Merry Christmas!

When we take road trips, I usually drive. I like driving when I haven't just finished a full day of bus runs.

When we're going anywhere farther than about an hour away, it never fails that all my children suddenly feel the need to start texting me at the same time about various subjects. In those cases, I hand my phone over to whomever is in the passenger's seat and dictate responses. When it's Husband doing the texting, however, he starts typing whatever he wants to, and his responses quickly tip off the kids that I'm not the one who is answering them.

Here's a text convo between me and Gabrielle. Or, rather, Gabrielle and Husband, as I was in the driver's seat. She'd noticed a hole in her tooth and was kind of freaking out. Arrows point to obvious Dad-style responses.

My texting conversations with Elannah revolve heavily around two subjects: her asking me for a ride, and her asking me for money. My first two girls hardly ever asked for money. Elannah and Sophia, however, have developed expensive hobbies and tastes. Sophia has a good job now, so she pays for herself 100%, but Elannah is between jobs and still feels she has a lifestyle to maintain, as exhibited in the following conversation.

As I recall, I rejected the proposition after briefly considering it. She does have a gift card for Panda Express coming to her tomorrow for Christmas. She'll probably cry. But she'll cry even harder when she finds out that Gabrielle and Sophia teamed up to pay for driving lessons so she can finally get her driver's license. Of course, once that happens, I'll never get to drive again because I'll never be able to get my hands on my car.

Here's a picture I snapped last night when all six (seven, counting the son-in-law) of my children, my mom, in-laws, a nephew, and two of my siblings, and a sibling's significant other were here and the house was full of merriment and food and love.

It's Husband and Tyler, my grandson. Is Tyler not the absolute most cutest thing to ever grace this earth? Not that I'm biased or anything. He's over five months old now, the little chunk. He's been on a high-calorie formula for a while now, and I think he's ready to come off it. And just look at his pointy ears! So adorable!

The man holding him is pretty great, too.

In conclusion, Merry Christmas to you, dear reader. I wish only the best for you. I wish you a year full of good things and the hope and faith that when hard things happen, there is light waiting for you during and after your trials. I send you all the love in my heart. I add my prayer to the prayers of angels and dear ones gone before that you are always watched over. And may delicious pies be a part of your holiday season.

There Is Faint Music in the Night

My choir performed on Temple Square last Tuesday. Here is a picture of us after our performance in the Assembly Hall.

You'll notice that everyone except me is looking at the camera. This should not surprise you. Somehow, everyone else gets the signal to look to their left, and there I am grinning like an idiot at some camera to my right.

But we had a good time. Well, as good a time as one can have when one is dripping with sweat from the heat of the lights, one's feet have gone numb, and one keeps forgetting to breathe from the diaphragm because one is a little nervous and one ends up a little light-headed and keeps realizing one is locking one's knees. But people told us we sounded great, so it was a good time.

It honestly isn't for the public that we perform on Temple Square. Frankly, no one can hear us when we sing in the North Visitors' Center (visit there sometime and test the acoustics by yelling a bit. No one will care because no one can hear you), and we're usually last on the day's docket for the Assembly Hall, which means everyone except die-hard family and friends have gone home because it's cold and dark by 8:30 in the evening, so there are maybe 30 people in the audience.

No, we perform on Temple Square purely in order to enjoy the excellent acoustics of the Assembly Hall. There's nothing like the thrill of everyone (even the basses!) singing the right notes whilst following our conductor (who is the woman at the far left on the top row, by the way) closely, and in a moment of pure and utter triumph, a delicious chord rings back at us from the back of the hall.

It's heady stuff.

Plus, in order to justify having weekly rehearsals, I guess we should perform, too. Honestly, even if we never performed, I'd go just for the rehearsals because we have so much fun and I learn so much from our amazing and talented conductor, who selects enjoyably challenging music. I'm so comfortable with these people that my mostly dormant clownish side shows up every Saturday evening between seven and nine pm; and, very surprisingly, these people find me funny. I repay their kindness by never trying out for solos.

Our Christmas performances are next weekend: Friday and Saturday evenings. We perform in a very modern Episcopalian church/community center made almost entirely of concrete, which, as you might imagine, is great for acoustics. No one will record us, but it'll be a load of fun. I promise.

It's Official: I Am a Certified Genius

I was reading Lew Rockwell dot com, and one of the articles linked to a quiz to find out if you're a genius. I've never had an IQ test, but I've always assumed, based on empirical evidence, that I'm of fairly average intelligence: not too high and not too low.

Imagine my surprise when I scored 100% on this quiz, designed to identify those highly intelligent people with excellent long-term memory.

Well, well.

I'm going to have to boost my self-opinion post-haste (which is a slightly shortened term originally used to notify postal carriers that a letter required urgent delivery)! Just because I found the test incredibly easy and full of trivia questions doesn't mean I'm not necessarily a total genius! A super genius!



On the other hand, I did forget to pick up one of my preschoolers on Tuesday. Just clean forgot. His mom had to bring him to school.

Also, on Sunday, a woman came up to me and said, "Do you remember the spiritual significance of the Cedars of Lebanon that you talked about a few years ago?"

I looked at her like she was from another planet.

"I talked about the spiritual significance of the Cedars of Lebanon? In relation to the construction of Solomon's temple? Was I the Sunday School teacher at the time?" I asked, sure she must be mistaking me for someone else, even though I was the Sunday School teacher at the time. I have no memory of that particular lesson, however. None.

"Yes. It was when you were teaching the Old Testament. I was thinking about what you said, and it was really profound, so I wanted to get my facts straight."

Uh-oh. I was really profound and I have no memory of it? Dang! I told her I would look it up and get back to her. I have gone back and done some research, and I'm still wondering what profound things I said about the Cedars of Lebanon.

Based on this (and other) evidence, I plan on easing gently into the notion of my geniusness rather than going around announcing it to everyone just yet. In the meantime, I'll remain, dear reader, a humble servant of knowledge absorbed with what I now understand to be my very high IQ. At some point, I expect the super genius effect to kick in, and then it's gonna get all fun up in here!

The Colors of My World

You know how sometimes you crave a certain food or to hear a specific piece of music? Do you also ever crave seeing a specific color? I do. Sometimes, I really, really need to look at a specific color, and when I finally do, I feel deeply calm and satisfied, like the right key has been turned in the right lock (that's the only way I can think to describe the feeling). For a long time now, it's been indigo.

I cannot get enough of indigo.

But yesterday, I really needed to see orange.

I told my bus aide that I often crave seeing certain colors, and she looked at me like I was a little nuts, so maybe other people don't crave colors the way I do.

In other news, I am happy to report that my health issues seem to have largely resolved, so I'm glad I didn't go ahead with a bunch of expensive tests. I'm also taking a quality fish oil that includes vitamin D3, and that has really helped ease the fatigue.

As for looking less like a beached whale, I'm still losing inches even if the scale doesn't drop a lot at the moment. I suddenly lost another pants size and had to go out and buy a couple pairs of jeans to replace the ones that were now sagging off me, and now those are getting baggy--and yet the scale hasn't really budged. I'm not complaining, mind you. Trying on clothing has become a lot more fun lately--even in dressing rooms with terrible lighting.

I have a hard time eating carbs anymore, and that includes vegetables. I got through the entire Halloween season without eating one piece of candy. We bought the good stuff for trick-or-treaters and we were left with an entire bowl of it because trick-or-treaters are becoming more scarce every year. Usually, Reese's peanut butter cups are my kryptonite, but I couldn't be bothered to cheat even once, even while the bowl sat on the coffee table for several days before everything was finally consumed. Personal victory? Godly miracle? Both? You decide.

I'm supposed to eat every 2 1/2 to 3 hours to keep my blood sugar and insulin levels steady (and I am convinced that that is what has made this program so successful for me), and I'm supposed to eat between five and seven ounces of protein and between 1 1/2 to 3 cups of vegetables, depending on the type of veggie I'm having. I often get to my meal and can only eat the meat before I'm full and can't face the veggies. I've almost become fully carnivore. And yet the inches are melting away, and I'm sure I'm building muscle tissue, which would explain why the scale doesn't go down as quickly as I expect it to.

Before I go, here is another picture of my grandson for your viewing pleasure. His parents got the go-ahead from the pediatrician to switch to a tastier formula now that his liver issues seem to be nonexistent, and he's been chugging it down like he was starving. He's now over nine pounds, the little dumpling!

Edit: I just want to clarify that I am not eating a lot of food multiple times a day. Every 2 12/ to 3 hours I eat small "fuelings," as they're called, that are around 110 calories each, and I eat my protein and carbs in a meal, although I can split it up throughout the day if I like. And I drink lots and lots of water.

My Kingdom, My Bus

A driver in her tiny fiefdom. 

I was subbing on a bus route yesterday (there's no preschool on Wednesdays), and in the late morning I was taking high schoolers from the technical school back to their high school. I welcome all the kids as they climb on (I have to count them, after all), but I don't try to make conversation with them. High schoolers are very self-absorbed. They don't usually make eye contact or acknowledge that I'm right in front of them. I am merely a fixture. Their ears are most often stuffed with earbuds.

On the drive, one of the girls in the front seat asked me if it's hard to drive a bus. I responded that it is very different than driving a car, but once you get used to making turns and compensating for 40 feet of bus behind you, you get used to it. I said it only took a few weeks for me to get trained. Then I waved my hand at the buttons panel and said, "You even learn what all of these are for!"

A moment after I stopped talking, I heard her seat mate say quietly, "You didn't ask for her life story!"

Roll eyes.

This is why I drive preschoolers. Preschoolers are happy to give me a high-five or knuckles when they get on the bus, and they love it when you're excited to see them. Give them a little kindness and attention and they're your best friend. They have not yet learned sarcasm.

On the first run of the day today--just before the sun rose--I was picking up junior high kids from a nearby town where the streets are all kittywampus. It's a very confusing area to drive in.

It was dark, and I couldn't tell where my first stop was as I crept along, trying to see house numbers on unlit porches. Turns out I missed the first stop, because the dad of the kids at that stop stomped up to the bus door a few stops further down, after chasing me in his car, and was quite upset with me for not seeing him flashing his headlights at me to stop. I sincerely apologized and told him I was completely unfamiliar with the route, and he calmed down when he recognized that I wasn't the normal driver. What I didn't say is that I have a 50-foot blind spot directly behind my school bus, so no matter how much you flash your lights, I'm not going to see you; and if I do, I might just assume you're a serial killer and speed up to keep the kids safe (not really. I would probably never notice unless I was trying to change lanes).

A trick I've learned when I'm subbing on a junior high run: when it's dark in the morning, turn on the roof light in the very back of the bus. Most of the kids that age think a substitute driver is an excuse to get crazy, and they love sitting in the back of the bus. With the light on, they know I can see them in my mirror, and they tend to behave a lot better. I learned that the hard way, so I've been passing that nugget of wisdom along to all the new drivers I encounter.

Bus drivers, as a group, are a fairly cantankerous lot. We tend to be quite independent-minded, and driving a bus is ideal because you're not being micromanaged by some supervisor looking over your shoulder. Your bus is your little fiefdom. That independent spirit also means that some bus drivers always feel they know better than the administrators and will argue with every new procedure or request. Seriously, it's like herding cats. Individually, we're pretty friendly people, and most of us drive buses as a side-hustle. Many bus drivers are actually small business owners and entrepreneurs who just need a little guaranteed extra cash. As a group, though, I'm not sure how anyone puts up with us. I like most of the drivers on a one-on-one basis, but having a crowd of us at a party would be a disaster.

I named my bus "Wildfire" in honor of Rex O'Herlihan's horse in the classic spoof western "Rustlers' Rhapsody." On, Wildfire, on!

Sideways

My daughter sent me these pictures of my grandson.

I can't stop looking at these pictures. I just want to hold that little guy and kiss him all over his tiny face and head. And if I run into anyone I know, I whip out my phone and make them look at the pictures, too.

Sian told me she put Tyler into the bassinet we bought for him. It vibrates when you push a button, and he really likes it, which is why he looks so happy.

Oh my gosh. Could you not just eat him up? He's a little over six pounds now, so he's doubled his birth weight. Way to go, kid!

In other news, I've been called as the ward Relief Society president. That is not something I ever, ever wanted to be, but I knew it was a distinct possibility about two months ago. When the former Relief Society president's husband was called as our new bishop, I knew she would have to be released and a new president called, and because I was the first counselor, I started going through the stages of grief. First was definitely denial. "Nope, nope, nope. Not doing it, Lord." I also did some bargaining. There was anger in there, too. Finally, I accepted it: "Fine, Lord, if that's what you want. But You know I am who I am, and if You still want me, You'll have to fill in for my flaws and faults," and that's when the call was extended.

Sadly, one of my first duties is helping with the funeral of one of our beloved congregation members, who just died after a relatively short battle with colon cancer. Her oldest daughter never married, and she has lived with her mother and taken care of her for years and years. But as soon as her mom died, all the relatives came out of the woodwork making demands and telling the daughter how she was doing everything wrong. They feel entitled to come into her house and take whatever they want, whether or not it's the daughter's or her mother's.

I hope my children never act like that when I and their dad have passed away. I will haunt them if they do. I'll whisper to them as a ghostly specter, "I brought you into this world and I will take. you. out of it." I think it will have more impact if I am already dead and can be spooky.

Last but not at all least, Parent's magazine showed up unexpectedly in my mailbox yesterday. Thank you, Magazine Fairy, for the truly delightful surprise. I'm going to pass it on to Sian and Nathan when I go down to see them next week.

My Very Own Homecoming Queen

I'm the Queen Mother.

Yes, I have another queen in the family. This time it's the high school Homecoming Queen of 2018-2019. My very own Elannah.

She's my lovely girl, and look how perfectly she's doing the "pageant T" with her feet! 

She wanted to do a pageant, and this one is a little less intense than most. There were still essays and interviews and evening gowns and all the normal pageant-y things, but her reign would require a week's worth of her time and not a year (unlike her sister). Sadly, there was no scholarship money, but what the heck! Not every girl can say she was the Homecoming Queen of her high school. I certainly can't.

We had a lot of fun shopping for the dress. Having gone through a pageant with Sophia, I am now much more savvy about what type of dress the judges are looking for, and for these small pageants they like something simple but elegant--something that flatters your coloring and figure but nothing so fru-fru or slinky that it detracts from the actual girl inside it. Elannah didn't think she'd like the high-low skirt on this one, but I insisted she try it on for the excellent quality of the material, cut, and color. She ended up loving it immediately. Plus, with no skirt to trip her up, it was very easy to walk in her heels; she just had to perfect the train swish as she turned.

Her dad choked when I told him how much we'd paid to rent it. He's recovered now, but it was a bit touch-and-go for a while.

The Homecoming Queen and her big sister, the queen of our city. They're royalty, sisters, and best friends.

Elannah is done with pageants now. She's tried it out and doesn't see a future in it for her (I'm not complaining: pageants are stressful, time-consuming, and expensive!), and she's certainly not interested in trying to follow in her sister's footsteps for the city pageant. But it was a fun experience, and she got to sing the national anthem for the Powder Puff football game during Homecoming Week.

The one terrible thing in all of this is that I thought I was recording her interview, evening gown competition, and talent, but I forgot to hit the "video" button on my phone and merely took a couple of very bad photographs instead. I'm still kicking myself. Elannah did a musical theater number with singing and tap dancing for her talent, and she did it so well.

I did manage to catch the very end of the pageant.



You can hear Gabrielle mention at the end how stressed she was because we truly weren't sure if it would be Elannah or another girl who won the crown.

I'm loving that Elannah and I are the only two girls in the house now. She loves getting lots of attention from her mom, and she paid me a lovely tribute during the pageant. She's a good kid, and I'm really proud of how hard she's working to develop her character. She's decided to serve a full-time mission in a couple years, and she just got her Patriarchal Blessing last Sunday, which was a wonderful thing.

One last note: I feel bad about this (sort of), but one of Elannah's attendants was also one of Sophia's attendants. The same girl got beat out by two sisters. That's got to rankle just a bit.