Love Notes

Just over a year ago, Ethan brought me a note home that he'd had his after school teacher write for him. That note reads: "Dear Mom, I wanted to give you a note because I love you. Thanks for cooking for me. I love your chocolate chip cookies. I like you and your smile." It's a note that I've kept with me ever since because whenever I need a pick me up, I can remember that I know someone who loves me and my chocolate chip cookies. It's one of my most treasured possessions.

Today, I got another missive from my boy, which he wrote (and spelled) all by himself. In case it's hard to see, it says: "Dear: Mom You are cool At singing that you sing good and yer voys (voice). Love Ethan!"

As you may guess, this will be another of my treasures. Because on those days when I feel like a big dork, I can look at this and know that one of the world's most awesome kids thinks I'm cool.

My Son Just Got His First Ticket

Yes, he's 7. And he got a ticket. But before you call in Child Services, let me do some explaining.

Ethan is, according to pretty much the world in general, perfect. He never says anything or does anything that is remotely naughty in school or in his church class or pretty much anywhere else in public. Now, his father and I know differently, as do a number of those people closest to us. But to everyone else, he's perfect.

And in fact, it causes me quite a bit of concern. I know, I know, that's odd. But it's like when he was little and he'd run into things and not cry, and I was convinced that he was going to be a CBS special on the boy who was born with no nerve endings or something. So, following that course of thought (and I know, it might be tough) I thought that he was never saying a word to or interacting with another kid in his class. And see, that's a whole different kind of CBS special. Like "The First Grader on the Bell Tower" or "Ethan Doesn't Speak Because His Mother Messed Him Up" or something like that.

Work with me.

So anyway, when he crawled up on my bed last night and confessed that, indeed, for the first time in his school career he had pulled a dreaded "ticket" (an indication that he needed to slow down and think about his actions) I was not exactly sure how to act. All of the appropriate parenting nonsense rolled through my noggin' like a movie. Should I shake my head and say that I am disappointed, but know he can do better? Do I hug him and tell him that he can still make it into the Ivy League if he just keeps his nose clean from here on out? Do I file suit against the school on the grounds that they have injured the tender psyche of my firstborn?

But here's my little secret: the first thing that really, truly came to my mind and stayed there was a really super duper loud "Yahoo!!!!!" You see, I knew at that moment that he was absolutely, one hundred percent, without a doubt...normal.

So hiding my grin, I solemnly asked what his alleged offense might have been, a query to which I first received the obligatory "well, I don't know" and then learned that, of all things, he had been laughing too loud during his reading time. A misdemeanor offense in Montana, luckily. So I said that he needed to listen to Mrs. Simcox (his amazingly awesome teacher) when she asked him to remember his inside voice and to try to focus better on his books next time. Then I gave him a kiss, complimented him for being honest and sent him on his way.

And the moral of our story? Well it's this: my son fought the law and the law won. And I couldn't be happier.

On Mrs. Lot and Me

So I read an article the other day about Lot's wife. Yep, that Biblical lass who looked back on S&G like a woman at Macy's contemplating changing her mind about the pair of shoes from which she just strolled away. I'd always thought that it was kind of harsh that she was turned into one big salt lick just because she took a gander backwards. But the author of the article (Pres. Jeffrey R. Holland) noted that it wasn't the mere act of looking back, but the intent behind it. In other words, she thought that what her life had been in the original Sin City was probably better than what lay ahead of her.

Well, crap.

That's when it hit me. (Not crap, mind you. The point of the article.) She lacked faith which, the author noted, always looks forward.

"Yep," I thought, "call me Mrs. Lot."

You see, I must admit that I have a tendency to be a back-looker. I too often live in the land of what was and what might have been, rather than the presumably much better country of what is, and what might be.

For instance, when I left my friends and family in Utah, I thought that my life would end. It hurt so much, and I missed them so much that I was truly miserable. What would have happened had we stayed there? DB would have found another job at some point. Would I still be at Lundberg with all the people that I loved? What did I miss out on being so far away from my nephews and niece? Why did we have to take such a hit on the house--was it a failure on our part? Were we being punished? Why did it have to happen to us? And on and on and on.

But here's the thing. Since I left Utah, so did a lot of my friends; in fact, some have gone and then moved back again and then moved somewhere else. And we're all still in touch and we're all still friends; in fact, a whole grundle of us all have blogs that we follow like cyber-stalkers. And if I hadn't moved here, I would never have met some amazing new friends or had the opportunity to work for an ad agency or write for magazines or do a number of other pretty awesome things.

I wouldn't know Nikki, who makes me laugh every day and feel comfortable in my own skin. Or Heather, who mowed me over in Costco just to see what I'd do (by the way, I was the one who begged her pardon, rather then the other way around). Or Ginger, who is so down to earth that I feel like one big bubble, or Dana who makes me feel like I'M the down-to-earth one. Or Brandi who is so calm that being around her is like taking valium, or MJ who makes me wonder if I need one.

DB probably wouldn't have made the life changes he has, or gotten the job experience he has or learned all the things he has. We may not have had our sweet and sassy princess, and EG might not have found the terrific school and teacher that he has now or have not just one, but two very best friends. I might not ever have started working with (and getting to know even better) my awesome sister-in-law or met some pretty terrific Texans.

In short, if we hadn't moved, I might not know or have all that I have now. And that's a pretty scary thing to me. I'm always going to love (and yes, sometimes miss) my days in the Beehive state and certainly the people who I knew--and know--there. But luckily, I still have them in my life, a fact for which I am infinitely and eternally grateful.

So the point of this whole rambling post is that I'm trying to be more of the mustard seed/mountain moving sort, and far less the salty type. Who knows--it might mean that I'm not only happier, but that I also retain less water. And those are some silver linings I can live with.

On Sunbeams and 1:00 Church

Today has been quite a bittersweet one for me. My little girl started going to her Sunbeam class--and Primary with all of the big kids, including her big brother. Watching her gather around Sister Barrett to find a scripture in Malachi, seeing her fascinated as we talked about Heavenly Father and Jesus and getting a glimpse of her as she (more or less) sang the words to "I Am a Child of God" made me so proud, and yet it was tough to realize how fast she's growing up.

I did have to laugh, however, when she stood with two classmates to have everyone sing the "Hello" song. Both Scout and Logan were at least 4 inches taller than she was--she looked so tiny between them, even though they are about the same age. I always think that she's so big...until I see her with other kids. That's when I see the Green DNA coming into play.

On another note, I would like to lodge a formal complaint with whoever wants to listen about having to go to church at 1 p.m. I realize that there are some folks out there that enjoy it, but I find them sick and wrong. My vote: the ones who like it should be put in Primary with all of the little kids and watch them fidget, rub their eyes and look tired and hungry. I think that families with little ones should ALWAYS get to go to the 9:00 a.m. session (provided, of course, that I am not the Primary President then!)

I have little doubt that my complaint and suggestion have been duly noted and promptly moved up the chain to someone in charge. Wait--is that the phone ringing? It must be Salt Lake ready to hear all of my other great ideas. I'll let you know what they say.

Until then, just remember that Jesus wants you for a Sunbeam, too. Feel free to sit next to the tiny princess in the front row.

You're a mean one...Mrs. Green...

I've been putting off blogging about the whole new year thing because...well...I kinda hate it. I know--I'm the Ebenezer Scrooge of Auld Lang Syne. But here's the thing: growing up, I'd see these movies or TV shows with this amazing New Year's Eve parties with everybody all dressed up and lovely decorations and of course "the kiss" at midnight. So I waited and waited until I was old enough to go to one of these parties and...I still have yet to go to one.

Now admittedly, I've had fun on NYE; I went to Las Vegas one year, I've hung out with friends on more than one occasion (playing card games and the like)...but realistically, I'd have to say that I've rung in most Januaries in front of the TV, watching the ball drop. And, because DB is not into staying up late, I've spent probably 2/3 of the last 8 years still watching it alone.

Before you think that I'm awful, there is one special one that stands out in my memory. Our little princess was born in mid-December, and so she wasn't quite three weeks old when NYE hit. She had fallen asleep, and I was so tired that DB sent me to bed with a promise that he'd wake me up when she roused. Apparently, she decided she'd like to ring in the new year, so she woke up at 11:55--and so she and Dave came into together to wish me a happy 2007. It was pretty amazing.

Okay, now back to grumpiness. The other thing I don't like about the whole New Year thing is the pressure to make resolutions. Why do we have to have one day to set goals or make resolutions? There's way too much pressure for me; I mean, if I say that I'm going to work out more, I'm still on the couch at noon. If I say that I'm going to eat better, we have pizza for dinner that night.

Perhaps I should just say that my resolution should be not to make any resolutions. Or to stop disliking NYE so badly--at least I have a whole year to work on that one.

Anyway...Happy New Year.