The difference between my mom and my dad

I love my mom. She is a great person—funny, generous, and smart.

I love my dad. He is a great person too—witty, intelligent, and kind.  

Mom and Dad were alike in the important things—shared beliefs and values; hard workers; loving; good parents; great people. But they were also very different from each other. Here are a couple of illustrations for you:

This picture was taken of Mom at work,
about ten years before this story happened.

1.  Bruce and I started dating about a year after I got my driver's license. He was surprised that I couldn't drive a standard transmission car. Well, I'd never had to drive one; I always drove my mom's automatic. But when he said he'd teach me, I thought it would be pretty cool to learn, to have my boyfriend teach me, and to be the only girl in my family who drove a stick-shift.

So Bruce taught me to drive a stick, mostly in my dad's Ford Ranger, and I did really well! So well, in fact, that I was confident to drive it all by myself one day. I don't remember where my mom's Subaru was for the day—maybe out for a repair, maybe my dad had it; I don't know. But one afternoon only the truck was around, and I wanted to go hang out with Bruce at his house for a while. So I told Paul, that I could get Mom from work that evening if I could take the truck over to Bruce's house. (Paul was supposed to pick Mom up.) And I drove that truck right on over to go see Bruce. Perfectly smooth. No jerking starts or stops, just smooth sailing all the way there. Bruce was proud of me! Then, just before 5:00 I drove over to my mom's office to pick her up; again, it was a smooth ride. I felt pretty awesome. And wouldn't Mom be surprised to see that I had come to get her in the truck all by myself?

Oh, she was surprised all right! Not surprised like, "Wow! Look at you, driving the truck!" but more like, "What in the world are you doing driving Dad's truck?!" and, "I hope we make it home in one piece!"

Well, I was instantly nervous. And it was rush hour, stop and go traffic all the way home. And I killed that darn truck every time I had to stop, and had a hard time starting it up again every single time, and Mom kept up an anxious, worried scolding the entire drive. To make things worse, our bishop had been behind us the entire way, and that weekend he laughingly told my mom that he was sure whoever was driving that truck had stripped all the gears. Which she then told me as proof that I should not be driving the truck. And I never did again.

This picture was probably taken pretty close
to the time these stories took place.

2.  On the day I registered for my senior year in high school—while I was at the school, actually—my dad had driven the motorcycle to work and was in an accident. He broke his ankle pretty badly. I don't remember if he just had to stay home for a long time, or if he was just home this day, or what. But anyway Dad was home, and I was home (hm... it must have been before school actually started back up, then)... and he needed to stop at his workplace for something. I had driven Mom to work (in the automatic transmission Subaru), so Dad asked me to take him to work, and I did, and of course made it there without incident.

On the way back home we were driving down the freeway, which was wide open and empty... except for the car that was directly in my blind spot. So we're flying along at 55mph, Dad's reclined in the passenger seat, and I need to move left so that I won't be in the exit lane. And I didn't see the one. single. other car on the entire freeway for miles. Now, this guy could have moved into the next lane over as he honked his horn at me, and he could have flipped me off, and sworn at me, but he didn't. He just laid on his horn and stayed right where he was. I, on the other hand, had a near heart-attack, and over-corrected, yanking the steering wheel hard to the right. And as I'm racing toward the freeway barrier, I freak out again and yank the wheel hard to the left, making a swooping, speeding arc toward the left barrier. Once again I pull the wheel to the right, braking this time, and shrieking out my best horror-movie, blood-curdling, "we're about to die" scream as we come to a stop about a foot away from the right-side barrier. And after a second, Dad looks over at me and calmly says, "Did that scare you?"

And that is the difference between my mom and my dad. ♥

Odds & Ends

..or maybe Oddities & Ends

Just a few things I've noticed about myself...

I've been sick for the last couple of days, and I seem to have a morbid fascination with the way it makes me feel. First I had a fever—102.9 at the high point, although I have to wonder if this was because I was buried in blankets with the bed-warmer on...  And of course, fever means chills (hence the cocoon). This lasted a night and a day and a night. Today I'm mostly just tired.

But the weird thing is... well, two weird things: 1. Food tastes strange. I swear I could taste cinnamon in the home-made chicken noodle soup that had no cinnamon in it. Bleh.
2. I just feel wrung out. My body hurts, I'm super tired, and I'm shaky. Like I had a really long workout session. Which maybe I did.

But here is the odd thing: I'm not out for sympathy or anything. It's just that I catch myself really paying attention to the way these things feel, almost as if I were observing someone else who was sick. But, oh my goodness! I am so glad I don't feel this way when I see other people who are sick. (Could you imagine, in a household of ten people?!)

Well, Being sick is weird. That's one thing.

Here's the next thing I've observed:
I am sewing a costume and I'm putting in a lot of extra work that might not even be seen from the stage. But I have to do it. I am driven to do it. Because it will make me happy. Like Inigo Montoya wanting to fight "the man in black" left-handed, I can have no satisfaction if I don't do it this way.

And here's the third thing:
Whenever I am sewing a seam, the first pin I pull out of the fabric goes into my mouth and stays there until the seam is completely sewn. I never put more than one pin into my mouth; I never take that pin out until I'm finished. Every. Time. It is how I sew.

So, three idiosyncrasies. There's probably a lot more. A lot more. Do you ever observe yourself this way—as if from the outside, looking in?

Sweet?

So here's a thing I've been thinking about since..a few weeks before Thanksgiving, I guess.

I had been thinking I'd like to be doing more for other people, and not just worrying about my own, and my family's, concerns so much. I was starting to feel really self-centered, and a little down. And it was hard because I'm not really in a position to do much for people. Or, the things I  can do... I may not be aware of the need.

One day, in Relief Society, they sent around a sign-up for people to cook once a week for an older couple; they had recently discovered that the wife had congestive heart disease, and would probably die within six months. The husband was taking care of the cooking, and didn't feel like he needed help, but they were glad to accept the offer of having someone bring them a meal once a week and visit with them a little, on Wednesdays. And I thought, "I can do that." So I signed up for a day that was still free.

And then I thought, It's easy for me to cook a meal for another person, or even for a whole other family. I have food in the house; I like to cook. This is something I can do for other people. And I decided to volunteer to cook for people whenever I heard about that particular need. So whenever a sign-up sheet went around, I put my name on it.

And pretty soon people started telling me, "It's so sweet of you to do that!"

??

OK. Next scenario.

I found out about a family who needed some Christmas. The only thing I did was put a bug into the right ears, and Christmas happened. And it was wonderful to be a part of it—to see how people just jumped in to help. That was truly the best part of my Christmas this year. But, again, people were telling me, "It's so sweet of you to do this for them!"

And it was weird, you know? That's not what it was about.

One more.

A few weeks ago a friend, an older lady who lives by herself, called us on a Saturday night around 9 p.m. because she needed a ride to the emergency room. Bruce and I were glad to take her. And we stayed with her until 2 a.m. and gave her a ride home.

The following Sunday I was telling another friend about this and she said, "It was so sweet of you to do that for her."

And I am really puzzled.

I'm not doing these things, or telling people about them because I want a pat on the head. I told people about the Christmas thing because I  needed the help. I was telling about my Saturday friend in the E.R. because my Sunday friend wondered why I was so tired that day.

I wasn't being sweet. It's just...  These things needed to be done; people had a need. And I was there. I didn't do anything amazing, I just did what anyone would have done.

So how should I react—what should I say—to people who want to praise me for these things? Because the polite—and even kind—thing would be to graciously accept their compliment, I guess. I mean, if someone praised my skills as a pianist (which is not likely with the amount of practicing I do), that's what I would do; I would just say, "Thank you." But that is really a different thing.

I guess this is why we do our alms in secret; why, when we do a good deed, we try to do it so that our right hand doesn't even know what the left hand is doing.

I don't need anyone to say anything about this; I'm certainly not fishing for more compliments. I'm just trying to process it, I guess.

Organ Transplant

Today I need to talk about something really important.

Just kidding!

I'm really going to talk about Christmas some more!

Despite all the extra stuff we were doing all the way up to Christmas Eve, we managed to get the house fairly clean and our traditional dinner all cooked by 6:30. (Michael asked, "How long has this dinner actually been a 'tradition'?"  He did say it with the extra quotation marks—I could hear it. Well... Only about three years, I guess. But it's yummy, so now it's a tradition.) We used paper plates, so clean-up was easy. Hooray!

Then we watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas and A Charlie Brown Christmas while we hid in our respective corners, behind large pillows and piles of wrapping paper, and finished wrapping all our gifts. For the rest of the evening we played some games, ate snacky things, and then wrapped up the evening watching The Christ Child. 

I guess I got to bed before midnight—which is saying something on Christmas Eve.

But then I had to visit the bathroom at 4:00 a.m. I went back to bed, thoroughly intending to continue my long winter's nap, but I was still awake at 5:00. So I got up, figuring there was no sense, or kindness, in tossing around and keeping Bruce awake too. I went and sat at the computer, and played dumb solitaire games. Then at 5:30 I heard an alarm go off. Really?!

My three stinker girls all got up, went down the stairs and into the great room where they sat looking at the tree and the presents, and talking and giggling together. (Actually, I think this is their tradition. 😊 )  I thought for sure they'd go and "wake me up" at any minute. But by 6:00 they hadn't made their move, and I was tired enough to go back to bed, so I did. I waited for them to come get us, but  I just fell asleep again pretty quickly.

The girls finally did start knocking on bedroom doors at 7:00, and I woke up more groggy than I had at 4:00. Ah, well.

Breakfast went into the ovens to bake while we opened gifts. My kids with jobs had gotten gifts for everyone, and we had the things I got, and a couple of things that Santa brought us—including a banana chair! It was nice. But we couldn't open the home-made sibling gifts because Jason and Adreanna spent their Christmas Day with her parents; that tradition would have to wait a couple more days.

Bruce got the first gift of the morning: nestled among twelve
pairs of socks was a book of Dad Jokes (from Lindsey).
And then we had to listen to him read out Dad Jokes for a while before we could get back to opening gifts.

We had our lovely—traditional—breakfast around 9 a.m., and when breakfast was done I would have gone back to bed...but we were expecting Daniel to come and help Bruce unload my giant surprise from the van. Daniel showed up around 10:30 with his brother-in-law, Nick, and his older kids, Thomas, Ruth Ann, and Hannah. I prepared our afternoon/evening meal for the oven—with my back to the goings-on—while I heard the grunts and clunks and movings of fate. Or a Christmas present.

They had to remove the door from its hinges
in order to get my gift into the house...

And the entire time I was hoping that I would be sufficiently excited and pleased after all the build-up of the past couple of weeks. (Oh...wow. You got me a mechanical bull. Thanks...?)

They did finally wrangle it into place, but to do it they had moved the table so it blocked my path from the kitchen directly to the great room. I had to go around, through the hallway, through the living room, through the dining area, and then in to where my gift sat. The paparazzi were there with their cameras along the entire route.

I walked into the great room and saw...

This cracks me up—look at all the cameras pointed at me! 😃

An organ!

A full-size, performance/church organ (32 foot pedals and two keyboards...registers), in a really beautiful wood console. Wow!

I also got a box of organ music, and about ten old music magazines called The Etude, which were printed in the early 1930's. I may copy a couple of the covers of those, frame them, and hang them in the great room, near the organ. Maybe.

It didn't take me long to start wondering if Bruce, who is a terrible liar, actually lied to me when I asked if he'd gotten me an organ, or if that was one thing where he just said, "That would be cool!"  What do you think?

Anyway, the man who called Bruce way back on the ...third?... day of Christmas was a guy in our ward. His brother-in-law wanted to get rid of this organ that he's had for about thirty years, but he wanted it to go to someone who would use it. He got it from a lady who had it for around twenty years, and she got it from the old Ashley Ward Building, and we didn't know how long it had been there. And now it belongs to us. Wow. (Actually, I'm still trying to wrap my head around this.)

We spent the rest of the afternoon visiting with friends. The Ray kids and our kids exchanged gifts and played a game together. We ate more snacky stuff, and in the evening we watched a movie; End Game, I think (which is when I fell asleep). Then we played some of our new games—Big Boggle, and Splickety-Litt. Fun!

So we had a great Christmas Day—really nice. But our holiday still wasn't over...

Days Eight through Twelve...

On the Eighth Day of Christmas (Friday, the 20th) I learned that a young family with a handful of little kids probably wouldn't have much of a Christmas. That really bothered me, and I thought I would have to try to do something—at least come up with one little gift for each child.

Then I got an idea; a wonderfully...wonderful idea! I asked Lindsey if she thought that the Young Single Adult Ward that she attends would be willing to help out. And she immediately put a post on their facebook page. And she immediately got responses:

"What do they need?"
"What do they want?"
"Can I help?"
"I'd like to do something."
"Are gift cards OK?"
"This is what Christmas is all about!"

This was looking to be fantastic!

On the Ninth Day of Christmas we still hadn't even started on one of our favorite holiday traditions: The Gingerbread House. So I spent that morning baking the house; we'd build and decorate it together on Sunday.

baked and ready for the next step

On the Tenth Day of Christmas, after church and after lunch, our family built the house—even Bruce helped with it! I had already contacted a friend and asked if her kids would like to have a "pretty fabulous gingerbread house." (I don't think she was expecting it to actually be as "fabulous" as it was. 😉)

The girls put in the colored "glass."

The windows are glazed, the frosting is made, and Kaylie is
putting the decorations candies into dishes. The sugar-wafer
cookies are for shutters—an innovation this year
—and we used them to make the front door, too.

And construction is under way!
And this time around we didn't drop or knock over any pieces. Yay!

The kids bricked up the front of the chimney with PEZ; the bricks on the side were more of a precision job. If you look closely you can see that Jessica is using curved tweezers to place a brick here.

Bruce and Kaylie put on the finishing touches.
The roof design was new this year, too. We pressed the criss-cross pattern onto the roof pieces before we baked it. Kaylie added most of the frosting and candy.

We finished the house just in time for dinner. Of course, we had to take pictures before we ate.

front

left side

back
(One of the kids (the little kids we gave this to, not my kids)
was really excited about the candy canes on the back.)

right side
(The Christmas tree is made of sugar-wafers smothered in frosting and green sprinkle-sugar.  Yuck. I mean, cute, but yucky.)

We delivered the house right after dinner; I don't think we even cleaned up first. When we arrived, our chosen recipients had guests over—including two more children.  😊  The grown-ups couldn't stop talking about how amazing the house was, and asking questions about the making of it. But the little kids were the real delight—they were so excited! As soon as they saw their house they flocked to it, and hardly left it the entire time we were visiting. Their oldest boy, who knows me, hugged me and said, "I didn't know you did this!"

Such fun!

Also, by that Sunday, the Tenth Day of Christmas, we had already received some snuggly blankets for each child of the little family we were helping, and a few hundred dollars in gift cards and cash. This was looking to be more than fantastic!

On Monday, the Eleventh Day of Christmas, Lindsey and I were out shopping again—this time for another family than our own. Gifts were still arriving at the house, and we were packaging, wrapping, labeling and boxing them up. That, along with our own family holiday preparations, kept me up until midnight. But, although I was tired, it was just fun to be part of the excitement and generosity of everyone who had helped out.

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas I was still running around helping my kids with their projects. We were cleaning house, making the ciabatta rolls for dinner, and making treats for Christmas Eve. I put a message out to my ward to see if anyone would be willing to deliver a ready-to-cook Christmas dinner and the wrapped and boxed-up gifts to our little family; I had a response within minutes. And then another, and another. Since the second and third-in-line helpers missed out on delivering what we already had, they offered to get more gifts, or give cash to this family. Almost as soon as the first big delivery was out the door, another big box full of gifts and treats arrived! Fortunately I was able to send that out with my second-in-line elf (who also kindly offered to wrap all of these new gifts).

I soon received a text from Elf Number One saying, "Thank you so much for letting us help with this. The kids [of the little family] were so excited!" And later Elf Number Two sent a text saying that the box of gifts had been wrapped and delivered. Yay!

Although it would have been delightful to see the reactions of our family when the gifts were dropped off, or to have pictures of Christmas morning, that obviously would have defeated the purpose. I trust that they did, indeed, have a Merry Christmas.

It was so exciting to see all the eager love and support that the young adults (ages 18 through 30) and my own friends were sending to a family of strangers. Everyone who participated in the gift-giving and in the delivering of the gifts thanked me for letting them be a part of this. It was truly wonderful, and it filled my house—or at least me, my own heart—with a glorious happiness.

Whoever said it was right: This is what Christmas is all about!