unbroken

Several of my neighbors LOVE this book. When I told a friend that I didn't like it she was speechless--and this friend is never speechless.  I later noticed that she'd listed it on her Christmas card as her favorite book she'd read this year. 

A couple years ago I sent Unbroken as a gift to one of my parents. They never read it--looked liked a downer. They were so right. I admit, having suffered through the book, I gained appreciation for people who serve in the military and an understanding of why we dropped bombs on Japan.  But I don't enjoy vicarious suffering and this book is chapter after chapter of starvation, deprivation, abuse, detioration. War stinks. The book is very detailed--well-researched--but I wish Hillenbrand had an editor who told her to cut half the details. (But then, I feel the same about Disney's Snow White and It's a Wonderful Life. Way too long.)

'tis the season

. . . for runny noses.

We have a cold virus making its rounds.  Ellie has been snotty for weeks, but miserably so since about Saturday.  We're talking coughing half the night (ah, for the days when doctors could prescribe cough medicine for children), lying listless and silent half the day. Poor dear.  So today I am very happy that she is smiling and making macaroni crafts (quote of the morning: "I'm busy coloring my noodle").

cakeballs!

When my neighbor announced a cookie exchange for December book group, I wasn't excited. I'm not sure what it is about cookie exchanges--maybe it's that I don't really want a tray of 24 assorted cookies sitting on my kitchen counter (and taking on each other's flavors), and maybe I'd rather cook 24 of my favorite cookies than take my chances. But I think part of my reluctance is that as much as I love cookies, I don't make Christmas cookies (I make syrup), and I'm not about to show up to a Christmas cookie exchange with normal chocolate chip cookies.

 

Then I got an idea--I'd buy red and green M&Ms or chocolate chips and stir them into a favorite cookie recipe. Voila. Christmas cookies.  But then another neighbor announced a party the same week as book group and I thought, "What they hey, why not make cake balls?" As some of you know, cake balls are pretty labor intensive, and as a rule, I avoid labor-intensive cooking (most laborious activities, in fact). But I do love cake balls and hadn't made them in over a year. This time, I mixed red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting, dipped them in white mint candy coating, and sprinkled with crushed candy cane. This was my first time using the candy melts and they worked great--the coating is thinner than melted chocolate chips, but then, candy melts tend to be more expensive.  The 14 oz. bag covered about 2/3 of my 50 cake balls, so I used chocolate chips for the rest.  Then I told my kids that red food dye is carcinogenic--more cake balls for me.  

Mitt's bump (or, fickle Americans)

Mitt won the first debate--66 percent of people polled agree, and the remaining 34 percent are delusional.  He won not because of the strength of his argument, but because of strong delivery.  And after the debate, his standings in the polls jumped.  I haven't heard many discussions about causality, but the obvious conclusion is that image matters more than content.  Before the debate people knew the platforms of Republicans vs Democrats--big business vs big government; guns vs butter; drill-baby-drill vs stewardship; vouchers vs public schools; imposed bedroom values and voluntary charity vs marry-who-you-will and imposed charity--the debate wasn't terribly enlightening regarding policy.  It's hard for me to understand how undecided voters could make a choice based primarily on speaking performance when the differences in values are pretty stark.  But maybe--and I find this explanation both reasonable and hopeful--the bump in the polls is less about values than about likeliness to vote.  In other words, based on the debate, maybe right-leaning undecided voters are now more likely to vote than left-leaning undecided voters.  Part of me (the Mormon part) was glad to see a strong performance by Mitt; I just hope President Obama shows up for the next debate and can inspire people as he did 4 years ago.   

competitive dancing, part 2

We're back in the world of competitive dancing, this time, with our son.  In seventh grade he and several friends tried ballroom dance and loved it--a bunch have stuck with it.  Yesterday morning he came in at 6:00 am and asked for help with his make-up.  Nick later said, "If I'd known 15 years ago that one day my son would come into my room at 6:00 am to ask for help his his make-up . . . " (I won't print the rest).

I'm getting used to the hairspray, mascara, and fake tans. Sort of. I noticed that most kids from most schools didn't look tan (unlike the kids from our kids' school), so I might protest silently.  I suppose I should get used to competition culture, because we have several competitions this year.  I didn't mind going to yesterday's meet--it was 10 minutes from home and I like watching dancing.  But I now understand why each school holds its own: to benefit from judge bias (and to make money so teams can compete at all the other meets).  In the team events, the host high school won both of the events they competed in and the best thing about their performances was their costumes.  Their formations were pretty good too, but they didn't deserve to win.

Then I got to thinking that judge bias factors into every competition, though it's not always clear what the biases are.  We like to think that judges are fair and awards are earned, but judges are biased and sometimes award winners are lucky.

exercise

Whenever I log on it's a little like turning on Wii Fit Plus and seeing, "It's been 23 days since your last visit" (I do other forms of exercise, thank you).

Speaking of which, I tried jogging a few weeks ago for the first time in 20 years and discovered that I'm in worse shape than I imagined.  I can walk for miles, and three times a week I bike 7-8 miles on our exercise bike (I can read while I exercise--yay!). But when I tried jogging, I felt like I was going to die every step of the half mile or so (I felt virtuous--and sore--for days afterward).  Clearly, jogging is much more efficient than my usual forms of exercise.  A few days later I had to try again to see if I could go further (I did), and last week after missing my Zumba class, I decided to try once more.

Yes, I finally tried Zumba and discovered that it's really just aerobics, but I enjoy aerobics, so I think I'll go back.  Our university has a free class for employees and spouses, right during the time my preschooler is playing at the neighbor's house. I teach til 10:50 and Zumba starts at 12:10, which is fine--good time to work in my office--but then I have to bring a change of clothes and change in the locker room (yuck) before and after Zumba or walk across campus in my workout clothes (I feel conspicuous) or find a parking spot near the athletic building (which is impossible). Not as convenient as working out at home.

For anyone who happened to read my "skim milk" post many moons ago, I have bad news and good news. The bad news is I haven't lost any weight; the good news is I quit gaining weight. So, I'll keep drinking my skim milk, eating my brownies, and riding my exercise bike.

peanut butter chocolate bars

Warning: these are dangerous

bars:

• 3/4 c butter, softened
• 3/4 c white sugar
• 3/4 c brown sugar
• 3/4 c peanut butter
• 2 t water
• 2 eggs
• 1 t vanilla
• 1 1/2 c all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 c rolled oats
• 3/4 t baking soda
• 1/2 t salt
• 
  
• topping (choose one):
• 2 cups chocolate chips (milk chocolate or semisweet, or a combination of chocolate and butterscotch chips)
• or chocolate frosting (with or without a layer of peanut butter)
• or 1/2 c. peanut butter melted with 1 c. milk chocolate chips
• or Nutella
•  

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F (165 degrees C). Grease a 10x15 inch pan.
2. In a large bowl, cream together the butter, sugars, peanut butter, and water. 
3. Beat in the eggs and vanilla. 
4. Combine the flour, oats, baking soda and salt; stir into the peanut butter mixture. 
5. Press the dough evenly into the prepared pan.
6. Bake 15-20 minutes. Remove from the oven and sprinkle the chocolate chips evenly over the top. When the chips look glossy, spread evenly. (Or wait until bars are mostly cool and spread with frosting.)

watching Olympics

So far my favorite things to watch, besides the gymnastics and swimming, are the views of the UK--Tower Bridge, Parliament, the Globe, Piccadilly Circus, Stonehenge, the White Cliffs--make me almost wish I were there. Except that when the Olympics were here, we didn't go--didn't make any attempt to go--avoided the venues--and when we were in London for the Jubilee we again avoided the crowds (and the rain) and watched on tv. But seeing London so beautifully captured makes us a bit homesick (London-sick?). Not our kids, who have repeatedly commented, "Been there, done that," but are very happy to be home.

color blind Greeks?

Just heard a blurb on NPR: Expert says, "All the Greeks were color-blind. They saw everything in black and white, with maybe a tinge of red." How on earth would we know this? Unless he was speaking figuratively. Seems likely, except that the context was a preview of a segment on how people see colors.

Middlemarch

One of my new favorite books. I avoided it for years because it's sooo long (about 800 pages, depending on the edition), but am glad I finally overcame my reluctance.  George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans) develops a great cast of characters, but what's particularly refreshing/interesting to me is that the book focuses more on marriage than courtship.  If you haven't seen the movie and don't want to read 800 pages, I recommend the movie as excellent and very true to the book. 

bury the guns

How many people will be shot before we embrace gun control? (I fear the answer is "all of us")
Who, having read a book, watched a movie, or visited a museum about war, would engage in war?
I'm trying to imagine a world without guns, hate, war, disease, hunger, fear, poverty, worry. Kinda hard to imagine, actually.

insecurities II

I've been thinking that my insecurities probably stem from a need to be achieving, and I can't point to many major accomplishments lately. Setting little goals and achieving them helps. I could devote all my time and energy to helping my kids become accomplished, and I do devote considerable time and energy to my kids' development and well-being.  Maybe I should have forced them into more sports and lessons than I have, but other than early swim lessons and piano lessons we've mostly presented them options and let them choose.

As far as comparing ourselves to others, I need to watch what I say to my kids. Take, for example, a recent conversation with Anna (age 12) in which I'm trying to convince her to take swimming lessons. After arguing the advantages of not drowning, I resorted to, "You're going to swim in 7th grade p.e.--do you want to be the worst swimmer in there?" To which she wisely replied, "Mom, someone's got to be the worst. I don't see the point in working hard just so that someone else has to be the worst." Bravo, darling, but you still need to learn to swim.  A second example: we often play on our 4 year old's vanity to get her to get dressed or do her hair ("Your friends are going to think you're so cute"). Probably another topic altogether.
 

insecurities

We all have them--right?

1. We're surrounded by adults who run marathons and 5-year-olds who ride bikes, swim, ski, play tennis, soccer, and baseball.
2. Outside of Utah, my husband's colleagues think our family is huge. But here, big families are a virtue and I don't know if I'm virtuous enough. I feel a kinship with mothers of four or fewer children, and oddly threatened (or something) by mothers of five or more (overachievers).
3. My house is not spotless. The shelves and drawers aren't organized. My neighbors' houses are clean and organized.
4. My neighbors are nicer than I am.

I was surprised when beautiful, talented, amazing, mother-of-five, friend said that growing up she never felt pretty enough, talented enough, smart enough, good enough. Growing up, outside of p.e., I felt plenty smart, talented, and pretty. It wasn't until I went to college that I started feeling average. But, then, what's wrong with average? And we should all experience being terrible at some things. I've thought that if I were to write children's books (not likely) I'd write one about a little girl who loves to dance at home, where she twirls and boogies, and her parents love her dancing. But when her mom signs her up for dance classes (evil mother), she doesn't like having to do what the teacher says, she's no longer the center of attention, and she wants to quit. The question is, how does the story end?

I love my neighbors. And on good days, I see their positive qualities and want to emulate them. But if I compare my weaknesses to their strengths, or even some of my strengths to theirs, I feel like a slacker. I could decide to surround myself with people who are less fit and accomplished than I, but instead I'll try to enjoy more, compare less, and remind myself to do things because they're worth doing, not because I'm trying to impress people.

home again

6:30 am Thursday we left behind London--the theatre, the parks, the museums, the markets, the bakeries, the mature cheddar, the rain, the 2 bedroom flat, the tube, the double-decker buses, the 1000-year-old castles and cathedrals--checked our 8 large pieces of luggage (having prepaid the $160 for our 2 extra--grrr), hauled our 12 carry-ons (including 1 pink and lavender unicorn pillow pet), and, 19 hours, 4 movies, 3 meals, and 2 snacks later, landed, exhausted, in Salt Lake at 6:30 pm the same day. Around 8 pm (3 am Friday, London time) we came home to friendly neighbors, a green yard, blooming flowers, a charming front porch, a clean house (we think someone came in and dusted), food in our fridge (thanks, amazing neighbors), Christmas mugs, flannel sheets, peppermint soap, weeds in the flower beds, a swampy garbage bag mouldering under the kitchen sink, four bedrooms, and more bathrooms than I care to admit. Feels as though we've never left. In a few hours we'll be calling friends, making appointments, unpacking rain jackets and sweaters, assessing our summer wardrobes, filling the pantry, and pulling up weeds.

long hair

When I got the facebook post from the woman planning our 20th high school reunion, I wasn't sure whether her photo was current (I think so) or 20 years old. The photos are small and she's obviously aged well. But what I was really thinking was, "OMgosh. I really should cut my hair." I've heard or read that most people return to the hair style they had at their most successful time of life. Now, I know women who change their hair style every six months and others who haven't changed styles in 20 years, but the general rule sounds true. For the past 18 months or so, I've been growing my hair out--when I decided to do it I wasn't thinking of my 20th high school reunion--at least, not consciously. But my hair is pretty similar to my high school look (although I alternated between long and short then as now), and I wonder how many 38-year-old women wear their hair in their 18-year-old style. I don't want people to think I'm trying to look 18. Then again, maybe I am trying to look 18. Though I had worn short hair for a couple years and was ready for a change, I was also influenced by peer pressure: 1) When helping us to move, a neighbor saw a high school photo of me and told Nick, me, and several other neighbors that I used to be (surprisingly) hot (kind of weird and a little creepy since he has a teenage daughter); 2) Soon after the move Nick and Anna encouraged me to grow my hair; 3) Seems all my neighbors who are around my age have long hair. Sooner or later I'll get sick of the length and get a grown-up haircut. But, I kind of like my long hair for now.

time machine

The plane we boarded in January must have been a time machine. In transporting us 7 hours into the future, it also brought us to a parallel universe (something like that), where, despite the Roman walls and Egyptian mummies, only the present matters. My time here seems disconnected from my past (except for the months spent here previously) and my future. Were I at home, by now I would have the children signed up for swimming lessons and summer camps. I'll admit, I've started looking into such things, but I'm more concerned about tomorrow's schedule (leave around 11:00 for Chipping Camden, then on to Stratford-upon-Avon). Sounds rough, I know. Thinking only of the present is somewhat liberating--a great break from the mid-life (early-mid-life) crisis I was thinking about having last fall. But for all the fun we're having, this carpe diem lifestyle feels a bit rootless. Five months, eleven days is an awkward length of a stay--too short to become a resident, too long to be content as a tourist. It's hard for my kids to be away from friends and school. They have each other--but that's not always a plus--and their cousins, which should be a greater benefit than it is (other than for our four year old, who is in heaven living here with her six year old cousin). They should all be playing with each other constantly, but when I suggest the two twelve-year-olds hang out together my daughter asks, "What would we do?" Whatever happened to board games and hide-and-go-seek? But I digress. Being away from home is hard on the children and a bit hard on me too. I'm pretty self-sufficient wherever I live, but still, I miss my friends and neighbors, my book group, my sense of belonging to a community. Which (missing people) seems like a good reason to keep up former activities--blog more, not less, post on facebook frequently instead of never. I offer a few explanations: 1) For the first few weeks we were so busy establishing new routines that we didn't seem to have room for old routines; 2) We have a separate, collective London blog--whatever I've said publicly is there; 3) The children, being homeschooled, are always on the pc (and Nick is usually on his laptop). Right now I am typing this in the room where the boys sleep, and it's past their bed time. (I probably have other, subconscious, weird psychological reasons rooted in anti-social behavior.) I think the fact that I'm back to cakeballs is a good sign (of what, I'm not sure).

where I've been

http://thedailygoldensnitch.wordpress.com/
2 Stacies (my sister-in-law and me)
2 brothers (our husbands)
7 kids (4 of ours, 3 of theirs)
5.4 months
several countries