tollipop

over the weekend

Everyone was gone.  Everyone, that is, except me and Caroline.

Sophie and Roger went to a volleyball tournament in Reno.  Izzy travelled with her school orchestra to a competition in San Diego.  And Caroline had her first ever volleyball tournament here in town.  

It's been an interesting few days.

For one thing, Caroline's team lost every game.  Just got...demolished.  

Her team was markedly younger than the next youngest team in the tournament, but that fact was cold comfort in the heat of the bloodbath.  

Every day for weeks I've listened to my girl say how excited she was to compete in this tournament.  It was all she could talk about, that and the latest drama going on in On the Banks of Plum Creek.  

And when I say compete, I do mean compete.  Caroline does not show up to prance around the court and dream about unicorns.  She is there to plunder and lay waste. 

So to weather a day long drubbing...was something of a bitter pill to swallow. She wiped away more than a few tears and I gave her more than a few pep talks, telling her she was doing it exactly right: hanging in there, being a good sport, fighting for every point, congratulating her team, rolling the ball under the net, refraining from trash talk or evil eyeing the ref.  

By the end of the day I thought she'd be ready to throw in the towel.  But it turns out she can't wait for the next game.

Izzy called later that evening to say after the competition, in which she'd been the soloist in a concerto played with her school orchestra, the judge asked her to describe what she liked best about her performance.

Izzy, caught off guard and standing on stage in an auditorium filled with peers, said she thought her intonation had been good.  The judge responded by saying her intonation had been one of the weakest aspects of her playing.

I'm not going to sidetrack onto the various tangents this scenario inspired within me, but rather mention my greater curiosity was to know how she'd handled the moment.  There was a time when such a public critique would have made my little Izzy's eyes shimmer.  But over the phone she shrugged it off.  It was no big deal, she said, he was entitled to his opinion.  

I often wonder about this, about helping children navigate bumps in the road without losing hope or thinking their world is falling apart.  

The weekend went on and Caroline and I had a lovely time together.  We watched Ever After.  We played Go Fish for Art.  She slept with me in my bed and at 3:30 this morning, when I had to pick up Izzy from her orchestra trip, I put a pillow and blanket in the back seat of the car and woke Caroline up to come with me.  

When she saw the arrangement, she exclaimed, "Ooooh!  A hotel!"

Sometimes that kid kills me.  She really does.

Seemingly out of nowhere, she mentioned she was bothered by the fact she didn't have many memories of her grandma, who died when Caroline was five. All through the weekend, then, she randomly remembered details about my mom and shared them with me.

Today, as we were setting up chairs for choir practice, she said she remembered attending a funeral with my mom.  I stopped what I was doing and asked if she was sure it had been a funeral and she seemed very definite on that point...which is interesting, considering the only funeral she ever attended was my mom's.

She was eager, when Sophie came through the door, to demonstrate how she'd played in her tournament.  

And Sophie knew just how to listen, just how to commiserate.

Tonight my head is full of thoughts...of the sweetness of my youngest, the gift of having her to myself this weekend, of raising resilient children, of teaching sisters to build friendships, and feeling how good it is to have everyone safely back home.  

thoughts on a rainy monday morning

Dear reader, the girls have gone to school and the house is quiet, except for the wind and rain blustering outside.  Through the night the elements raged and I slept fitfully, half dreaming I was back in my old house, looking out the window at a storm battering the forested mountain which slopes down to my childhood backyard.  

I'm up now, more awake, looking out the window at a dripping palm tree and grey skies.

Even reality can seem surreal, at times.

To wit: Sophie recently committed to play volleyball for BYU in 2015.  

2015?  What year are we in, anyway?

I'm so happy for her.  Happy to see her so happy.  But also in a state of disbelief, of wonder...I'll spare you my usual spiel on how it seems just yesterday she was my blinking, brown-eyed baby.

But it does.  

a note about my brothers

It was great having my little brother stay with us over the weekend.  He's everyone's best friend.  My husband loves talking volleyball with him, I love talking everything with him, and my girls have fun with him, too.  

I came into the kitchen yesterday where Caroline was helping him make dinner, just in time to hear her ask: What's your favorite kitchen untensil, Uncle Jonny? And he answered her matter of factly.  I think he liked the garlic press.  Hers was the blender.  

I don't know why, but that killed me.  

Another good thing about having uncles around: they so generously provide the character-building torment my girls miss out on from not having brothers in the house.  (This was during warm up, by the way, not a game.)  

I grew up with three brothers, so that should tell you something about my character.

Look at these guys: the self satisfaction is measuring off the charts, as usual.  

Here are some things I want to mention about my brothers.  

Jon is the youngest in our family.  He is such a great person, just so funny, thoughtful, kind, and interesting.  He works for the State Department in Washington, D.C., which is far away from here.  He has a few passions in life: volleyball, cooking, writing, and movies.  More importantly, he is keen about candy and frog catching, pursuits I instilled in him as we were growing up.  

Anyway, so he started a blog.  It's called the Best Picture Project, wherein he is reviewing every film to win the Oscar for Best Picture since the invention of the Oscars. 

Will you please visit and leave him a comment sometime?  Tell him to stop teasing Sophie when she's trying to practice her serve.  Tell him to move back west.  Return in spades the character-building torment he bestows upon me and my girls.

And then there's my brother Tim.  He's the eldest.  Not the most mature, just the eldest.  He's the incredibly gifted surgeon who moved to Las Vegas because he missed me so much.  Peripheral nerve surgery...it's amazing stuff, and my brother is very good at it.  I keep meaning to invite you to listen to a radio program he does on Friday nights from 6:00-7:00 pm PDT.  The radio station is Talk Radio AM 720 Las Vegas, or you can listen to it online at  kdwn.com/streamer/.

One thing I love about my brother: he does not talk down to anyone.  If you listen to his radio show, you'll come away thinking you too can perform nerve surgery, that's how plainly he explains things.  I swear I could decompress your common peroneal nerve if you were feeling lucky.   

To me that's a sign of true brilliance mixed with genuine self confidence, when a person can distill the essence of what he knows in a way that is easy for others to understand.  

Don't ask me to do that, by the way.  Don't ask me to distill anything that's inside my head.  Even the guys in Hazmat suits don't dare to venture there.  

I have another brother, as well.  His name is Matt.  He is so smart I actually can't tell you what he does, no matter how plainly he explains it to me.  It has something to do with computers and technology, possibly along the lines of world domination.  But he is also a great guy, so nice and thoughtful, enthusiastic about candy, and almost always in India.

 
One of these days I'll tell you about my sisters.  I have three of them as well. But first make sure you're comfortable and have a good snack, because it will take me much longer to tell you how amazing they are. 

denver: what is not to love?

We just returned from an extended weekend trip to Denver to watch Sophie play in the Colorado Crossroads Junior National Qualifier tournament.

Sophie was born in Denver.  We lived there for three years while my husband attended school and I taught school.  We lived in an old yellow brick house on Franklin Street, a few blocks from St. Joseph's Hospital.  I used to walk up the street to my prenatal appointments and get solicited for drugs on a regular basis...and by solicited, I mean people were trying to sell them to me, not the other way around.  

Franchement.  Did I really need to clarify that?  

Sophie was born the night my husband graduated.  We were actually hosting a little get together and timing my contractions (best party trick ever) until I was all: not to wreck the fun or anything, but I'm pretty sure these things hurt enough to go see a professional.

We walked to St. Joe's in the dead of night and the dead of winter, so unfortunately no one was out hustling drugs because THIS time I might have been tempted.  

How much do I love Denver?  From the moment I arrived to the moment I left, I loved it.  I loved the air, the sky, the buildings, the houses, the restaurants, the weather, the people, the backroads and alleys, my job, the kids I taught, the farmers' markets, the roasted green chilis, the hometown spirit, the trees, the parks, the zoo, the snow, the storms, the seasons, my neighbors, even the one who called me a stupid white girl (in his defense he was hammered at the time, otherwise I'm almost positive he would have left out at least one of those modifiers).

I loved it all.

And this is the first time I've been back in fifteen years.  How crazy is that?  

Pretty crazy.  Because this town feels like home to me.  It's in my heart.  You know how some places make you happy and others you have to make yourself happy in them?

Denver makes me happy.

Oh, and watching Sophie's team compete was riveting.  Who knew my little brown eyed girl would return to her hometown these many years later, somewhat taller now, bringing with her the storm and the fury?

 
Here is a brief montage of highlights from the tournament.  Bear in mind these are Sophie's highlights. Trust me, those other girls can destroy the ball, too.  I secretly call #7 The Assassin...she's a very sweet girl off court but hits the ball like a cold blooded killer.  #2 has the face of an angel, but she's left handed and strikes that ball out of nowhere like a cobra.  The entire team is a ferocious pack of darling girls.

 
p.s.  I forgot to mention one of the highlights of the trip, which is that I got a patdown and my hands tested for explosive chemicals at the airport!  And I didn't dare ask why they were doing it, in case they didn't give the answer I was hoping for, which was: because you look exactly like the type of person who might be tampering with explosive chemicals.  

Instead I just kept my mouth shut and tried not to show how much I was enjoying it.

xo...

the weekend

It's been busy...filled with music, bridal showers, meetings, volleyball, study groups, movie parties, a run in the desert, choir practice, a trifling amount of laundry...

and one stolen moment with my husband.

Recently I told Sophie I wanted her to play this piece once a day, without the pedal, meticulous and slowly. I don't know why.  Maybe because I think there's some quality in Bach, some brilliant ability to unlock secret passageways in the mind or, in my experience, to untangle those passageways, open a few windows, clear some of the clutter.  

That's what Bach does for me. 

 
I mean it when I say I'm glad Sophie has found such a passion in volleyball.  It was hard to see her let go of the piano but I could see it was by necessity (schedule-wise) and, to be honest, harder for me than it was for her.  

You just have to roll with that, parents, when it happens.  When your child recognizes what moves her, you have to make room.  

Still, I'm insisting on the daily two minutes of Bach.  

What good is being the mum if you don't get to boss anyone around?

fierce

(photos courtesy of Zachary McKimmey)

Dear reader,

How are you doing?  How was your weekend?

Wait...I already asked those questions, didn't I?  Don't worry.  That's not my concussion talking, that's just regular, distracted me.  

My husband says I don't have one, by the way.  A concussion.  

So I was all: Oh, really?  Then how come I always forget carpool?

He just stared at me.  And I had the grace to look away.

But not before I saw pity in his eyes.  And it wasn't for my concussion.

But enough about me...we all know how I can go on about these things ad nauseam.  

Yesterday I received these pictures of Sophie, taken during a recent volleyball tournament.  They make me happy, looking at them.  

And something else.

They make me want to harness that energy and go out and storm the world.  I want to cross ten miles with every stride, fists clenched, hair billowing, breathing fire upon anything that blocks my way.

Most of the time I will sit nicely and sip hot chocolate and inquire about your weekend.

But every once in awhile, flames shoot out of my eyes.  I feel like plundering the coastline.  And everything that bothers me, everything that's been weighing on my mind...better scurry.  Better run for cover. Because I've reached a limit. I've sapped my politesse.  I'm not on a path, I'm on a warpath.  And I'm in no mood to take prisoners.

All this from the vicarious thrill of looking at these pictures.  

Thank you, Zachary. 

sophie girl

Once, when I was pregnant with Sophie, I was sitting in the car with my husband and felt her make a dramatic shift.  So I looked down and...there was a tiny foot sticking out of my stomach!

Not through my stomach, mind you, but pushing against it with such force that it made a perfect imprint of a foot against my skin.

Holy cow, I nearly fell out of the car.

Why was I so shocked?  Well, and I get this is nutty, but I think I still wasn't sure I was having a baby at that point.  At least, I hadn't grasped what was inside me had clearly been through the conveyer belt, all parts attached, and was ready to get shipped.  This was perhaps 4 weeks prior to birth and I'm telling you, there was some sort of disconnect going on in my head.  Even though I'd seen the diagrams of fetal development throughout gestation, I somehow didn't process there was an actual miniature human inside me.  What was I thinking, then? Did I assume she was an unformed blob until three minutes before delivery, a hasty assembly, and then...presto?

I don't know.  Don't make me account for my crazy mind.  But I am telling you. That foot shocked me.

I pulled up my shirt, reached down and touched it, this little foot sticking out of me.  It didn't budge. So I pushed on it a little.  And it pushed back. 

That is my Sophie.  Just a girl on the go.  She is the coolest person to be around, if you can keep up with her.  She reaches for the things which interest her, she goes after them with a sense of possibility that is awesome to behold. It's not that she's overly confident.  She has her doubts and struggles...but she still reaches.  She still goes.

 
I don't want to turn this into something corny and maybe it's too late for that, but as I rush around trying to keep up with my beautiful amazon I often think of that foot, her tiny calling card putting me on notice, letting me know how this was going to play out, how it was all going to be.

we interrupt this hiatus to bring a complaint from my little brother

Last night I received the following text from my brother:

Would you update your blog already.  By now we all know what you did over the weekend.

Franchement!  Isn't he a dear?  

But I was touched to think Tollipop mattered to him that much and since I'm missing him and am terribly excited he's coming to spend the Christmas holidays with us, I'll indulge his request...even though I'm totally supposed to be doing something else right now so please forgive me if this seems a bit hasty.  I'm just trying to let my brother know what I did during the week since apparently my weekend is no longer up to snuff.

1.  Macarons from a gentleman caller.  He says I'm his favorite brunette.  He acts like it's the biggest deal anytime I give him a hug.  Whenever I see him he says, "Where have you been all my life?"  I know it's his way of teasing but it touches me all the same.

2.  Late night crêpes for tired girls who come home from marathon music lessons.  I believe I've mentioned this tradition before.  

3.  The game of the century.  Did you hear about it?  Oh my goodness...this was epic.  Sophie's team beat their archrivals in a grueling, five game battle and handed them their first league loss in like, forever.  

It took Caroline a minute to warm up to the action...she actually brought four books in her bag.  

When I saw this, I said: Caroline, did you think we were going to the library?  

And she was all: I just like to be prepared.  

Once she got into the action, though, there was no better cheerleader. 

The entire evening made me want to do this.  And believe me, I did.  

I'm still doing it.  

The post game celebration was the biggest hugfest you could imagine. Everyone hugged everyone.  Who cares if we weren't on hugging terms before that moment?  We'd just watched our girls take out their archrivals like the gladiators of old...except no lions were involved.  

Just a bunch of tigers (nerdy inside joke).

4.  I've been doing a little drawing, a little painting.  Girl bandits.  Perhaps a giveaway soon...

5.  Arm warmers.  They did make me run faster, as I suspected.  Especially when I stretched out my arms and made airplane noises which, trust me, is an irresistible urge when you're wearing these things.  

 

6.  And Izzy.  Izzy is practicing up a storm these days.  She's getting ready for a competition wherein she must present 25 minutes of repertoire to a panel of judges.  This is the second time she's participated and believe me, a team of oxen could not keep up with the work required for this performance.

Don't be fooled by her sweet face and the fact she's playing a violin: Izzy is a bit of a gladiator, too.

I can't imagine where it comes from, darling.  I only like to run through the desert, pretending I can fly.

note to self: eat more phosphorus

Sophie emailed me the following essay at 12:11 a.m. this morning:

The city lay in silence, devoid of the sounds of traffic and airplanes and pedestrians going about their daily business. Already, it was becoming overrun with vines and weeds, taking advantage of the lack of trimming and manicuring. The sun lazily crossed over the sky, taking its time getting to the horizon. In a final display of showers of gold and lavender, the sun sank behind the distant mountain and the world darkened.

Somewhere, a shed door behind a dilapidated apartment complex creaked open. It swung wide, hinges squealing to a stop. For a second, nothing happened. Then there was a disturbance in the darkness beyond the door. A hulking form, no more than four feet tall, lumbered out of the inky depths, each step thudding softly in the quiet city. Painstakingly, the creature made its way to a main road. A curious, sibilant dragging sound accompanied each step. Each step seemed a tremendous labor, yet the figure persevered. At last, it heaved itself onto the open road, the rays of the moon throwing its features into sharp relief.

The city itself seemed to cringe away. Sores and open wounds covered the slimy, deathly pale skin that was stretched so tightly. The legs were disproportionately long and thin; the tendons in the feet clearly visible through the translucent skin, and the toes were long, curled, and misshapen. The creature crouched, shoulders hunched and drawn up.  The spinal cord protruded so far through the skin that the ridges of the vertebrae stuck out. The arm appendages trailed between the legs, jointed irregularly and hanging at odd angles. The chest cavity was sunken beyond belief, asymmetrical bone structure clearly visible.

Perhaps worst of all was the creature’s head. Patches of shiny scalp were visible through the random clumps of long, greasy hair. The eyes were a milky white, drawn back into the eye sockets and covered in a filmy web. The nose was flattened and scarred, visibly useless. The mouth gaped wide, any saliva dried up long ago. Any sign of a tongue or teeth had disappeared with the saliva. Each breath caused the creature’s entire body to heave violently.

Only a few months before, the city had been a bustling center of commerce. The news of phosphorus’s disappearance hadn’t seemed like a very big deal to the citizens…for a while. Then, people started realizing how many things were affected by this substance. Matches were now completely nonfunctional. Fertilizers were also useless without phosphorus. These two things alone made a major impact on the lives of the citizens.  Toothpaste was also less effective without the addition of phosphorus. Scientists looked more into phosphorus’s uses. A shock wave rippled through the world: Phosphorus was a major component in DNA, nervous tissues, bones, and our cells. Everyone asked the big question- what happens now? Within days, their question was answered.

Literally, the bodies of the entire world’s population began to deteriorate. People complained of feeling sick more and more often, which continued for a few weeks. Then, physical effects began to appear. Sloped backs, elongated limbs, jutting facial features… no one could understand what was going on. This continued for a few more weeks until exactly two months after the disappearance of phosphorus was logged. That was the day the human race devolved into something never seen before on the face of this earth.

The creature moaned as though the moonlight stung its skin. It shifted on its feet, trying to stand up and extend its legs. It struggled to no avail. Without warning, the creature threw back its emaciated head and screamed--a scratchy, raw abomination that echoed off the buildings, forever rebounding until at last, the sound faded away. 

I'm guessing her assignment was to describe what would happen to the world if there was no phosphorus...?

Not give me nightmares for the rest of my life.  

But here is why it made me happy:

Sophie leaves the house each morning by 5:30 a.m. in order to attend early morning seminary. After school she practices with her volleyball team until 4:30 p.m.  She usually has two evening games each week, a church youth activity, and the occasional student council meeting (which dropped sharply since the insanity known as homecoming has passed).  She's also a strong student who takes her schoolwork seriously.

She is quite a busy girl.

I often hear mums describe themselves as loving the newborn stage, loving the elementary school age, or enjoying motherhood more once their children got to be more mature.  I'm not really sure what stage I prefer...it seems I've enjoyed them all and felt my love grow and change as my girls grow and change.  

Nothing seems better than the stage we are in now.  Sophie is fascinating, independent, no longer as much a direct reflection of my influence but revealing more of her individual nature with each passing day.  This growth, in addition to her crazy schedule, sometimes makes me feel as if my little girl with the big brown eyes has, by necessity, left me in the dust.  Or like a toy plane, she once circled me in tight rotations but is now soaring high overhead in wide, vanishing arcs.      

And though I wouldn't have it any other way, the thought is also a pang to my heart.

But the fact she took the time to send me her essay when she must have been so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open, the fact she knew how I would delight in its creepy, visceral descriptions and perfect arrangement of words, the fact I had to look up the definition of sibilant...those facts are like a balm to my heart.  

No matter how far or high that girl goes, we are connected in ways that will always make us feel close.

is anyone in charge around here?

Caroline's record for consecutive bumps with the volleyball: 84

Generally I prefer her to practice outside, darling.  But I'm not the sort of glittering socialite who cares a ton, one way or the other.  I'm more intrigued she locked onto the sport in the first place.  Six months ago she groaned at the thought of entering a gym (and when she did, she came armed with a stack of Nancy Drews). Now she insists on attending all Sophie's games and follows the action like an entrenched bookie.  

But she also adores her cello.  And baking, reading, writing, drawing, plus all things French.  

Basically that girl is setting herself up for a very interesting life.  

I went for a run this morning.  You know, the desert really is glorious.  Maybe it's cool and distant, maybe it's deep and unfathomable, but the desert is also humming with an energy which makes me bound around in it like a sloppy puppy with enough adoration for the two of us.

The cairns continue to come and go.  Some of the best ones are suddenly missing.  Some are still there. The ancient Norseman, if he really exists, must struggle between his poet's soul and his natural inclination to plunder the coastline.

You can't tell me there isn't at least a little magic out in the middle of nowhere.

When I reach this place along the trail, I always think the figure off to the right is an owl sitting on a cactus stump.  

It's actually just a cactus stump.  

But each time I pass by, for at least three seconds, the owl seems a very real possibility.