Sunday, February 2, 2014

Volume X, issue i, January 2014



January Birthday Boy
Our sweet Holden squirms every year at the thought of focusing mostly on him on our mutual birthday, so finally Eric decided that we’d just separate our celebrations. Holden’s birthday dinner consisted of fried macaroni and cheese balls, BBQ ribs, and cheesecake (the prolonged digestion just made the celebration last even longer).

He’s pretty darn sick of us teasing him about turning sixteen in a year. For Christmas, we gave him a present that said “To Holden, From 389 days.” He was completely confused until we made him think about it, and then he just rolled his eyes and said, “I don’t want to open this.” Inside the package was a pair of jeans and a nice sweater. Eric constantly tells him, “You’ve got to give the ladies what they want!”  and “How are you going to know if the fishing is good until you look closely at the water?”

January Birthday Girl
For my birthday dinner, Eric surprised me with a wonderfully gourmet meal of Chicken Piccata, angel hair pasta and prosciutto-wrapped asparagus bundles. I sat contentedly working at my desk while Eric and his six sous-chefs created their masterpiece meal in the kitchen. The sounds of scrambling feet and orders being shouted out made me feel like I was writing at a five-star restaurant. The meal was far better than anything we can get within a two hundred mile radius and the kids all agreed that it was the best chicken they’d ever had.

As a riff on our birthday tradition of each person sharing what they like most about the birthday girl or boy, Eric asked the kids to make me a card or to show an object that represented what they like about me. (You already know that I can’t type this without blubbering.) Marie, Peter, and Eve made precious cards. Ethan showed us a blanket and said how I make him feel warm, safe, and comfortable (Yup. Crying). Holden came up behind me and used a stuffed heart we have to give me a hug and said that I make him feel loved. 
Caleb spent hours working on two hand-made modern origami projects. One depicted me playing the piano and the other one showed me playing the violin. He said he likes how good I am at playing music. Eric topped off the complete love-fest by making me blubber more than I already was and saying that I was the best gift he could give our children.

I wish I could go back in time and talk to that devastated adolescent who sometimes felt that she wasn’t pretty or charming enough to be completely happy, and tell her that her future was going to be prettier and more charming than she could even conceive of then.

 I have been through childbirth seven times. I have held seven of my own children immediately after they surfaced from the painful caverns of my own body. And now when someone asks me how I like being a mother, my automatic tears say wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! I love motherhood and mothering with every cell in my body.

When the Baby Meets the Road
When I’m teaching my classes on MWF, Eric picks up Marie from kindergarten. Charlie is so excited to his beloved “Rie” after a three hour absence that he can hardly wait to see her again. Last Monday, Charlie anticipation caused him to wriggle his skinny body free from the confines of his carseat and he leaned himself against the door and looked out the window for her. One of the teacher’s aides opened the car door for Marie and he toppled head first onto the pavement.

Our littlest pixie-like chap’s run-in with the road was so traumatic that I everyone is still stinging from it. He’s so cute that I think even the road felt bad.

When I saw him with his button nose scraped and scratched and swollen and the bump on his head making him look like a baby Frankenstein, I had to bite my lip so I wouldn’t overreact. By the time we got home, he had completely forgotten about the mishap, so I figured it was okay to capture the sad moment with my camera. He immediately ran to our “photo-op spot” in our entryway and started posing and saying “Cheeeeese!”
He couldn’t wait to catch a glimpse of the photos on my viewfinder and I was a little nervous for him to see what he looked like. When he saw his disfigured mug, he said with concern, “Oh no! I hurt!!”

Yesterday I was trying to get him ready to accompany me to a church meeting and he found the scab on his nose for the first time. He touched it and shrieked “Ow!” Then two seconds later, his chubby finger would wander up to his nose again and he’d shriek, “Ow!” He repeated this no matter how many times I told him that it would hurt if he touched his nose. Luckily the mountains of snow outside were enough to distract him from his pesky nose picking.

Charlie’s vocabulary and sentence structure have been exponentially exploding over the past few weeks. The people in the nursery at Church were stunned at how much more he was talking the last week of December than he had been the first week. Like Ethan did as a pint-sized rhetorician, Charlie didn’t show much interest in individual words. “What does the cow say, Charlie?” Instead of answering “Moo,” he’d just look at us like he didn’t know what we were playing at. So, like his big brother, Charlie hurdled over words and skipped right to sentences. Charlie has been working on saying prayers, so I often call upon him to say the prayer for lunch, when it’s just Marie, Charlie and me who are home during the day. I started the prayer, expecting him to repeat what I was saying, but noticed he wasn’t saying anything. Finally, he gave his best self-righteous glare to Marie and said, “Rie! Eyes OFF!”

My absolute favorite Charlie-ism is when he says “Yes.” It doesn’t sound like that simple affirmation would be miraculous, but when Charlie says it, he adds a slight “J” sound to the beginning. He nods his head with utter guilelessness and sounding like he’s tapping into his Mexican roots on the Kartchner side, he says, “Jyes.” And if I’m ever feeling just a little down, I can hear him speak that one word and then I ask myself if I’m happy and the answer is, “Jyes.”

In Sacrament Meeting, he enjoys surveying the crowd at Church to see who’s being particularly reverent that day, and if someone meets his approval, he’ll give them a grin and a thumb’s up. Holden gave a talk in Sacrament Meeting, and Charlie kept animatedly giving him his best pageant wave. Poor Holden waved back once, but, knowing that everyone else in the congregation could see him, resisted waving and just let a slight grin play on the edges of his mouth as he tried not to look at Charlie.



Dancing Queens

Our little ladies both had dance performances this month and they did not disappoint. Marie’s performance was during halftime for the Rigby High girls’ basketball team, so she was able to perform before literally handfuls of people! Eve performed before a similar crowd at the Salem High School girls basketball halftime. I love having them learn coordination and movement, but I just can’t distinguish between some of their choreography and what I would just call “booty shaking.” Since Rexburg doesn’t offer much in the way of modern dance, we’ll just have to settle for the wiggling hips and shoulder shimmies while they’re young enough that it isn’t that offensive

In transit to her dance class one day, Eve enthusiastically gave me the low-down on which actors her friends thought were cute. One of her friends was partial to David Tenant, while another found Matt Smith doctor-ily dreamy. I braced myself as I asked her who she thought was cute (because, of course, I’m not ready for her to think anyone is cute), and she quickly replied, “Well. . . Dad, of course!” Now that is response I can totally handle.


It’s. . . Rolling Hills. . . Chorister!
We wanted to teach the youth how to lead music without putting them to sleep, so we decided to add costumes, competition, and really, really corny youth leaders to the mix.
I had a little too much fun designing the graphics. . . (Ours is the Rolling Hills Ward.)





How I introduced them:
C Lo High C: Is feelin' kinda. . . low (said with slow bass voice). (This was actually a tribute to my Dad, who says this all the time and I love it.)


Ms Christina Aquavista: Just completed a tour of South America giving under privileged children fashion tips.

Mr Rick Cowell: Sometimes knows as The King of Mean or The Super Conductor. New Album “Pluck My Heart Strings, but Not With Your Pizz.” (Only the strong players got that one!)


Wow. Oh. . . the sacrifices I make for the Church! I can't believe the things I'll do for our youth. . . (I'm sure they can't either!) I was the MC for the event. I used an exaggerated British accent that was just like Miss Charming's in Austenland. Tally-Ho!!!

The funny thing (besides how I look here) is that I was actually the Ward Chorister in my college ward when I was 19 and I HATED it because I had to stand up in front of people. My how times have changed. . .

(And, even though you can't see it, I was wearing a knee-length black skirt under my tutu. . . so I was completely modest there, in case you were concerned.)


Miss C: Our Lovely Leading Lady:
How I introduced her: I like to call her, “The Cherylizer!” She’s just written a new book, “Chorister Line.”  She’s going to teach you to lead in 3/4 time and in 4/4 time, but what’s sure is you’ll have a GOOD time!

Cheryl is a piano teacher in our ward and was uncharacteristically dramatic in her role. She had sort of a half-British half-Russian accent and I think we were all surprised at her acting—I think she even surprised herself! It was pretty hilarious and once the kids realized they were allowed to laugh, they LOVED it!


Round One: The kids were divided into teams with a good balance of musical experience and then they competed with kids who had the same level of experience. The kids had to pick up a Hymnbook and quickly turn to the page the judges had chosen. Then they had to find the time signature and start leading it. They were judged on speed and accuracy. I was amazed at how much the silly costumes they choose from our costume pile were so liberating for them.





Round Two:
We had a playlist that had a mix of hymn and pop songs on it. They had to listen for the beat and then lead the song.



Final Round:
That's our Ethan on the far right. He literally rolled up on the stage and I said, "Who is that?? Whoever he is, he has good genes!" Later I told him he was practically unrecognizable and he replied, "Yes. That was the point."



The awesome part is that, even though she's only 18, she actually is our ward chorister! We announced the winner and I said, "She'll be performing at a Ward near you this Sunday!"


Saturday, February 1, 2014

Volume IX, issue x, December 2013 (Part Two)


While Leopards Watched Their Flocks By Night
For part of the Ward Christmas Shindig, the kids got to participate in a live Nativity. Eve told us that she was the “Star” of the show (meaning that she actually WAS the star of the show.) Marie was a little angel (which is always true of that cherubic girl), and Caleb was the coolest wise man we had ever witnessed. After they were assigned their parts in Primary, Peter excitedly told us that he was a “Leopard.” We couldn’t figure that one out, so we scanned our memories for details from the Biblical rendition. Perhaps they were telling other New Testament stories along with the Nativity story?

“Peter, are you a LEPER?”

“No. . . a LEOPARD!” 

We imagined the utter pandemonium in that creature-laden crèche--poor little bleating sheep shishkebabs running around the manger; cows and donkeys kicking the wisemen in the head; and Mary forgetting to keep “all things in her heart” and shrieking, grabbing the baby and making a mad dash for the Inn while Joseph uses his carpenter’s tools to fight off the big cat. Not to be irreverent, but it made for a funny picture.

Finally, as I thought of all of the more mainstream roles in the traditional Nativity, I realized that one of them rhymed with leopard. “Peter, do you mean shepherd?”

He laughed his wonderfully rich laugh and said, “Oh! I thought they were saying leopard! Yeah. I must be a shepherd.” 


Whoa Christmas Tree
2013’s December was as stressful as any that we’ve had so far, so our annual Family Home Evening trip to pick out our fresh pine was slightly delayed. By the time we packed up the kids and drove out to our favorite little Idaho Nursery the second week of December, we were greeted by dark shop and a sad sign that read “Sorry! All out of trees!” We had a despairing carful of elves until we remembered that they sell fresh trees at the grocery store. Our little tree looked like it was Charlie Brown’s tree’s second cousin, but it had a lot of heart. And we saved enough money on the tree to buy accessories for a hot chocolate bar when we got home, so the kids didn’t mind too much. Also, the tree was tiny enough to cram in the car with the kids so we didn’t have to strap it to the roof (and they were obviously thrilled to have it be a passenger with them).

Christmas Ornaments



My little Jingle Bells are so cute, I just can't resist snapping a shot of them almost daily. I am a lucky, lucky Mrs Clause!!

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Volume IX, issue x, December 2013 (Part One)


The Many Faces of Sarah d’Evegnee

December offered me opportunities to temporarily trade-in my professorial/maternal face. It’s never pleasant for me to tip-toe outside of the realm of my comforting everyday roles, but December made me do it twice. 

Face-off I

In early November a member of our ward at church called me to see if I would help with something for the Christmas Party. Assuming she needed help with the music or the food or the decorations I immediately said, “Of course!” Never say that before you know what you’re agreeing to. (Eric learned that the hard way when we got married.) The question that she popped was so foreign and so drastically different from what I expected that I almost laughed out loud.

She asked me to do a dramatic reading as “Babushka,” the old Russian woman who searches for Christ every Christmas in the faces of small children. I honestly spaced completely out the rest of the conversation and I’m not sure what was said, but by the time I hung up I knew that I had just agreed to spend several minutes on a stage by myself in front of a large crowd as a woman who was OLD. . . and RUSSIAN.

Play the violin? Sure! Play the piano? You betcha! Whip up some decorations or some food? You know it! But. . . act on stage. . . by myself. . . as someone who (did I mention this already?) is OLD. . . and RUSSIAN? I can’t think of anything that had been further down on my Christmas to-do list.

A feeling of dread settled over me for the next  couple of weeks and I refused to allow myself to even think about my performance. You might think I’m kidding, but I haven’t been this down-right pee-my-pants scared of anything for years. . . including natural child-birth. The last time I did anything like this was when I had the honor of dressing like a chicken and playing the “Nightingale of Samarkand” for our high school’s production of “Once Upon a Mattress.” I had to screech out a squawking solo made up entirely of chicken “boks” (I need to find the video footage of that; I don’t think Eric has ever entirely believed that the event occurred in reality and wasn’t merely some symbolic junior high nightmare of mine).

I told my parents about the geriatrically Slavic role in which I had been cast, and they were laughing so hard that my Mother was in tears. I told them that I worried that if I tried to adopt a Russian accent, that I’d sound more like Tevye than anything else. You know, “I will be. . . the Babushka on the ROOF!” I whined to them about how if I tried to sound too old that people would worry that I would capture their children and hold them captive inside my gingerbread house to fatten them up so I could eat them. 

In the end, I pulled up my big girl/old woman bloomers and decided to write my own version of the story so that I could put my own voice into it, which made me much more comfortable with the whole idea. It started out “I would like to share a story that happened a long, long time ago. So long ago that it was before cell phones and Christmas shopping and cars. It was so long ago that I have to sit still and listen to the sound of the wind whispering through the branches so that I can hear the way the story calls to me. It is a Christmas story that has been passed down from generation to generation and it is called the story of Babushka. And though it is an old story, it has a new message. A message about travel and love and hope. A message about Jesus. It is my story.”

My accent was a cross between Joan Rivers and Dame Maggie Smith. (I’m totally kidding. I don’t know what it was. . . but there was a fair amount of British in there rather than Russian because I wanted to sound foreign, but just didn’t want to come across as  too inadvertently Gestapo-ish [Wow. I never would have thought I would put that in a sentence.]).


And. . . I survived. I refuse to listen to or watch the video recording that Eric made of it, but I couldn’t resist capturing some still shots. My favorite is the first one in the trio because it looks like “Babushka does JAZZ HANDS!” However, I love the array of facial contortions depicted in these shots. At least I was a sincere Babushka. If nothing else, I bravely cast out my inner introvert for five minutes. The forever painfully shy adolescent who still lingers in my bones is both embarrassed and proud. 






Face-Off II

Some of our good friends have an annual Christmas Costume Party, which requires Eric and me to crawl out of our social shells for an evening. After observing the voting trends for best costume over the past few years, I shrewdly discovered that cross-dressing was strangely appealing to the voters. Last year the instructions on the invitation were to dress in our “Best Red and Green” so we came as Al Green and Gloria Allred. (That still makes me laugh with satisfaction.) 

When the invitation came this year and said “Best Red and Green 2” I brain-stormed and came up with something that I thought would appeal to our voting demographic and give Eric and me a chance to show our “lighter side.”

Here we are:

There was enough cottony junk in my proverbial trunk that I could hardly sit down. I also had a pillow strapped to my backside as well as cotton batting wrapped around my middle to make me appear more “mannish” (which I’m sure is just what Eric dreamed of when he said “yes” almost sixteen years ago).

The results of our photo-shoot and the expressions of dismay on our kids’ faces as they watched us dance around are some of my favorite Christmas memories of 2013. Good times. Good cross-dressing times.

Christmas 2013 Highlights










My Sous-per Husband
Everyone should have a Little Honey like this to come home to. This was his Christmas present this year. If he keeps working hard and looking fiiiine, maybe next year I'll get him that new fancy vacuum he's been looking at in the catalogues.


O Nerdy Night

As patrons of pretty much all things nerdy, we happily indulged our offspring in some Whovian fare for Christmas and ended up playing Caleb’s Dr Who Monopoly game for several hours one night during the holiday break. It looked like Holden was going to be the victor of the evening, but he was unfortunately “hoisted with his own” monopoly money “petard” when Caleb caught on to his strategy and used it for himself. Several minutes after Holden had bankrupted me, he looked at one of his property cards and said, “Wait! I should have made Mom pay me $950 instead of $250!” (He was wrong, by the way.) Eric still teases him about adding insult to injury with his own mother!

Notice the greedy gleam in Caleb’s eye when he won the game.





On the Big Stage
Holden and Ethan’s Christmas cello recital was held in the acoustically beautiful Barrus Concert Hall on BYU-Idaho’s campus. As their trusty accompanist, it was my first time playing on that historical stage with the organ pipes rising up above us, faithfully watching over our performances.



Friday, November 1, 2013

Halloween 2013

What happens when you pair some Mom Chocolate with some Peanut Father? 
 When I was deciding which jar of peanut butter to choose for the model for Eric's costume, I loved how the Jif peanut butter jar said, "#1 Choice of Choosy Moms."
 According to Eric, our costume had a little "wink, wink--nudge, nudge" factor. I called it a lesson in genetics.



 Hersh-Eve's
 Our Peter Butter Cup.




 I don't keep track of how many hours I spend slaving over a hot sewing machine each October, but I think I must have logged in pretty close to a gazillion appliqueing hours on this lettering.

As I cranked out each costume, I enjoyed the cheering and support from my fellow confections. Ethan poked his head in the door, gazed at our ever-growing army of candy and said, "Mom, your costumes never fail to amaze!" When I finished Caleb's costume and handed it to him, he just said, "Whoa." Those boys made me giggle and blush like a little school girl. All of the kids peppered me with enough thunderous "thank you's" that it's no wonder our crazy little tradition has lasted for fifteen years!


The kids each had a few of "themselves" (as they called it) to hand out to people and Eric handed out little Jif to-go packs. My favorite thing to say when Eric and I handed out our treats was, "Don't let those two get too close to each other!"

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