Marbles

Todd has been chomping at the bit every morning to get to school this week. You heard me right.

Todd.

Wants.

To.

Get.

To.

School.

My kid who five months ago hated school and would tell anyone withing hearing range. That kid.

Every morning this week he has been counting down the minutes, starting 30 minutes before. He herds Ben toward the door (somewhat nicely) and is so frustrated when Mr. Slow is his usual dawdling self.

What brought about this change?

Marbles.

Marbles are the new craze for the 5th grade boy set. They don't even play by the right rules--they have their own version. Every morning before school and every lunch recess they play. Todd was all excited today because he's playing for 3rd place in the "championships."

There is one boy, Henry (I think), who is the "marble expert." He knows what all the marbles are called and he can examine your marble and tell you its name. He has a gallon bag full of marbles, according to Todd.

This might seem little and silly, but it is another answer to my prayers. Todd's shell is cracking open bit by bit. He is meeting new, good, kind friends. He is expanding beyond his little world. I can see him growing and changing and I love this young man he is becoming.

And guess what?

Marbles are cheap.

Whose Head is it Anyway?

Can you identify this head?

I'm giving myself points for being an innovative mom with this one. Todd wanted a big Elvis head on a poster for his Elvis Presley biography report. I don't own an overhead projector, an opaque projector, or a cool DVD projector. But, I do own a flashlight, a card holder, two card game boxes, a stool, and a plastic bin. Combined with a cut out printable of the Elvis head, and Voila! Traceable goodness.

The poster turned out great, by the way, but did I think to snap a picture of it before he whisked it away to school? Nope.

By the way, you should read a biography soon about someone interesting. It really opened my eyes to see the world through a different set of eyes. (Yes. I read the biography, too.)

We Be Loyal Scouts!

Todd has some great Webelos leaders. . .super great. I am kind of a lame scouting mom (OK, kind of is an understatement. I'm a super lame scouting mom.) But, he has some dynamit scout leaders. Last week Todd earned his Webelos, Arrow of Light, and Religious Knot. Very exciting stuff! It was fun for him to earn this along with two other boys--Caden and Cristian. We're sure grateful for the people around us who help guide our kids. I love that my boys have examples all around them of good men who worthily hold the Priesthood and exercise that Priesthood. Hooray for great scout leaders! Hooray for my own little Webelo who is growing up WAY TOO FAST!

Am I a great artist or what? Todd hates this part of scouting, but he put up with it like a champ this time!

I don't know much

The older I get, the more I realize that I just don't know nearly anything. (This probably will not come as a surprise to many of you). I have clearly in my mind all these preconceived notions about how things should work, and then over and over again I come to realize that the world just isn't all black and white.

Stay-at-home moms, for example. I am so, so, so grateful that I have the chance to be at home with my kids. Even as they are both in school full time this year, I feel like my role is crucial. I love being the watchguard at the gate as they come and go. I love doing their laundry and cleaning the house while they're gone so that when they come home, we have more time to "be" (though I'm still figuring out how to balance this so I don't become a slave and they don't feel entitled. . .we'll tackle that on a later post). I love the ability to spend an entire day at the school every week helping in classrooms.

I was talking with Ryan's mom a while ago and told her how grateful I was that Ryan works hard so that I can stay home. She said something that made me pause, "It isn't just Ryan, though. You work hard so you can stay home, too. You do without some things, you don't spend a lot of money on clothes or jewelry so that you can stay home. It's really both of you." I appreciated that thought.

But here's the other side. I went into Todd's classroom this morning for a meeting with one of his teachers and ended up chatting with all three of them. Two of them are moms. . .great moms. . .and Fantastic teachers. They are just the women Todd needed this year to get him through a kind of rough transition from home school to school school. One of them has a fifth grader herself in Todd's class, and one of them has a first-grader in Ben's class. I don't know these women personally, I don't know their circumstances, I don't really know much about them except that I am so grateful they are where they are.

I have spent hours and hours in the last six months praying that Todd would be blessed with teachers who would recognize his tender sensitive little soul behind his sometimes pain-in-the-bum exterior. Hours. And hours. Praying. And these women are the answer to my prayers.

So, I'm learning. I believe that a mother's place is in the home. I'm grateful to be there. But what if all great, wonderful, caring mothers were at home? Who would teach my boys? Who would help them learn to love history and writing and math (OK, perhaps not love math--just tolerate it). Not to say that men aren't great teachers; they're amazing. But they are few and far between.

And so, I'm learning not to judge, not to presume, but to realize that everyone has her own path. I'm grateful I am where I am and am blessed. I'm grateful for women who do the best they can with what they have and where they are. I believe we all have to figure out for ourselves and for our families just what works for us. We can pray for guidance and be directed. But we can't judge other people, because we aren't in their shoes.

One thing I am certain of is I am grateful for amazing teachers!

We vs. I

So, this is how school drop-off goes for our little group each morning. . .I park at the opposite end of the parking lot from the school and we hoof it. This way we avoid all the traffic and have a nice little walk down the length of the building. Ben takes infinitely more time to just get out of the van than Todd, so Todd bids us farewell and walks in alone (I'm sure it's much cooler to walk in alone as well). Ben and I then have a leisurely walk together. He still lets me hold his hand (and occasionally his backpack), for which I am very grateful.

Our conversation this morning went something like this:

Turning the corner, Ben said, "Wow. Todd is already almost at the door."

"He sure is," I replied, "I think he secretly likes school and is excited to get to his classroom."

To which Ben matter-of factly stated, "No. We hate school."

"You hate school? I don't think so," I said.

Quick response from Ben, "Yes we do. Todd said."

I love the use of the word "we," and the fact that Ben had no input whatsoever into the reasoning. Yet he was quick to assure me that "We hate school." I guess they are like a collective mind.

I actually think they are enjoying school far more than they would care to admit. Todd, particularly has found a lot of satisfaction in seeing the things he is capable of accomplishing. The end of home schooling last year had become something of a battle of wills, and he got away with a lot because I was sick of the fight. So, school has been good for him. He was positively glowing when he came home to report that he had written four paragraphs during class. For my little non-writer, this was a major accomplishment. I was so happy for his hard work. It was very gratifying for me to see him take pleasure in accomplishing something that was challenging.

Ben is actually having a more difficult time with the adjustment. He is just

plumb worn out tired. But I volunteered in his classroom last week and he is a great little first grader. The kids in his class all like him, he does good work, and he has a great teacher (who also happens to be a family friend). I think once he gets adjusted to the new schedule, he'll be happy with his "new life."

Here's hoping "we" can learn to like school.

Glenn Avery McMillan

I have been waiting for a quiet moment to sit down and think to write this post. I’ve finally come to the conclusion that isn’t going to happen. So here goes. . .

Ryan’s dad, Glenn, passed away a little over two weeks ago. We had just returned from a family vacation with him in Hawaii on Friday. In the early hours of Sunday morning he had a heart arrhythmia followed by a stroke. He slipped away on Wednesday night, with his wife and older sons by his side. His passing has caused a complex mix of emotions that are still buzzing around inside my head.

Glenn was an amazing man. I have known him for nearly 15 years now and I count myself as blessed to have been part of his life. I count myself even more blessed to be part of his eternal family.

When Ryan was a little guy, Glenn and Kathy realized that something was missing. Kathy had been baptized in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but hadn’t been active for awhile. She returned to church and Glenn came with her, asking the missionaries if they could possibly find time to teach him. They did, and he embraced the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. A year later, they took their little family to the temple, where they were sealed for time and all eternity.

The last Family Home Evening Glenn taught was directed toward five of his grandsons in Maui. He taught about the reality of the temple and he testified that it is the place we need to be.

I will forever be grateful for Glenn’s choice 34 years ago to embrace the gospel. If not for that choice, my life would be so infinitely different. His baptism has rippled out to change generations.

Not only did Glenn believe in the gospel, he lived it. He was forever doing kind things for people, including all of us as his family. He moved people, fed people, and loved people his entire life. Glenn was the kind of person that made you want to be better, to do more.

As I think of Glenn, so many random memories come to mind, some significant and some just fun and sentimental.

I remember one black Friday only a few years ago Glenn woke up in the early hours of the morning and headed out shopping all by himself. He had been listening to our conversation about a rocking deal on a Lego set, so he picked up not one, but two (one for Todd and one for Todd’s cousin Kyle, of no relation to Glenn). He had a huge heart and made two boys very happy on Christmas morning.

My sister-in-law Lucy and I remember one week when Glenn had decided to “refinish” the upstairs bathroom while we were visiting. I think it must have been midnight or later when we were painstakingly finishing up the painting and laying stick-down tile. Glenn was punch-drunk and utterly hilarious, dancing and singing.

Once for my birthday, Kathy had purchased a present and ordered a cake. While we were opening presents, Glenn pulled out an extra bag for me. Glenn had seen this necklace and earrings that he thought I would like, so he bought it for me. I was touched that he had personally thought of me.

When Todd was little, Glenn bought a spiderman sleeping tent with a blow up mattress so Todd would always have a cool bed to sleep in at Grandpa’s house. While we were there for the funeral, Todd crammed himself inside that little thing to sleep even though he’s outgrown it. He sure misses his Grandpa.

Every time we went to the beach, Glenn spent hours with my boys building sand castles. His knees haven’t been up to par for the last few years, but he did it anyway. Each sandcastle was a masterpiece.

Glenn always took us on fun adventures—to Disneyland, mini-grand prix, K-12 auto racing, Hawaii.

After dinner, Glenn would always say, “Just leave those dishes, Steph. You worked hard cooking dinner. I’ll clean them up later.” If I left them, he would end up doing the dishes at 10:00 at night, after a quick nap on the couch. No night was complete without Glenn falling asleep on the couch for at least a little while.

Whenever we visited, we could always know Glenn would cook breakfast—pancakes, French toast, waffles. . .and always lots of bacon.

Last summer, Glenn came by himself for one of Todd’s swim meets and spent the weekend with us. On Sunday afternoon he said, “I’m going to lay down for 15 minutes, then I’ll help with dinner.” He stumbled out of the room over 3 hours later with bleary eyes, commenting, “Those blackout shades are brutal.”

Another visit, Glenn came out of the restroom literally choking, coughing, and gasping for breath. It finally came out that he had used a bottle labeled “Muscle Spray” as an air freshener because he couldn’t find any Lysol. I explained to him that it was actually an herbal concoction made of super hot cayenne pepper designed to relieve muscle pain, hence the label. I have yet to know what he was thinking.

Glenn was scary to drive with—he was far too interested in what was on either side of the road and he wandered aimlessly. It took years for me to feel comfortable with him in a car and appreciate his interest in his surroundings.

He was also a little painful on road trips. That man could stop more than anyone I know. Even if it had only been 45 minutes since the last stop, and even if there was a sleeping baby in the car, he’d pull right on over if he had the hankering for a drink or some candy.

Kathy got Glenn a fancy camera for his birthday last year. He loved taking pictures. Everywhere we went in Hawaii we had to wait for Glenn and his pictures. Looking at them now is a blessing as we see the world through his eyes. He loved the simple beauty of this earth.

We were blessed with the tender mercy of sharing his last week with him. One day, we took a long and windy road to the little town of Hana. On a fluke, we ended up with Glenn in our jeep for the entire two hour ride home. By the time we got back, everyone else was done, so we got him to ourselves for a quiet dinner at the best pizza place in the world. He downed an entire brownie Sunday with coconut ice cream after all that delicious pizza. What a blessing that last week was. How grateful we are that we had that time with him.

The only explanation that makes sense to Ryan and me is that Heavenly Father really needed him Home. I hope that on the other side of the veil Glenn is engaged in a great work, because on this side of the veil he is sorely missed.

I hate pork

There are a million things I should blog about, and will someday soon when my brain can think and form a coherent sentence. . .my amazing father-in-law, who I miss already; our trip to Maui; the last four months of our lives, etc.. But I'm not going to blog about any of those things tonight.

I'm simply going to say that I hate pork. Before tonight, it was only a mild revulsion. As we've changed our diet and moved away from carnivorosity (can I invent that word?--I like it) pork has been the first thing to sort of become mildly repulsive. I still like a great piece of red meat twice a year and occasionally some beautifully crafted chicken or fish. But pork has fallen from grace.

Fast forward to today. Girls camp fundraiser. Cafe Rio style. Through a series of unfortunate events, I ended up with six crock pots of pork stewing in my house all day. They were even upstairs so as not to overtax the breakers downstairs. So, by 4:00 in the afternoon, when you opened the garage door you were greeted by essence of pork. I was a bit nauseous.

That, however, is not the end of the story. 5:00. Pork transport to the church. Crock pot overturns.

In

My

Van.

I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that at least a half gallon of pork juice is now saturating my interior carpeting. My van reeks of pork. It is sticky, nasty, smelly. I'm fairly sure that I even swore (and I don't swear). But I didn't swear in front of the girls, so that's something. I don't really have any tears left to cry this week, and I really don't need to cry over a van. But I do have to say that

I HATE PORK!

It might be safe to say that I will never eat it again.