Another of My Babies Is Getting Married!

I am pleased to announce the engagement of my daughter, Gabrielle, to a lovely young man named Raine.

The short story: they worked together for nearly a year and developed a solid friendship before they started dating. They're getting married in late June in the Salt Lake temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Gabrielle is 22, and Raine is 24.

Read below for exhaustive details.

Nearly ten months ago, I had a very strong feeling that I needed to tell Gabrielle something that God wanted her to know. It was such a specific thing that I was a little reluctant to say anything at all, but the feeling of urgency wouldn't go away. I fully believe parents can receive revelation for their children when needed, so I decided I'd wait for the right time and see how to fit it in to the conversation.

I had the opportunity to tell her a couple days later when we all gathered at the hospital to visit Sian and Nathan after the birth of our tiny, premature grandson. As we were leaving the hospital, Gabrielle got teary, so I pulled her aside for a little mother-daughter chat. She was struggling with knowing what her next move in life was. She'd had so many bad experiences with dating, but she felt ready to move on to the next phase of life as a wife and mother, and she didn't know what she was supposed to be doing despite her consistent prayers.

It was the perfect moment. I told her what the Lord had prompted me to say, which was that if she moved out of the house where she was then living, she would meet the man she was going to marry. I was nervous because that was a very specific promise, but I had to have faith that I was telling her the right thing. She immediately cheered up and told me that I had validated the answer she felt she'd received as she had prayed.

Soon after, she moved into the house where Sophia had rented a room (how that happened is also a testament to how the Lord knows what you need exactly when you need it). And, little did she know, she almost immediately met the man who would be her future fiance'. 

Raine is also an employee at the company where Gabrielle and Sophia work. He and Gabrielle don't work in the same unit, but the company is small enough that they knew of each other and began to develop a friendship. Ten months ago, Gabrielle was not ready to date. Had he asked her out then (and he was seriously thinking about it), she would have said no. But their friendship grew, and a few weeks ago, they realized they had so much in common and so enjoyed each others' company that they should date. While Gabrielle did have moments of strong anxiety due to her past experiences, we had some excellent phone conversations, and I was able to help her talk out her worries and figure out what was normal anxiety and what was unreasonable worry. She had forgotten what I told her ten months ago, and when I reminded her, she immediately felt a great deal of relief.

Saturday night, I got home from a meeting to find the two of them in my living room with Husband, Elannah, and the boys. After hugs and introductions, Gabrielle flashed the plain white-gold band on her left hand (no gemstones, just the way she likes it) and announced that she and Raine were engaged. She's so happy, and that makes me so happy. And as we got to know Raine over the course of the evening, I can see why she's so happy. They fit very well together. They have similar career and life goals and share a strong faith. He loves kids (which is very important to me as a grandmother!), and he's intelligent, funny, and outgoing--just like Gabrielle. He obviously respects our daughter, and she respects him. 

They're planning a late June wedding in the Salt Lake temple. Oy! That's pretty quick, but Raine's family had already planned a big family trip to Hawaii in July, so they decided to use that as their honeymoon. It's a good thing that they aren't interested in an elaborate reception because we don't have time to plan one of those.

So now my second daughter is going to be a Mrs., and I'm just so grateful that she will be as happy as Sian. My mother's heart wants only that her children be truly happy with their chosen mates and produce as many grandchildren as possible for my sake.  

A New Massage Chair!

Elannah wanted me to go with her to the store to check out the Easter candy sales. I knew that was a bad idea, but I went anyway. And I bought some Dove chocolate. Not the best, certainly, and I prefer 90% dark Lindt chocolate these days, but whatever. I'm on vacation for one more day.

I have to take exception to this, though:

I don't even know where to begin with this message. I won't go into a nerdy rant about it (you're welcome), but Dove's message generator needs a tweak to its algorithm. I hate to think some human came up with that.


Now that that's out of my system, here's a picture of last Friday's lunch:

I don't usually take photos of my meals, but, guys, it's fish-and-chips (for me) and pie-and-chips (for Husband)! Also note the squeezie bottle of malt vinegar, the chip-shop-worthy curry sauce on Husband's plate, and my glass of apple and black currant squash. The only thing missing is brown sauce.

Here's the story of Friday: Husband found an amazing deal on a top-of-the-line massage chair that was barely used. He's used our crappy but serviceable massage chair nearly every day for the last couple years, but this one is a Rolls Royce to our Pinto.

Hubby made an appointment to go pick up the chair from the sellers on Friday, a day we had off work because of Easter break. The sellers live way up north, near the Idaho border, so we planned on a little road trip, just him and me. As the Little Taste of Britain restaurant is located in Layton, Utah, which was on the way, we decided to go there for lunch. They do a really decent British chip shop lunch, and I was craving some battered cod.

When we got to Layton, something happened. I won't tell you all the details because you don't want to know all the details. The gist of it is that I had an apocalypse-level female experience. Thanks, peri-menopause!

That catastrophe took a bit of time to sort out, but once things were handled, we headed to lunch.

The restaurant has a little store where you can buy British things, so Husband bought a bottle of Robinson's apple and blackcurrant squash (it's a sweet syrup you dilute with water) because I love it. It always takes me back to the winter I spent in Loughborough, Leicestershire, England, where my mission companion and I drank it hot because we were so dang cold all the time. He also bought a Flake chocolate to split, for dessert.

As we were getting ready to leave, Husband ran into one of his work colleagues. She had come up to the restaurant from our little burg because her husband, who is Scottish, required Iron Bru soda at the party they were throwing, so she bought a couple cases and happened to be there just when we were. Small world. But I don't know why anyone would want to drink Iron Bru except the Scottish. They like nasty stuff like that, haggis being another fine example.

We got back on the road and wended our way through Cache Valley to Smithfield, near Logan. If I was going to move somewhere else in Utah, I'd move to Cache Valley. It is one of the most beautiful places on earth. It flourishes in spring especially. (But no one can be responsible for flourishing spring itself. You cannot flourish anything, though you can cause something to flourish, though the entire season of spring is not a thing a human could necessarily cause to flourish. Argh. Sorry. Just couldn't leave that alone after all.)

We found the house, and the very nice homeowner let us in to look at the chair. Husband tried it out, and yes, it is a seriously great massage chair. I didn't try it out because I have a bad history with massage chairs. They tend to screw up my back, and then I'm in pain for days. Irony.

The next problem was how to get it out to the van. The chair, which must weigh several hundred pounds, had been assembled in the homeowner's bedroom and hadn't been moved in the six years they'd owned it. Plus, it had been assembled by company representatives. She had no idea how to disassemble it and no idea of how we were going to move it. It was too wide to get through the doorway, so some disassembly was going to be necessary.

Husband is a smart cookie, fortunately, and he's pretty handy with an Allen wrench. He figured out how the arms could safely be removed, which allowed us to get the chair through the door and outside.

When I say we got the chair through the door and outside, you cannot possibly imagine the amount of straining and sweating that went into that. My legs and arms were noodly by the time we got to the driveway. I sat and panted like a dog for a while, recovering my strength and trying not to black out. We managed to hoist it into the van by a Herculean effort on all our parts, and then Husband and I were off on the road back home.

When we got back home, we didn't relish the idea of manhandling that chair out of the van, into the house, and up the stairs to our second-story bedroom. Husband asked Sophia (who visits just about every weekend) to call her boyfriend the physical trainer to come and help. Meanwhile, I, Husband, and my FIL got the chair out of the van. FIL was just saying, "I can't believe how strong you are!" to me when I felt my back go out: a searing spasm of muscles, a sure knowledge of even more pain to come. I managed to croak out that we needed to set the chair down, and then I also managed not to drop my side and crush someone's foot. And then, ow!

I sat, grimacing, on the couch while the the men slowly and painfully pulled and pushed the behemoth up the stairs.

It sits now in our bedroom, and it has become well-loved by every member of the household--including me. It has this function where you can go to a zero-gravity reclining position, turn on the heat and air compression program, and then sit for 15 minutes of massage bliss with no rollers. Between that and the foam roller I've been using, my back is almost completely back to normal.

Five Generations

It finally happened.

The stars aligned: no one was sick, schedules were open, and the weather was okay for driving. The whole family got together to celebrate all the birthdays we'd missed for Elannah, Gabrielle, my dad, one of my brothers, and one of my sisters.

For the first time since Tyler was born nine months ago, we had all five generations together. Therefore, it was imperative that we take a picture.

From left to right: Tyler's great-great grandma, his great-grandma, his grandma, his mommy, and his cute wi'l self.

Also, Elannah went to her senior prom. For some reason, her high school always holds prom on Fridays, and since this is Utah, the kids have this all-day date tradition. This means that a lot of kids are absent from school on the day of prom. I don't care if my senior misses a day of school. By this point, I'm sick of school myself. I think I've had senioritis since I was a sophomore, and it just never went away.

This year, however, prom also coincided with the State One-Act Play competitions, which created a problem for Elannah and some of her drama friends. The competition was held in Cedar City, Utah, which is a good five hour drive from where we live. But I love a road trip, so I took the day off work and left early in the morning to pick up Elannah and a couple of her friends after they had performed their play, then turned around and drove all the way back. The girls did their hair and makeup in the car, and we still got back in time for them to have their pictures done. They missed the day-date, but they still went to dinner and the dance, which is always held at the Utah State Capitol building. Swanky!

Elannah's date was her friend Sho, the Japanese foreign exchange student, and they teamed up with a bunch of their other friends.

Wouldn't it be funny if the photographer had taken one of these poses with the boys?

Anyway, they had a lovely time at prom, and the one-act play won first place at State. That's a real feather in Elannah's ex-boyfriend's cap, as he was the playwright (not that he really needs his head swelled any larger). He's been accepted into the University of Utah's prestigious drama program as a freshman in the fall. I'm secretly glad that Elannah has no interest in pursuing acting as a profession or as an educational career.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Also, after a grueling twelve-hour push, I finally, finally finished the line edit on the manuscript today. Not only did my client need the editing finished so she could meet her publishing deadlines, but I did not want to head into the Easter break with that still hanging over my head. What a relief. To celebrate, I've only edited this post four times instead of five. I'm sure I've missed something, but I don't care.

Saturday

The long story saga of the line editing goes on and on  continues.

Meanwhile, I played hooky for a bit this morning and hung out with these two cuties:

I made Elannah send me a screen shot of this pic she and Sophia took. They were heading to their favorite clothing consignment shop/thrift store in The Big City and asked me to come along. At first, I begged off due to work constraints, but Elannah (in her uniquely sassy way) pointed out that I would miss out on the experience of hanging out with my daughters. I really didn't need much convincing, as they are so much fun. Plus, I was very flattered that they wanted me to go. And yeah, we had a great time.

Elannah's hair is actually darker brown than Sophia's, but she let a friend practice dyeing her hair for a cosmetology class, and now her hair gets these insanely red highlights in bright sunlight.

I got to see Sian, Tyler, and Nathan earlier this week, as well. Sian called me on Thursday, in tears. Poor girl. She's been struggling. Tyler just had a little surgery, and while he is absolutely fine, Sian is anxious. I've come to realize that my oldest two girls have dealt with anxiety all their lives, but I've only recognized it as Anxiety now that Joseph has been having such a hard time with it. Sian and Gabrielle have lived with it very well, learning how to cope with their irrational fears and worries from a young age. I think their dad and I accidentally helped them learn some good coping skills, and they've learned some on their own, but neither of us recognized their worry and anxiety as anything out of the norm. It wasn't until Joseph started dealing with crippling anxiety that I begin to understand their experience in retrospect.

Anyway, Sian has a tendency to way overthink things and to worry about things that haven't happened and aren't likely to happen. Tyler's surgery is one of them. She is stressing over whether or not he is healing properly (he is) and whether or not he is in pain (he isn't). It's also hard just being a mom to an infant. Now that Nathan has a new job and is still going to school, she's alone with Tyler most of the time. I've been there. It's so, so hard, even if you love your baby more than your own life.

So I spent all afternoon and evening with Sian and Tyler (and Nathan, when he got home). I played with my happy, calm, very good-natured little grandson and had a long talk with Sian. I'm so glad she has Nathan. Sian is a wonderful mother, but when she starts worrying too much, he grounds her, and he is also so good at taking over when she's ready to fall apart. As tired as he is with work and school, he comes home and takes care of his family. Tyler loves it when Daddy comes home.

I told Sian that it's okay to talk to her doctor. It's okay to ask for help. I just wish I could be there in person much more than I can be at the moment. We send each other video messages on the Marco Polo app almost daily, and I love seeing my sweet pea (and her baby).

If only I were independently wealthy already!

Still working on that.

Now I've gotta get back to work. I only have an hour before I have to go to choir rehearsal, which the director has asked me to run because she's in New York City. It's flattering to be trusted to take over when she can't be there, but I much, much prefer to sit in the alto section and have her behind the music stand.

Spring Break

It's Spring Break, y'all!

I'm in my bikini on the beach somewhere southerly and warm, soaking in the rays and partying with my squad.

Haha. No. I'm with my squad, but we're at home, and most of them are enjoying a bout of Influenza Type A with all the symptoms that make it such a joy to experience: coughing, fever, chills, sore throat, and body aches. I had to start Joseph on a round of steroids to avoid an asthma emergency that could otherwise require a trip to the hospital. Party on!

I had a cold last week (or, now that I think about it, a mild version of the flu), but I am too impatient to be sick, so I got better in a couple days.

While I nurse Hubby and the boys back to health, I'm line editing a fiction manuscript for a client. I'm way behind on that. Way behind. Honest question: why am I typing stuff into my blog when I've got a deadline?

While I'm working, have a gander at this adorable picture of my grandson.

Perfect cuteness takes no spring breaks.

The Musings Of A Libra INFJ. You Were Warned.

I've been subbing on a morning high school bus run before my preschool runs. There are a group of ninth grade girls (around 14 to 15 years of age) who sit right behind me, and as they talk loudly enough in order to hear each other in separate seats, I can't help but overhear their conversations.

On Friday morning, they were kind of bragging about not having filters on what they say. I smiled quietly to myself while I listened to them. Their language was clean, they were respectful of each other, and while they were speaking over the noise of the bus engine, they weren't speaking loudly in order to get attention. So, sorry, kids, but you've got filters. And I appreciate that. There were plenty of the kids towards the back of the bus that don't have filters, and I could hear that, too.

Then I started musing about my own filters. Where some people truly say whatever pops into their heads, I've got my filters set to "high." On a scale of one to ten, mine are set at eleven. I hardly ever speak before I think. Even in casual conversation, my brain is constantly calculating word usage, how appropriate any given statement is in that context, and whether or not I might offend where I don't mean to offend--now that I'm not a child with young and irritating siblings. I edit words on paper, but I also edit everything I do and say. My in-laws call me "diplomatic," which is a kind way of saying that I hardly ever blurt out what I truly think. 

It's just become worse over the years, and I was a surprisingly diplomatic young person, as well. 

I'm not saying being diplomatic is bad, of course. Diplomacy is fast becoming a lost art in our increasingly angry, more divisive social culture. But am I quiet about my true feelings because I don't want to give offense or because I hate confrontation so very much? Both, I'm sure. I've got what most people would think are very weird opinions, and I don't care to hear others critique those opinions if they haven't also put in a lot of time researching, learning, and educating themselves about the subject. Also, I haven't made concrete decisions about many subjects. I don't think out loud that much (at least, not to others. I do talk to myself quite a bit to sort out my thoughts), and it takes a long time to quietly ponder my opinions about many things. I hate making snap judgements, and I am also intensely aware that I usually don't have all the facts. My opinions are often fluid, changing as I encounter new information. As good as I am at making conversation, I am not very good at admitting my deeper feelings and opinions until I feel very, very comfortable with that person, and even then, I have quite a big area in my head that is inaccessible to anyone. 

I think the term for that is "guarded."

As guarded as I am, I am always willing to give someone else the benefit of the doubt. If I haven't had experience that the person I'm engaging with has less-than-noble intentions, I prefer to like them as long as possible. Everyone is flawed, and everyone makes both good and bad choices, and I'm willing to meet a person where they're at, not where I wish they would be. It takes quite a bit for me to truly dislike someone, sometimes even if my radar is telling me something is wrong. I even gave my sister's old boyfriend--a narcissistic, horrible, abusive man--quite a bit of leeway for at least a couple days (which is more than he deserved). I'll make up stories to explain stupid behavior in others (in the absence of facts) so that I don't have to walk around feeling angry that people really are out to get me. I can't control other people, so I don't want to be always angry with them.

I think the term for that is "naively optimistic."

This is a trait that drives my friend and bus aide, Kris, bonkers. She's very good at reading people, and she doesn't have a lot of patience with or optimism about most people. She's lived a difficult life filled with a wide mix of men and women who have mostly hurt her. Not all, but most. I'm surprised she's still as optimistic and friendly as she is and that she still believes in love. She's incredibly strong. But she's been abused and neglected, which has made her hyper-aware of body language and intention. My life, on the other hand, has been easy, and I've never been in a situation where I felt like the people around me were truly trying to hurt me either physically or emotionally (parts of junior high and high school excepted, of course). If it came to a contest on who could immediately pick out the people who will be nice to you until you don't give them what they want, Kris wins every time. She's always right about that and I'm almost always wrong. I yield to her superior intuition.

I'm not sad that I am predisposed to like people or to be friendly, though. A kind answer really does turn away wrath in most cases. Being kind and giving people the benefit of the doubt has protected me from harm in many ways, I think, because people will usually try to live up to your positive expectations of them, though that isn't why I am kind. Every person has beauty, even that horrible ex-boyfriend of my sister's or that guy who was incredibly rude for no reason when I parked the bus at the tennis courts last year. I just want to start with the assumption that the beauty is there before I have to learn to walk away from a person because of their behavior. I won't, however, walk into a place or situation that feels dangerous. Kindness has its limits, and I don't have to be personally harmed to know that some people get pleasure out of hurting others.

But back to filters. Facebook is a minefield of problems for me, which is why I happily quit it for so long. The only reason I reactivated my account is because I'm the Relief Society president, and with so many women expressing themselves only through social media, I felt like I should be there so I could catch any issues or needs that might come up in my ward. But I can't bring myself to share my thoughts and opinions there. First of all, who cares? Secondly, I want to like people. My filters are too high to allow me to comfortably share my opinions with people who used to be my friends but are now mostly strangers, and whose opinions, therefore, I don't really value. But this isn't a post about Facebook. It's a wandering, musing post about the question I have about who I am without filters. Without my overly active sense of watching myself in every word and every behavior, what would I think? What would I say? 

That's the true question I have. Who am I? This woman I am, this woman I've become has a wall a thousand miles thick around her. I'm not complaining or saying I've had a hard life, because my life has been absolutely wonderful. I'm just surprised, and I'm just figuring it out, something each and every one of us is doing. I'm a guarded, naively optimistic introvert who can act like an extrovert without often opening the gate to her heart, even if I love deeply and forever once I do love. I'm such a typical INFJ. (laughs) Not sure how I feel about that. The facts are still coming in, so a final judgment can't be made yet.

We'll see where it goes. 

Sorry for this annoyingly self-pandering post. This is me thinking out loud.  

This Is Gallifrey

My brother and his wife are both ridiculously intelligent. It follows, therefore, that their children would most likely turn out to be ridiculously intelligent, as well. And they all are, as well as utterly adorable.

This is Emily, my niece, my brother's and sister-in-law's oldest daughter. She has been composing music since she was little (the music genes run strong in my family), and she's developed into quite an accomplished cellist and pianist. Emily and Elannah are just a couple months apart in age, so Emily is also a senior in high school.

I just couldn't be more proud of her and how she's developed her talents.