Confetti

{Ahem. Fast forward three weeks...}

Hi!

Allow me to re-tell a story. Once when I was a young mother we were preparing to go on vacation, taking a road trip a couple of states away. I do what you do in that situation: lists and crossing off and packing and re-packing and checking. Do I have enough diapers? Does everyone have pajamas? Where are the little busy things for the long car ride? Did I stop the mail? Who will water the plants? You know.

Finally, we pulled out of our neighborhood ready for the adventure. After a while, 3-year-old Lauren piped up from the back seat. 

"Mom, did you remember to bring my blankie?"

"Yep, here it is."

Silence.

"Mom?"

"Uh huh?"

"Did you bring pink bear?"

Silence. Quick calculation of how far we've already driven. Too far. Life would have to go on without pink bear.

"No.......I think I forgot it Lauren. I'm sorry!"

Silence.

"Mom. Can't you even remember two things?"

 . . . 

Every once in a while over the past month or so I've chided myself "can't you even juggle two things?" but then I remind myself that those Two Things actually include so very many pieces that it feels like juggling confetti. So I decided that juggling is overrated. It's completely the wrong metaphor for my life right now in this season. What's the point, really, in trying to juggle confetti?  If you have confetti, you should be enjoying how it floats around your head and admiring the colors. You should be celebrating. I'm not sure where to go with that analogy but those were my thoughts. Be in the moment. Be glad for the bounty. Don't be so tough on yourself. Be wise in choosing your metaphors.

All this is just to say that it's a little crazy sometimes but I am loving being surrounded in our particular blend of confetti.

looking cool - losing teeth
sewing patches - contemplating schools

dressing up for Oscars - enjoying early spring
promming - celebrating oreo's 100th

jury duty - lunchtime walks
Sound of Music costumes for Sam - Celtics Game with G

Texting transcript of the week

Today, 11:53 a.m.

. . .

Nothing like going to bio and spilling termites all over your lab partner and yourself../.

Oy. It'll make a good story someday...

He was cute though...he asked for my number, the termites were a good bonding experience...

Haha. Now that's a "meet cute."

>< He's an rm* though...hahaha. It was so embarrassing!!!!

Don't bring any of those termites home now!

:D I'll send them in a box specifically for you :)

Is he your lab partner for the rest of the semester?
If so, maybe he should wear protective clothing :)

:P if he sits by me. haha

. . .

*rm = returned missionary,  meaning he's over 21 years old having served a two-year mission for our church. We are gently encouraging our gal to avoid this variety of gentlemen at this stage in her life as they seem to be a bit more in a marrying frame of mind.

Prommed again

L. found her dream dress in SLC over spring break + loved that it had little cap sleeves

So sweet {^ note adoring younger sister looking on in the background...}

Prom group {we were rushed and it was hard to get a shot where everyone looked good. Sorry, T (in pink)}

 D & L. They've known each other since 3rd grade + have been close friends ever since.

 On the red carpet walk

. . .

What a difference a week makes! When we scheduled L's procedure, the doctor reassured us she would be up and at 'em and at prom the next weekend.  I had my doubts but, sure enough, she was back at school on Tuesday, in her flute recital on Thursday, and at junior prom on Friday. Amazing what the body can do and heal from.

Our high school has a nice tradition of all the families gathering at the school for a red carpet procession/photo op of all of the junior prom couples, then the kids all board busses and head to the hotel for the dance. They all return for pick-up at 11:30, safe and (most of them) sound. Lauren had a wonderful evening. Now her group of friends has a whole progressive activity evening planned tonight: fun, a dinner, an outdoor movie in our yard. The girls have taken over all the planning. Is that a thing now?

Paging EB White

Today was Lauren's pre-op day, filled with blood tests + medical interviews + an echocardiogram + waiting. (More on that in a bit.) If you have to be in a succession of waiting rooms, you could do worse than bringing along the Letters of EB White. The copy I have is satisfyingly tattered, a book that my parents gave to great-Grandma Brockbank in 1977 (the inscription is on the inside cover) and then later, meandering down through the line, it was given to me.

I'll admit I'm harboring a little long-held literary crush on Elwyn Brooks White. I can’t get enough of his New England wit and quick humor, his ease with sentiment and words. I knew he could write well, of course, but this open window to his personal friendships reveals much more of his warm soul and side glancing winks.

Back just two weeks after marrying his bride, Katherine, he sent her this poem*:

The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unwinds a thread of his devising; 
A thin, premeditated rig
To use in rising. 

And all the journey down through space, 
In cool descent, and loyal-hearted, 
He builds a ladder to the place
From which he started. 

Thus I, gone forth, as spiders do, 
In spider's web a truth discerning, 
Attach one silken strand to you
For my returning.

Oh, those silken strands. Lately (and abundantly) I have felt their tug.

When I was in DC for meetings last week I felt it, triggered by the universal law that the needs and happenings at home seem to escalate as soon as I leave town!  One trip to the doctor, one trip to get an xray (everyone's fine), sad events at school...all within 36 hours. G valiantly kept the clockwork ticking, homefires burning, and fort held down in my absence--although he had to go in to work at 5:30 on Saturday morning to do some catching up from all that parenting. He graciously quipped, "well it was my turn to take someone to the doctor at least once in their lifetime" (true that!) but still. Thank goodness for cell phones and text messages, those latter-day placeholders for actual connection & conversation.

Tomorrow's surgery will be another tug. Truly, I am confident she will be fine. All will be well. We're all chins up, keeping calm and carrying on around here. But right now all I can see is the impossibly delicate weight of those silken strands.

*Hello, early glimmers of Charlotte's Web! His granddaughter Martha later commented that Charlotte typified Katherine, through and through.

Requiem aeternam

If you were sitting here at my kitchen table, I would tell you a long story about high school crushes, and a golden boy that everyone wanted to be like and liked by, and a heart-broken small town struggling with some kind of virus: its third youth suicide this year.  I would show you the long text conversations with my daughter at school--the I can't handle this, the I just talked to him recently, I sat next to him in math, the why would he do this.  We would sigh together, look out the window at the blossoming world and breathe in the scent of lilacs.

He wasn't mine to mourn but I mourn--for the possibilities he carried away with him and for the lost innocence of invincibility, that adolescent magical thinking. I keep thinking of the Housman poem--remember?

The time you won your town the race /We chaired you through the market-place; /Man and boy stood cheering by, /And home we brought you shoulder-high...

Now you will not swell the rout /Of lads that wore their honours out, /Runners whom renown outran /And the name died before the man...

And round that early-laurelled head /Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead, /And find unwithered on its curls /The garland briefer than a girl's.

You would hear the lump in my throat as I told you about this same brave daughter who just weeks ago came into our room late at night and threw a lifeline to another friend facing similar challenges and stayed on the phone, G's hand resting on her back, until help arrived and hope was found. It's hard not to wonder What's going on here? and its close cousin What can I do?

It's hard to get into too many details here and it's really not mine to tell. Let's just say:

Life is fragile. 

You never know who is carrying around a heavy ache.

But I can show you the carving my dad sent us, an icon of my childhood walls made by his hands, that I opened yesterday:

Amen.

Hug someone extra tightly today.