyway?)  In the end, we got some great pictures, thanks to Carolyn's talent.  And, we had a good time.  Especially the girls.  They ate it up, and thought they were movie stars.

The girls laughed at King when we got the pictures back, because he only smiled big for two pictures:  the ones where I was kissing him.  Cinderella told me that I should have kissed him before every picture so he'd have a real smile.  Now, I love him more than anything, but at around 200 pictures taken, I think even he would have been tired of the kisses.  Maybe.   

I'm not sure if it was because our photographer was the girls' former teacher, or if they were just in good moods, but they were remarkably well behaved and cooperative.  Although, one of my favorite pictures is one where the true family dynamics peeked out a little bit.  Here we have Cinderella bothering Snow White while Sleeping Beauty resides in her own little untroubled world.  Just like most of Winter Break around here. 

(And, Grandmas--if you are feeling bad that I didn't print that last one for you, just let me know, and I will send over a 16x20 as soon as possible.  It ought to look gorgeous framed for your living room wall.)

So, This is the Deal

In trepidation, and with a knowledge that there are many waiting to hear how the Botox is going, and realizing I really don't feel like calling anyone about it, or talking much about it, I give you my report-- 

Botox.  It is helping.  But not in an earth-shattering "I want to kiss my doctor and, glory be, my life has never been the same" kind of way.  My bad times are not quite as bad (thank goodness) and my medium times are a little better, and my good times are a little bit longer.  I don't have to concentrate so hard to ignore the pain, so things like mopping the floor and helping the kids with their math seem a little less overwhelming.  So, that's good.  And, for the first time in a very long time, when I took an acute migraine medication (you've probably heard of the one called Imitrex) it actually helped a little and gave me some relief.  That was nice, but I still can't take them every day.   

I described it like this to someone yesterday:  Now, instead of feeling like, "I am going to die, someone please kill me, or I will just go lie down" it's more like, "Ow, my head is killing me, I must go lie down before I fall over."  So, it's better.  Just not as life-changing as I had hoped.  The pain is less, but my overall production and energy is not a lot better.  I still have to ration my energy and things so that I don't do too much, and many of my early evenings are still spent in bed.

That being said, I cannot truly make an accurate assumption just yet.  My headaches seem to go in cycles, and while the better days seem to be a little better, it really all could be because my body is in a "better" cycle at the moment.  That does happen.  Also, my body could be in a "worse" cycle, but it feels like a "better" one, so it could improve.  I am at four weeks since the treatment, and should be at peak levels of relief, so, honestly, it's feeling like spending $8,000 a year for only this much improvement isn't really worth it.  I guess we'll still see, and eventually, we'll see what the insurance actually decides as well.   

So, there you have it.  That's the deal.

Real

Last night on the way home from piano lessons:

Me:  So, how do you think it is going with your teacher?  How are your Czerny exercises going?

Cinderella:  I HATE them. A lot.

Me:  Yeah.  They'll get easier.

C:  Yep.  Mrs. S said soon everything will come naturally, and when I do the correct technique without thinking about it, then I know I'm doing it right. 

Me:  Hmmm...

C:  Technique is really important.  Fundamental.  Everything is easier if you have it down.  Mrs. S is really good at it.  She loves it.  She is a real piano teacher.

[Insert hallelujah chorus here]

(Now, I know she didn't say she loved her, but being real is pretty darn good.  Maybe we are not throwing our money away.)

Me:  (so as to seem disinterested, completely nonchalant, and as clueless as a mother of a teenager should be, and to avoid Cinderella noticing that inside I am doing the happy dance)  Oh, cool.

C:  Yep