The Deep Breath Before the Plunge

So, I don't enjoy roller coasters with drops. Seriously, I even get sweaty-palmed on The Pirates of the Caribbean. And I feel like this week has been ratcheting my roller coaster tram higher and higher up the hill, and tomorrow we go over the top. All this anticipation and build-up, and then a few brief seconds of mortal terror, and then I'm fine. Today is the mortal terror part.

As I madly launder, sort, fold and check things off, I can feel it mounting: I carry my stress in my shoulders and my jaw. I keep having to remind myself to stop clenching my teeth, stop shrugging up my shoulders.

It's not that I'm not looking forward to being with family and friends for that length of time. It's not really even that I'll be out of my home element. It's more that I'm a total worry wart.

I could carry that title proudly, if I worried about really meaningful things, like the fact that my husband and I will be 3,000 miles away from our kids for a week, or that I'll be driving to and from Simi Valley by myself, or that Justin will be flying to and from Burbank by himself. Those are things that could potentially change our lives, should disaster strike. But honestly, I'm not all that concerned about those circumstances. (I'm leaving my kids with my mom, for crying out loud. They're probably safer with her than with me, even.)

It's the intricacy of this particular trip that is freaking me out right now, the structure of it. I leave tomorrow morning by myself, then 4th of July (which includes the Hambly Family 5k and my nieces' baptisms), then single-parenthood for three days, till Justin comes down, picking him up at the airport, then getting to LAX, then getting to JFK, then getting Andrea's, then actually being able to relax for a week, then getting to JFK, then getting to LAX, then getting Justin to the airport in the morning, then two days more of single-parenthood, then a birthday party, then driving home alone. Add to that collecting and re-collecting the clothes, toys and various paraphernalia required for such a lengthy sojourn, plus the knowledge that I'll have to work in laundry at some point, and the madness increases.

Even as I stand surrounded by towering stacks of laundry and luggage, waiting for the prescription to be filled, which I completely forgot about but absolutely need, looking at my mostly un-fulfilled list, I realize my frantic spazziness (if that's even a word; if not, I have just coined it) is completely misplaced and worse, unnecessary. I know all of these things will happen in their appointed times and places, and that there will be family coming out of the woodwork, should I need any help. I know that once I have all the laundry done, all the suitcases zipped up, all the bikes and toys and DVDs marshalled and ready to load, once I have checked everything off my list, I will be calm and ready and even excited to go. I might even sleep tonight.

Right now, I either need to go work out, or crawl into bed with a book, a Coke Zero and a chocolate cupcake. Or maybe both.

Update on the Aftermath

Ok, so I was an emotional wreck for two days. And strangely, the by-product of that was a feeling of extreme fragility, like I would crumble into dust and blow away at the slightest force.

Thankfully, a welcome change of thought and pace came on Friday, when my brother Chris and his wife Melissa arrived, and we went to see Wilco (which is to Justin as U2 is to me). It was a beautiful night, a cool venue, some obliviously dorky pot heads in front of us to make fun of, and the band was fabulous. My spirits were completely lifted. Hopefully that wasn't the second-hand pot smoke talking.

After a little venting and a lot of kind, supportive and encouraging words from lots and lots of people, I have gained some perspective. An hour long conversation with our unbelievably awesome bishop (the spirituality emanates from him in waves) added a lot, and reassured me tremendously.

I have realized or gained a stronger conviction of several things. First is that I feel that I have given the best service I can give these last two years. There is no doctrine in the gospel to measure our individual service, not benchmark we have to meet; there is only the knowledge that one day we will have to account for ourselves before the ultimate authority, and I feel good about that. Second is that the Lord gave me this calling, and that no matter what, I am the person who has the authority to perform that calling. Regardless of what angry, ungrateful, unhappy people may think or say or do. Third is that I determine my worth, and I can't let one person sweep my feet out from under me. (Thanks, Lynda. Your comments helped a lot.) I can always improve, though, and so I will take the valid bits of criticism and act on them. Fourth is that not only does Satan use evil influences from the outside, he tries to pull us apart from the inside, where we expect it less. Fifth is that I have been taught by some exemplary, strong, wise women, and that I want to be like them. I learned a few other things, but those are the highlights.

Anyway, the upshot is that while we are not 100 percent NOT teaching next year, we aren't absolutely sure we will, either. We're praying on it. If we do, there will be some major changes, and while this person who has instigated all the trouble might choose not to send her sons to our class, we will still be there, performing our calling and doing our absolute best to make sure the kids in our ward feel the spirit and understand the gospel.

There aren't big or strong enough words to express the depth of my gratitude, my amazement, my humility and the richness of my wealth of friends. One wonderful friend, who was my Young Womens president, taught me about shouldering on and doing what is right, even when under attack. This woman has always been, in my mind, the personification of "gospel in action". She just gives and gives and cares and loves and gives some more, and her service had a major effect on my formative testimony. And she loves the Far Side comics, which I think needs to be high on the list of qualifications for exaltation. Thanks Diane, and love you!

So many people commented here on blogspot or on facebook, and each one of you helped me get my head straight. Thanks to all of you.

Also, Mr. Judd, I think I'll pass on your offer for now, but I'll definitely keep you in mind.

Stop this day, I want to get off!

This is one of those days. And even worse, it's the second one of those days I've had this week. I don't think I've EVER had a week when I actually sobbed into my pillow twice in as many days.

I've tried to come up with a word to capture what I feel on those days. I've reached the conclusion that days like today really can't be shoved into a single word. A few words, a phrase, a paragraph, a blog, but not just one word.

Here are a few: inadequate; unappreciated and worse, that everyone who "unappreciates" me is completely justified; worthless; "why bother when nothing I do comes out right anyway?"; unmotivated, and then unmotivated to find any motivation; self-doubting and along the same lines, "How can I be sure that anything I do is any good?"; non-entity; wasted and wasting my time, my mind, my talents; never measuring up to my own ideal self, let alone what other people might expect from me.

You get the point. It's been a rough one.

There are obviously multiple factors in this equation, and some of them are the usual, everyday insecurities and frustrations we all deal with and which sometimes just come to a head.

Today, however, was the product of outside forces acting upon me, from a completely unexpected quarter. I won't go into detail, because I don't think it right to continue a bad situation further. Suffice it to say, I completely understand why people get offended and leave the Church.

This Seminary parent's behavior and actions have made me doubt the value of the last two years of Seminary service, my own ability as a teacher, and the impression and depth of knowledge I was able to impart to the kids in our class. It has also made me feel that what I deemed dedication to my calling was viewed with skepticism and concern. I'm totally bummed, because Justin has decided he's done, that we're not teaching next year, that the sacrifice and blessings aren't worth the pain we've gone through at the end of this year. We don't want any alleged shortcomings as teachers or people to cause a rift in the ward; maybe it's better this way.

It breaks my heart, because I really love teaching Seminary, and I really love the kids, and I was SO excited to teach Book of Mormon next year.

If I was really such a bad teacher, and my home was really such an awful place to be, I hope they have an exponentially better experience next year, with whoever the new teacher is.

Bake this...NOW!

Not the best photo, but it's also the very last slice. I can say with near perfect assurance that this is my favorite pie. And I know pie.

I'm convinced that if there was some way to include chocolate in this recipe, instant and lasting world peace would be achieved.

Raspberry Lemon Meringue Pie

MAKES 1 (9-INCH) PIE (8 SERVINGS)

STRAWBERRY-RASPBERRY JAM
1 cup fresh strawberries, coarsely sliced, divided
2/3 cup fresh raspberries, divided
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1/3 cup sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 (9-inch) pie shell, baked

LEMON CURD
1/2 teaspoon powdered gelatin
1/3 cup plus 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
4 egg yolks, whites reserved
1/2 pinch salt
6 tablespoons sugar
4 tablespoons butter

MERINGUE
1 cup sugar
Reserved egg whites (about 2/3 cup)
1 cup fresh raspberries

For the strawberry-raspberry jam: Place half the raspberries, half the strawberries and the lemon juice in a heavy bottom saucepan and mash.
In a small bowl, mix together sugar and cornstarch and add to the berries. Cook over medium heat, continually stirring and mashing the berries until the mixture begins to boil. Once it begins to boil, it should thicken quickly.
After about 1 minute, remove pan from heat, let rest 5 to 10 minutes and stir in remaining raspberries and strawberries. Spread jam mixture evenly on the bottom of a pre-baked pie shell. Place pie in refrigerator.

For the lemon curd: Sprinkle gelatin over the lemon juice and let it sit for about 5 minutes.
In a large bowl, whisk yolks until smooth, then whisk in salt.
In a saucepan, bring the lemon juice mixture, sugar and butter to a boil. Remove from heat and add a little of the hot mixture at a time into the egg yolks while continually stirring. Do this slowly so the heat dissipates and does not cook the egg yolks.
Once combined, place the mixture back into the saucepan over medium heat and whisk until thickened. Strain curd into the bowl of a mixer and whip it with the whisk attachment on medium speed (or with a hand mixer) until it reaches room temperature.
Remove pie from refrigerator and cover jam layer with lemon curd to about 1/4- to 1/2-inch from top rim of pie shell. Gently cover surface with plastic wrap and return to refrigerator for 20 to 30 minutes.

For the meringue: Whisk together sugar and the reserved egg whites in a bowl. Place bowl over a pot of barely simmering water and whisk until mixture has doubled in volume and is translucent (temperature should be 140 degrees; if you have concerns about egg safety, use pasteurized eggs and cook meringue to 165 degrees).
Transfer to a mixing bowl and whisk on high speed until the mixture reaches room temperature.
Remove the pie from the refrigerator, gently peel off the plastic wrap and spread 1 cup of raspberries across the top of the lemon curd layer. Using a spoon or spatula, spread the meringue over the top and shape into peaks or swirls.
Briefly toast meringue to a golden brown with a mini-propane torch or under the broiler, watching carefully so it doesn't burn.

Courtesy of Paula Haney, Hoosier Mama Pie Company

(copied from the Chicago Sun-Times website)

A Boy and His Hawk

In honor of the arrival of (supposedly) warmer weather and the departure of kindergarten, a rite of passage has taken place: the mohawk.

I tried to get him when he wasn't smiling, but to no avail.

Just a little flex...

That's my boy...

And my girl, apparently...

Of course, he only gets to keep it till Sunday. I don't do mohawks at church.

The Great Race

Well, I did it. I ran my first official race.

It was hard. It was a challenge, and a jumping-off point.

I didn't run the entire course, but I ran more than I expected to.

It was inspiring and exciting to stand in the company of so many people who are so obviously dedicated and disciplined, able to make their bodies carry them over so much distance. I have never seen so many amazingly lean and muscular legs in one place at one time.

I want to be one of them. Badly. (The dedicated and disciplined people, I mean. Not the lean and muscular legs. Well, I wanted to be one of the dedicated and discplined people, and to have the lean and muscular legs. Whatever. You get the point.)

I think I'm addicted.

Here we are pre-race: my sister Liz, my mom, me and my friend Maria.

Liz finished in under 29 minutes!

Maria came in at 30:08. She has an unfair advantage, of course, because she's an aerobics instructor and in ridiculously good shape.

My mom didn't realize see the time clock, so she isn't sure what her time was, but it wasn't too long after Maria.

And here I am, in all my sweaty, red-faced glory. My goal was to finish in under 45 minutes, and I came in at 44:20. I was pretty excited about that, once I could breathe again.

Post-race, sweaty, tired, hungry and feeling a profound sense of accomplishment.

My mom, my sister and I ran this race to commemorate our 50th, 30th and 20th birthdays, and we set a goal to run a marathon together when we're 55, 35 and 25. Maria is going to join us, even though she'll be 41 by then, and will throw off the five year age increment. We just like to have her around. We've heard that the St. George Marathon is all downhill, and we like that idea.
Justin said he'll run the next 5k with me, and I'm on the lookout for a good one.

Life in Greer-Land

Our conversation this morning while getting ready to go to church...

Declan: Mom, next time you go to Target, will you get me some gel so I can spike up my hair?

Me: Sure, next time I go.

Greer: Mom, you have to get me pink Sleeping Beauty hair gel at Target next time!

Five minutes later....

Me: Declan, I'm going to give you a whole bucket of tater-tot casserole for dinner!

Declan: YESSSS!

Greer: I want a mine in a pink Sleeping Beauty bucket!

A little while later...

Declan: Mom, what are we having for dessert tonight when the missionaries come over?

Me: Chocolate peanut butter ganache cakes.

Greer: Mom, you need to make me a pink Sleeping Beauty chocolate peanut butter cake!

I think I notice a pattern evolving here. This pattern is not confined merely to today, either. Everything in Greer's world must involve these two criteria. The other day she asked me for a pink Sleeping Beauty treadmill.

I was so flabbergasted I couldn't respond. All I can say is good on Disney. My daughter has become your creature.