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