Thanksgiving Recap

I ate some turkey. Played some games. And got sick.

Really though, I had a wonderful Thanksgiving week with family and boy! We managed to visit both sides of my family, and everyone traveled to and from all gatherings safely! 

My brother, Josh, drove to Colorado to have Thanksgiving with his girlfriend (we have yet to get the full update on that one), and they successfully traveled through the storm. So, safety was one of the big things I found myself being grateful for this year. 

Boy and I didn't get to visit his family, on account that they're in a different state and all--too far to drive for just the weekend. ..............however, I will be visiting over Christmas break! I know, kind of a big deal, right? I go back and forth between being nervous and excited. Mostly, I'm just trying to convince myself it's not a big deal at all. But who am I trying to kid. 

That's a whole four weeks away though, so for now I'm just going to worry about my Christmas shopping, driving all over the state through the snow to my different interpreting assignments, and picking my next novel to read while hunkered down in some warm blankets. Any suggestions?

Times with Tabitha

Grace has been quizzing us for days using a flip question book for sixth graders.

Boy has taken the brunt of these questions.

This morning, Grace asked the following:

"Put in chronological order: Galileo, Isaac Newton, Copernicus."

Do you know the answer?

Well, boy did. However, the answer looked like this:

Copernicus (1473-1543),
Galileo (1563-1642),
Isaac Newton (1642-1727)

Grace didn't just take the names, and required boy give the appropriate birth and death dates in order for the question to be counted as right.

When he couldn't get any of the dates correct, Tabitha proceeded to chastise boy with:

"Robbie, you don't know anything about the Book of Mormon!"

(In Tabitha's defense, Grace struggled with the pronunciations, and said "Isaac Newton" as "Isaiah-ic Newton.")

-Tabitha, my 8 year old sister.

What's Irreplaceable?

I lost my purse.

It may have been stolen.

I feel sick. Utterly sick to my stomach with a throbbing ache on the right side of my head.

I had so many wonderful things to tell you about this weekend. I went to a Silent Weekend, where my sister and I, along with at least a hundred other people, used American Sign Language to communicate. I met up with some of my best friends, whom I haven't seen in ages, and saw Harry Potter and had a sleep over. And I got to see boy.

But the pictures I intended on sharing are in my camera, which is in my purse, which is NOT anywhere to be found.

What do I do?! I don't even know when I lost it!

Feeling sick. sick. sick.

Cash. Cards. Camera. Jewelry from my late grandma. Favorite pocket dictionary. Planner. Handmade Bag. Gone.

Hopefully not for forever.

sick. sick. sick.

Times with Tabitha {and friends}

"Morning, Mom!"

"Good morning, Hyrum!"

"Mom, what's today??"

"Today is Thursday."

"Oh. Well, how many more days until tomorrow??"

-Hyrum, my 5 year old cousin.

I'm Not Made For Middle School

Today I interpreted for an 8th grader. She was nice, didn't want me to walk too close to her in the halls, but nice. The content was more than doable for my interpreting skills, consisting mostly of movies and worksheets, obviously doable. Some of the kids looked so little and cute, others towered over me and even caused me to lose my balance as they pushed passed me in their self-obsorbed manner, so maybe I only saw one or two cute kids.

I am so. so. so. so. so. so. so. so. so. so. glad I'm not in middle school--even if some of the teachers thought I should be and tried "encouraging" me to get to class.

Ugh.

How We See Ourselves

Situation one:

So..... friend and I were reflecting back on the earlier days. We do this often. It's fun to share journal entires and thoughts surrounding a particular event, and compare what we were REALLY thinking.

Friend made a comment weeks ago that he saw me as "quiet" when he first met me.

Recently, we had another such conversation where I referenced the earlier comment about being "quiet," and laughed at how we initially had such "incorrect perceptions" of one another's personalities.  To which my friend responded that he still saw me as being quiet.

I was really taken aback. Me? Quiet? I saw myself as pensive, and even decisively reserved in certain social circumstances, but I've never used the word "quiet" to describe myself.

Maybe our applications of the word were different. Sure. But my mind raced through memories of a very social, outgoing, talkative me.

Situation two:

Recently, I went to a very formal ball with my boy. I spent hours tediously curling my hair and applying makeup. I know that everyone has a different style, and individuals often feel strongly about said personal style, but boy commented (very innocently, might I add) about my wearing too much makeup. (I also have to add that he said very wonderful and kind things about how "gorgeous" he thought I was, and that I was the "most beautiful" girl there... this other comment was very small, and again, very innocent.) Whatever intent he had when making the comment, I couldn't help but let my thoughts wander in comparing other things we might see differently.

I'm sure you can tell, I'm trying very hard not to paint these situations as negative things, but rather factual things. The world looks different through each of our eyes. I know this.

But more than how our world around us looks, I can't shake this thought of everyone around me seeing ME differently than I see myself. I felt self-conscious, and slightly defensive.

I don't have anything conclusions or profound thoughts on the subject. I'm just having an unnerving out-of-body experience trying to size myself up and examine my world from the perspective of others. I don't recommend it.

What Do Babies Know?

As a child, I don't believe we understand the existence of time before our birth. We only understand the creation of life with beginning at our own creation.

I pondered this the other day when I realized I'm taking my mother's position--the position I've perceived her as having my entire life--and she my grandmother's, and my grandmother passing on.

I heard all growing up that "parents know better than children" because "they've been there." I though I understood, "mom was once a child;" but in reality, I don't think young brains are capable of understanding the "before our time" concept.

It makes me wonder what I think I'm capable of understanding now, but am truly not.

It also makes me wonder what babies DO know that I am also incapable of understanding.

via

Look, Mommy! Look! A Real Job!

Phew. It's been a long, hard road these past few months in the employment arena. I've had so many rough days solely because of my sitting duck lifestyle. I'm a busy body, and when my body ain't busy I ain't happy. But I FINALLY feel as though my life is heading in a productive, paid direction again.

I worked three separate interpreting assignments AND worked in my freelance position writing web content for a business. Yippy. I've really expanded my range of interpreting assignments and have really broadened my capabilities. I'm not making tons of money. But "some" is good.

Now, if I can just get up the energy to work on my novel tonight, I'd be doing real good.

...Remind me, now, why doesn't this money stuff grow on trees?...

Work. Work. Work.

Poor Tabitha

Wednesday afternoon, Tabitha began complaining of a toothache. My mother examined the tooth in question, and agreed that the tooth appeared loose, but worried that it was also an adult tooth. That evening Tabitha cried through the night.

By Thursday morning, her top lip was so swollen, it nearly touched her nose, and her right cheek was swollen from her lip to her eye. My mother called the emergency dentist, and he sent them to the ER. After being admitted to the hospital, Tabitha had an IV and lots of drugs pumped in her.

They extracted a baby tooth next to the adult tooth, and said there really was no more they could do. The doctors didn't know what was causing the pain and infection, and therefore didn't have a clear idea of how to fix it. She is now home, and antibiotics are helping.

She really wants to show everyone her face, hoping it will help her get on a commercial for the hospital or something so that she can make some extra money--thank you Tabitha for thinking of pocket change while we're all worried about whether your dying! So, I told her I'd share with you instead. If you have a great desire to donate to the Tabitha Fund, that's your own prerogative.

As for me, we're just glad she's home, and hope she continues to get better! Keep her in your prayers.

"Normal" side.

Swollen side (half the size of what it was yesterday afternoon).

Our bruised and battered little girl.

She's very concerned that her smile is now lopsided. 

We're sure she's feeling a lot better by this evening though, as she is downstairs laughing at herself hysterically. 

Oh, Tabitha.

What Does "Failure" Really Mean?

So, I'm a little behind on my NaNoWriMo daily novel writing.

...Okay, I'm a lot behind.

Fail?

Maybe. Or maybe I can just point and laugh at others and tell myself I'm not THAT bad...

Tomorrow will be better.... I hope.

But don't hold me to it.

Failure

Shh. It's a Secret

I've always loved secrets--not the ones kept from me (I'm rarely fond of surprises), but, of course, the ones I'm involved in keeping.

I do a wonderful job of weaseling my nose into all sorts of private conversations. I do quite well at keeping these kinds of secrets, but I'm rather awful at keeping personal secrets, the private thoughts in my head, to myself.

I've thought a lot about secrets for several weeks now. I've pondered on the role of privacy in our lives.

I have a friend, a best friend, with whom I've managed to share all of my secrets. For some reason, the words of certain secrets can rest heavy on our souls, and simply speaking them aloud to another helps relieve some of their weight. I had heavy secrets. And I shared them. This simple act unlocked a hidden door, permitting this person passage into my heart, giving them a key to the heavy door of privacy.

My thoughts have circled this moment, repeatedly. I recall the details of the dark night when bitter words fell on sweet ears. Then my thoughts wind up and project an expectation on my future--an expectation of open and intimate sharing. The thick door which was once locked, is passed through freely, and left open.

But where does this leave privacy?

Are intimacy and privacy contradictory? Can they coexist? Should they?

I think of my mother, commenting on a child's inability to wait five minutes to make their next request, causing them to barge into an occupied bathroom with their list of demands. Yet, simultaneously, I remember the childhood rule of not locking the door of our only bathroom creating a sense of familiarity in our family, we were more than siblings, we were friends.

Lack of privacy can cause one to go insane; yet, too much privacy creates isolation.

When your spouse asks, "What are you thinking?" do you answer them in full honesty? Does he or she have a right to your very thoughts?

Privacy is important, but what is it's role in our lives?

Do You Hear the Music?

It rained this morning. It's pouring now. Thanks to daylight savings, my body woke at it's usual time, but at the new hour of 5:30am. I laid in my warm bed, briefly contemplating how I would use this gift of time--sleep, read, work. After ten minutes of trying to keep myself awake while closing my eyes, so as not to drift off and lose the time to unconscious rest, I heaved myself up from the shamble of my cosy covers.

My family is having car problems--it's a habit of ours--so my mother was driving the girls to school and my dad into work. I elected to go with them and help my mother after dropping off the crew. With all sisters in dance, she has been cleaning the ballet studio to supplement tuition costs for years.

My cold, tired body hoisted itself into the car, flipping through the pages of my new novel as quickly as I could in the dim light of the morning.

Soon, we were in the studios, mopping floors, washing mirrors, and scrubbing bathrooms. I haven't really danced in years. I may have dabbled in a few college classes here and there, but nothing like my time spending every afternoon as a "studio rat."

As I bent over, reaching to a child's smudged handprint on the mirror between to bars, I had a powerful and unexpected flashback. I recalled standing in that very room, the air heavy with body heat and sweat. I remember the aching muscles, the lack of confidence, the shoes and tights and leotards and hairnets. My body marinated in the memory, growing heavy the longing for that elated rush of finishing a combination with a perfect triple pirouette, landing with precision and poise. I could almost hear the melodic, classical piano notes filling the rooms, begging to carry your fingers and toes.

I miss it. I miss dancing so much. 

The Beautiful Ballerina Project

Times with Tabitha

"Mom! Mom! The mustard bottle says "Since 1904"! We're still eating it and it went bad over a hundred years ago!"

-My 8 year old sister.

Times with Tabitha

"I got ready so fast this morning, I even had time to brush my teeth."

-My 8 year old sister.

Everyone has a Story

I loved reading biographies on blogs, websites, and the inside cover of books--the short (or long) blurbs about the author. I don't know why the person is just as important to me as their work, but I always find I have this insatiable crave for more and more details about their history. One of my favorite little facts to search for is what said people are getting or have gotten degree wise, and where. I think that's because in my heart of hearts, I'm trying to convince myself that there are plenty of writers out there who have degrees in things other than writing (like me), who still find themselves publishing incredible works. But I also love to hear about where they live, how many kids they have, what their hobbies are, why they chose the topic they did, and why they love what they do.

People are so fascinating to me--both their told and untold stories. Have you ever just people watched? I love watching strangers (a little creepy, I suppose. but I feel I'm not the only one who does this, so somehow that makes it okay.), but I also love watching people I know as well. Comparing the personality seen through peoples words with the personality resonating from their actions always interests me.

I just love people so much. I love history on a global and personal level. I care about the individual, and their intricate part in this ever-complex web of life.

I wish I could help people tell their stories. This desire is such an integral part of who I am, it's the reason I majored in journalism, work as an interpreter, and want to write. It is me.

I hope you don't think I'm a total creeper for not only people watching, but completely psychoanalyzing everyone around me. I seriously need to stop doing that.

Politics are for the Dogs

The time has come! It is indeed election day. And, alas, the future is not bright. This morning, my father returned from the voting booth and informed us that he had done his best, and voted for the best candidate available--our dog. He wrote in the name of our little Cocker Spaniel, and voted for her. Now, Birdie (the dog) didn't do much campaigning, so we're not sure how far she'll get; but there may be hope yet at the end of this dark political tunnel.  

Every year the State will be the dog that chases its own tail... engaging in a futile attempt to close a perpetual budget gap. -Richard J. Codey

I would rather be beaton and be a man than to be elected and be a little puppy dog. -Davy Crockett

Dogs are great assets to candidates, and the feeling seems to be engendered that if a dog loves the candidate, he can't be all that bad. -Dick Gregory

Politics are not my concern.... They impressed me as a dog's life without a dog's decencies. -Rudyard Kipling

During the Prince's visit, King Timahoe will be referred to only as Timahoe, since it would be inappropriate for the Prince to be outranked by a dog. -Richard M. Nixon (writing to White House staff on how to address the president's Irish Setter, during a visit by Prince Charles)

You want a friend in Washington? Get a dog. -Harry S. Truman

Dogs are great assets to candidates, and the feeling seems to be engendered that if a dog loves the candidate, he can't be all that bad. -Dick Gregory

Diplomacy is the art of saying "Nice doggie!"... till you can find a rock. -Unknown

I may have grown cynical from long service, but this is a tendency I do not like, and I sometimes think I'd rather be a dog and bay at the moon than stay in the Senate another six years and listen to it. -John Sharp Williams

I Don't Care What You Wear

I'm sick of reading blogs, just to watch them turn into sites of "here's what clothes I picked out to wear today." I want to read what's in your head, not look at the way you styled your hair on it. I don't mind the occasional fashion post, or even entire blogs devoted to such (I can choose not to read those), but please don't profess to write your "inner most thoughts and desires" and then just post a picture of someone else's living room..... unless that's as deep as your inner most thoughts and desires go.

OK. That was a little harsh. Please don't kill me if you actually keep one of these blogs. Some of these blogs are done well (probably yours), I'm referring to the ones that aren't (definitely not yours).

I'm just looking for some good reads. Got any really good ones you follow?

NaNoWriMo

Today is November 1. I can't believe October has already come and gone.

Not only does this month welcome in the beginnings of our winter season, today marks the first day of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).

Think I can do it?

A whole novel in a month?! (Well, at least the first draft.)

1,667 words a day?!

At least a few minutes of every day I linger in the beautiful thought of one day becoming a published author.

Could today be the beginning of making dreams into realities?

I'm sure going to try...