Christmas 2017 – Papi and Lola’s Visit

When our family got home from church last Sunday, Lola and Papi were already waiting inside. The first thing Z did when she saw Lola was take her hand and lead her downstairs to play.

They have been inseparable for the past nine days. I’ve heard them talking to each other every day: Mom’s gentle voice and Z’s cute jabbering or imitating. These are happy sounds.

There’s this game where Z waits at the top of her slide while Lola counts to five, and then says, “Go!” And then Z goes down the slide.

There have been multiple viewings of Trolls and Moana and Brave and Shrek, but mostly Trolls. That’s what Z has been into lately.

The entire time we walked around Temple Square to see the lights, Z—in a stroller—looked behind her to make sure Lola was close by.

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Lola has experienced telling Z to stop climbing the kitchen cabinets to get a sucker. She and Papi have taken part of our tradition of Saturday donuts.

If you believe in love languages, one of them is acts of service. My mom speaks this language loud and clear. In addition to being Z’s best friend, Mom has cleaned our house, done many loads of laundry, and cooked various meals for us. She’s done many things that have allowed us to relax. Papi has supported her in this visit and has told good stories and perfectly dry jokes. He is a wonderful man.

On Christmas, we had a fun day of opening presents and going out to breakfast and then spending dinner with Reilly’s family in Payson. Having everyone together heightened our spirits and the love we feel for each other.

A few quotes from the past week:

“You need to wax your moustache.” Mom to me, after looking at my upper lip.

“Ok, Papi, all glued.” Mom to Papi, after putting gel in and styling Papi’s hair.

“Do you sell pancakes here? Just checking.” Papi to the IHOP host, while getting seated for a Christmas breakfast.

“There you go!” Something Z picked up from Lola, when Z said something correctly. Z says this quite often now.

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Enjoying some time by Nana and Papa’s tree in Payson
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Enjoying some final tickles before bedtime and a happy goodbye

Right now, Lola is lying with Z until she falls asleep. They are talking and singing together.

Lola and Papi are driving back to Florida in the morning. They plan on sneaking out while Z is still asleep.

There will still be crying, though.

It is the morning, and Lola and Papi have left. Reilly and I woke up to send them off. During Mom’s tear-ridden, heart-bursting prayer, we heard Z talking to herself in bed. We said our goodbyes and hugged each other. Lola and Papi got into their car, and then they drove away.

We got Z out of bed and gave her some breakfast. We’re watching Shrek now, and Z has said “Ya-ya!” several times, asking for Lola, and I’ve had to explain that Lola went bye-bye.

The house is much quieter now, and I’m still a little teary-eyed. Thanks to Papi and Lola for visiting and giving us memories to reflect upon, their voices echoing in our minds, when the silence is too much to bear.

Nine Months

01

Dear Zinger,

It’s a pretty chilly morning, and I’m thinking about how you’ve been in the world for as long as I carried you in my tummy.

That totally blows my mind.

05

06

Christmas was especially generous to you. Both sets of grandparents and Santa showered you with gifts and love and attention. You got to travel to Florida and you behaved so well on the plane there and back. (Sleeping and peekaboo were your preferred activities.) You met a few of my friends and met your Uncle Frank for the first time. He adores you, and now that he’s held you and played with you he misses you so much more.

[Click here to see more Christmas photos.]

Look how smiley you are!

You have begun walking. And it’s not like we’ve pushed you. This mode of mobility has always interested you, even in your wee months as a baby. You’d always straighten your legs, seeming to prefer standing to sitting. You’ve been patient, waiting until you were strong enough to balance yourself and try your first steps. What a champ. You’re still a bit wobbly, so for now crawling is still faster for you. But I can tell how much you like the view from two and a half feet up.

On Tuesday you had your nine-month checkup. You’re a healthy 19 pounds. And you measured 29 inches long, which is in the 93rd percentile of girls your age. Did you know that I am 58 inches tall? That makes you exactly half my height, which is impossible.

You need to slow down.

04

07

08

I really enjoy being your mother, spending time with you, watching you grow and learn and discover the world around you. Traditionally moms are the nurturers in the family, while dads are the providers. And Dadda works hard to give us everything we need. He’s also torturing himself with grad school so that he can be a better provider. He only has thesis hours left and at least 100 pages to write. We will all cheer when he’s done!

But there are lots of families where both parents work, or where the dad stays home, or where there’s only one parent who doesn’t have a choice but to be both nurturer and provider. Many of these parents struggle with these roles; some don’t.

I do.

10

For the past six months I have been working two days a week so that I could spend the rest of the week with you. It seemed a good enough compromise. And in the past month, I’ve been planning to take education and career to the next level. I’m in my last year of grad school and have scheduled time to volunteer at a hospital library and do a practicum at a university health sciences library this semester. Instead of adding to the days I’ve been working, I replaced them with volunteering and the practicum, so that I still get to spend five full days with you.

This doesn’t mean a lot to you right now, I know.

But those mornings when I say goodbye, it breaks my heart. I go through the day and focus on work and even enjoy what I do. And then during the commute home, I have nothing but squealy anticipation to see you. I open the door and see your face, and you smile and reach for me. I pick you up and give you a big hug while you give me a big slobbery kiss. Hands down, that is the best part of my day.

You do the same thing for Dadda when he comes home. His eyes light up and you give him your biggest smile, and my heart melts into a myocardial puddle.

What I am trying to say is that within six months to a year (maybe 15 months), I hope to have a full-time job so that I can contribute to providing for our family. That means that I’ll be away from you for at least eight hours a day, five days a week. I wonder what other nurturers do when they also become providers. How do they deal with the anxiety? What kinds of compromises do they make? In what ways do they make the most of their time at home? Some different perspectives might be helpful.

With your growing so fast because you’re a baby, and babies grow so fast, when I do go back to work, I have fears of missing milestones. I fear that being gone for so long you will forget who I am, that you won’t love me anymore, or as much. I fear that our little family won’t be as close or that I will miss opportunities to teach you important things. It’s not that I worry that you won’t be well taken care of, because that was never a concern. You’ll always have family and friends who feed you and adore you and play with you and keep you safe. It’s more selfish for me: I’ll miss you growing up. I blink, and you’re walking. I spend eight hours, or 40 hours away, and you’re ready for college. But you still can’t date until you’re 27. Hopefully you’ll be sleeping through the night by then. You’re almost there now.

03

02

Yet, I don’t dare underestimate you, little one. You have this innate sense of who your parents are, and you know things about your family without our telling you, but I’m going to say this one thing anyway, because I want you to know that I know it, too.

I will always come home to you.

My tummy misses you, but these past nine months have brought us more joy than we ever could have imagined. Keep blowing our minds, baby girl.

09

Love, Mom

Eight Months

Serious

Dear Zinger,

It was about a month ago. I didn’t see the actual collision.

The four-door sedan, driver’s side crumpled, in a slow spin.

The 4X4 truck, front end smashed, bleeding oil from the grill.

The truck seemed to have spun in the same direction as the car.

I saw an airbag deploy in the face of the truck driver. His head whipped back and then his whole body slumped down.

The car rolled past where I could see.

It must have all happened in two seconds. As the scene replays in my mind, there is no sound. I want to insert sound from accidents I’ve seen in movies or television shows. Was the radio too loud? Were my windows rolled up? The lack of sound somehow makes the whole thing worse.

The light turned green, but no one wanted to go. No one could, because time had frozen.

People were running toward the scene. I was too far back in the turn lane to have helped. I wanted to help. I can’t help feeling I should have helped.

Nervous

On the TRAX blue line, at the Courthouse Station. A couple board and then sit across from me. The woman has straight hair and a small messenger bag. The man has gritty hair and hands with dirty nails and freckles. The couple might have been in their 20s.

The woman hands the man a $20 bill. I watch without watching.

They watch who boards at the Temple Square Station. The man stands and pretends to stretch. The woman smiles.

Two men sit on the other side of the train from where we sit. One of those two men walks to sit in the seats behind the man and woman. This man has bloodshot, shifty eyes.

The man with dirty nails walks to sit across from the man with the shifty eyes.

The man with the dirty nails comes back to sit by the woman with straight hair. The man hands her something small. It’s wrapped in paper or cloth and the ends are twisted so that the package looks like a teardrop.

The man has one of his own. He puts it in his mouth and worries one end with his teeth while holding the other end between two fingers, like he’s trying to open it.

The couple gets off TRAX at the Planetarium Station, and I can breathe again.

Great Grandpa

A family gets off the Frontrunner at the same station as I do. One of the parents tells the children to slow down as they run across the tracks, and the image of Dadda and me teaching you safety rules flashes in my mind. I see you holding my hand. You want to run across the street, and I tell you to keep holding on to my hand.

Explorer

I worry, little girl.

You explore the world. You crawl, you scale the walls, the couches. You get excited about all the new things to touch and see and taste.

There is so much that is beautiful and breathtaking. But there are also darkness and tears to choke on.

Thanksgiving was this past month, and of course I’m thankful for our blessings. Lately, when I reflect on something I’m thankful for, I think about how other people are also grateful. For example, I’m thankful for food. And I imagine families in developing countries who appear to have so little. I imagine these families also being grateful for their food. Shelter. Rain. Being alive. Being around people who love them. Having something to believe in.

I want to teach you to be grateful in this way. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being grateful for what you have. I just hope you don’t give thanks that you have more than anyone else, or that you’re better than other people. That’s not true gratitude.

Am I thankful that I wasn’t hurt in that accident? Definitely. Am I thankful not to have a drug addiction? For sure. But beyond being grateful, I hope that you can reach beyond yourself. Are the families of these people okay? Will your gratitude enable you to help other people and be a good person?

Park

And so Christmas approaches. It will be your first, and your Dadda and I want it to be fun and special for you. But we also want you to feel Jesus’ love. And not be scared of Santa. We hope you like the gifts, but we also pray that you feel the spirit of this season.

Eight months, Zinger. Just today before church Dadda said he saw you try to take some steps on your own. I’ve seen your attempts. You practice so much. You work hard. Baby steps.

We’re all taking baby steps, but you’re much better at it.

Read

Happy!

Sleepy book

We’ll always do our best to catch up to you. Don’t you worry.

Merry Christmas.

Love, Mom

Have a Wonderful Christmas

Cool lantern

(More photos at Flickr.)

Let Earth receive her king

For unto us a Child is born

Come, adore on bended knee,

Christ the Lord, the newborn King

Radiant beams from thy holy face

With the dawn of redeeming grace

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime, A chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Joyful, all ye nations rise

Join the triumph of the skies

Let every heart prepare him room

Streams of mercy never ceasing

Call for songs of loudest praise.

Le monde entier tressaille d’espérance

En cette nuit qui lui donne un Sauveur.

For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth

And he shall reign for ever and ever.

Hallelujah.

At Church Yesterday

All the children stood in front of the congregation and sang two Christmas songs. One of the little boys standing near the pulpit caught my attention. He looked to be around 7 years old. He wore a lime green dress shirt and a dark, pin-striped vest. His lime green striped clip-on tie was slightly askew. He was cute. As his mouth moved while the music played, it became apparent that he didn’t know the words to the song. He just opened and closed his mouth to the beat, ba ma ba ma. It was a little bit funny at first, but then I admired his effort.

During Sunday school, an elderly man stood up and made a couple of seemingly unrelated comments about the Christmas lesson. He’s probably in his 80s, he only comes to church every once in a while. The teachers always do a good job of tying in what he says into the lesson, and yesterday was no exception. He usually talks about his childhood, his time at war; yesterday he recounted the history of man since Adam, and I realized that his comment wasn’t that far off. When we think about our origins, our history, our universal family, Christmas has as much to do with the Garden of Eden and Noah’s Ark as it does with December and eggnog and gift exchanges. More, actually.

The young and the old. Those who are most childlike shared themselves with their fellow church members yesterday. I am grateful to have experienced it. They reminded me of the spirit of Christmas.

December Did You Knows

light!

Did you know that December 1, 2012 was the six monthery of our wedding? I can’t decide whether the time is passing too quickly or just right. We’re having a wonderful time, regardless.

Did you know that Reilly had never seen Elf until December 1, 2012? We watched it for free at a movie theater, compliments of the Teachers Union. We were among 10 or so people in the entire theater, while other teachers and their families opted for Ice Age 4, Brave, and the Dark Knight Rises.

Did you know that the movie Footloose was filmed in the town where Reilly grew up? If you look at the scenery throughout the movie, you’ll see mountains that look like the don’t belong anywhere in the Midwest where the movie was supposedly set. Payson is also Don Bluth’s hometown and where Jewel was born. Did you know that?

Did you know that December 1, 2012 was also a big family Christmas party? It was also in Payson, held in a cool old building called the Peteetneet Academy. Did you know that I took pictures of the building?

Smalltown old buildings!

Carolers!

Gazebo!

Did you know that Santa is real? This kid never had a doubt.

Having SO MUCH FUN.

A Little Christmas Prep

For the upcoming Hobbit movie, Reilly decided to read the book, but he didn’t stop there, no. He’s gone on to read the Lord of the Rings trilogy:

Sometimes when we’re sitting on the couch together, I’ll take a break from the book I’m reading and look over Reilly’s shoulder at his book. I’ll point to random words on a page and ask him what the words are, and he’ll tell me. Then I’ll act really impressed that he can read random words! However, when Reilly tries to peek over at my book to see what I’m reading, I’ll lean away from him and bring the book closer to my face, because I only pretend to read, mostly because I don’t know how, and having a literate/-ary family is mere pretense to me; I only want to look cool and not be cool.

Reilly printed out a map of Middle Earth and the surrounding lands so that he doesn’t have to turn to the back of the book every time the books mention a different location. I was going to take a picture of this printout, but I can’t find it, which either means that Reilly is embarrassed by his slight nerdiness and hid or threw away the map, or that he has memorized the map, which could be even more embarrassing. (I secretly think it’s awesome.)

Right now I am “reading” Barbara Kingsolver’s latest novel, Flight Behavior. It’s about climate change and perfect for the Christmas season!

The Christmas tree is up and decorated and even guarding a few presents beside it. We also have stockings, but we don’t have a fireplace or mantel. We do have a bar, which is a sufficient substitute because I don’t feel like putting more holes in the wall or using ugly tape on the wall:

I’m not super crafty, but I do like making snowflakes. Also, Reilly has the tall stocking, and I chose something a little more traditional. Also, we don’t have fishing line, and I couldn’t find our thread, so I used dental floss to hang the flakes. (That pretty much cancels out the idea of not using ugly things for decorating. Oh well.)

It’s STILL not December, but look how excited I am for our first Christmas as a married couple!

Christmas Day, 2011, at Jacksonville Beach

I check my pockets.

I check them again.

I check the curb.

We had finished brushing the sand off our feet and rolling down our pants legs. The sun was setting, and the air was cooling considerably in the past hour. We are in Florida, and it is December. Christmas, in fact.

Familiar white noise of my childhood somehow keeps me calm. The shore froths and foams at low tide. The beach stretches for miles, and the horizon produces muted purples and blues with a backglow of pink. Flat clouds gather and blend into the greying blue above us. Seagulls congregate along the softened zig-zag margin where the rolling waves stop on the sand. We know those birds are wondering why we are there. They probably already know.

After we put our shoes back on, I tell Reilly that we have to walk on the beach again, because I don’t have the keys.

He checks his pockets, too. We spin in place and look at the asphalt and adjoining sidewalk; the keys could appear as quickly they disappeared.

We had walked a least a mile on the beach. The sand, the sea, the pelicans could have swallowed the keys. We need to retrace our steps.

We start on the land bridge connecting the asphalt and the great expanse of sand. I look up the coast to the pier where we started walking.  We begin our search together then decide it might be better to divide and conquer.

Just minutes ago we watched a parascender float through the air while a speedboat pulled him, and now our eyes focus on the sand, and I try to recall our exact path. I realize that I didn’t really pay attention to our steps, because we were lost in conversation, in each other. My heart pounding in my ears matches the volume of the ocean waves playing Yahtzee on the shore. White and static bounced and tumbled in different combinations. Did it ever roll all sixes? On a day like today, I would say yes.

On our walk down, we occasionally noticed the sun’s descent, the temperature’s decrease, and kids running around or writing in the sand. We had walked mostly on the packed sand, and the balls of my feet had nearly rubbed raw until we walked up toward the dunes where the sand was softer.

On the walk back, Reilly is 50 yards ahead. While we scan the sand, I sometimes look up the miles of coast. I notice certain landmarks that we passed the first time: sandcastles, holes and little plastic shovels, piles of seaweed, where people had written in the sand, a jellyfish.

The worst-case scenario crosses my mind. I am not worried that we wouldn’t get back to my parents’ house.  I don’t have anyone’s number memorized. If we could get into the car, then maybe I could get my cell phone and get a ride back to the Westside.  That would be easy enough.

But that is not the worst-case scenario.

The lost keys aren’t mine. They don’t belong to my family. I have them because I agreed to housesit and dogsit for my friend Jenny while she went on a Christmas trip with family. And she let us use her car. So I imagine having to explain how I lost the keys and why the dog is dead. I imagine poor little Henry the wiener dog lying stiff and unconscious by the front window of Jenny’s home waiting for Jenny’s car to pull up. But it wouldn’t be me in the car, because Jenny would have killed me for losing her keys. I would be dead. My ragdoll body would wash onto the shore days later while kids played catch with the keys we were looking for. And Reilly would have to explain awkwardly to my mom what happened.

This situation would be a much smaller deal if the keys were mine.

I have a feeling we wouldn’t find them on the beach, but at the same time, I want to get to the first part of our walk, where we rolled up our pants and let the water wash over our feet. I know that if the keys happened to drop into the water, there would be no chance of retrieving them. Not exactly a reassuring thought, but it is what I want to do.

We see a man scanning the beach with his metal detector. I ask him if he came across a set of keys. He says that he hasn’t. He asks if we lost them along the beach. I say that we did. He suggests we retrace our steps, to follow our path exactly the way we walked. That’s something we had never considered.  We know he is trying to be helpful, but we are just frustrated, and Henry is waiting for us. My brother is waiting for us. When he finishes talking, we thank him for his advice and part ways. The coast looks as long as ever.

We finally come to the spot by the pier where we stood in the ocean. Of course we don’t see any keys, and I hope that a seagull would drop them into my hands. The seagulls mock us instead. They would never lose their friends’ keys.

Then we start up toward the parking lot. We check by the sidewalk where we originally took off our shoes.  We reach the car and check the keyholes of the doors after we tried opening the doors.  We talk about making another sweep of the beach, and I sigh at the cooling breeze and darkening sky.

Reilly walks up to the pier’s entrance, to a small parks and rec office where people can buy fishing permits and supplies. I check the sand again where we first took off our shoes.  I keep wondering about Henry and having new keys made for the car and Jenny’s house and I kept telling myself how irresponsible I am and that I should have secured the keys instead of putting them in my back pocket.

Reilly comes down from the pier. I look at him, and he smiles and holds up a set of keys that I immediately recognize by the leather Harding University keychain. He says that someone found them and turned them in. We walk quickly to the car, and it feels so good to be able to unlock the door, text my brother to tell him we are on our way to dinner, and look forward to Henry’s tail wagging when we returned to Jenny’s house. It feels good to live.

Just before we put back on our shoes and started our search, we stood on the sand and watched the ocean. Our conversation had gotten quiet and after a few moments, Reilly said he had never been happier in his life and I began crying and he said that he really enjoyed spending the past few months with me and he wanted to spend his life with me, and he asked me for the chance to make me as happy as I’ve made him. He said, “I would love for you to have this” as he pulled out of his pocket a little black velvet box. I said that I would love to give him that chance, and I kept crying as he took the ring from the box and put it on my finger. I wiped the tears from my eyes.  We hugged tight and gently kissed. With his arm around me, we continued to stare at the ocean.

We put on our seat belts. I turn the key in the ignition. I check the side and rear view mirrors. I check the time, the headlights against the dusk. I check my phone after sending a mass text to all my friends. I check myself in the eyes of the man sitting next to me.

As we pull out of the parking lot, I check my hand.

I am engaged.

Avec Corrections

Rewriting the whole thing with the corrections will help me understand the grammar better. Posting it on a public blog will help me face my constant feelings of idiocy. I need the practice. The account below is a true story in my head; I may have taken artistic liberty with some of the details. I will say the professor likes my writing style, and that may have kept my grade from plonger.

Before you skip the rest of this entry, let me report: Day 1, no cookies; I only picked a little bit on my left thumbnail, and I already totally oopsed on the profanity. No one heard. Well, except You Know. I’m working on that.

Un Noël Blanc

J’avais treize ans. Quelques jours avant Noël, je suis allée à la fête d’anniversaire de mon amie, car son anniversaire était la veille de Noël. Il faisait plus froid que d’habitude ce soir-là, mais j’avais assez chaud chez mon amie. La fête était amusante, et je ne voulais pas aller dehors. Quand je rentrais, mes parents et moi avons parlé en voiture du temps froid; les arbres étaient nus mais du givre couvrait les branches. C’était une beauté bizarre. Nous avons arrêté de parler. Les phares coupaient le noir mais le silence a persisté jusqu’à ce que nous soyons arrivés ches nous. Ensuite, nous sommes allés au lit.

C’étaient les vacances de Noël, pourtant mon petit frère et moi nous réveillions tôt tous les jours. Le matin, nous regardions des dessins animés, et puis nous mangions le petit déjeuner. Quelquefois, nous faisions nos devoirs. Parce qu’il faisait trop froid cet hiver pour jouer dehors, nous sommes restés dans la maison. Parfois, nous jouions à des jeux d’enfants. Plusieurs cadeaux étaient sous le sapin, et nous essayions de deviner ce que c’était. Ensuite, ma mère nous disait de nous habiller et de faire nos tâches ménagères. Sans nous plaindre, nous obéissions.

Après  deux jours de plus, c’était la veille de Noël. Cette année-là nous avons mangé un grand repas la veille de Noël. Mon père a fait deux tartes: une aux citrouilles et l’autre aux pommes. De plus, il a rôti une dinde et a fait de la purée de pommes de terre et du maïs. Tout était divin. Notre famille avait une tradition d’ouvrir un cadeau et de lire l’histoire Noël de la Bible. Quelquefois nous chantions des cantiques, mais nous n’étions pas très bons chanteurs. Cette année-là, nous avons aussi conduit dans des beaux voisinages pour regarder les lumières et les décorations. En les regardant, des flocons blancs ont commencé à tomber du ciel. Ils ont gentiment flotté à terre, où ils ont disparu. Alors, mon père a conduit lentement pour notre sécurité, mais surtout pour que nous regardions la neige.

Chez nous, mon frère et moi n’avons pas dormi pendant plusieurs heures. Au lieu, nous avons fixé les toutes petites étoiles qui descendaient. Le clair de lune faisait luire les nuages. Nous avons regardé comme si c’était le meilleur film que nous n’ayons jamais vu. Finalement, nous sommes endormis.

Le jour suivant était Noël! Nous nous somme réveillés et avons ouvert les cadeaux qui restaient. Je suis certaine qu’ils étaient génials, mais il y a des choses plus importantes, comme le temps. C’était la Floride! Le temps était plus significatif que le bavardage habituel. Une couche blanche couvrait la terre et des petites stalactites de glace étaient suspendues aux arbres. Notre jardin avait l’air pur. Il neigeait toujours; les flocons étaient plus grands. Mon frère et moi avons mis un tas de vêtements et nous sommes allés dehors. Sans gants, nous avons fait un petit bonhomme de neige. Nous avons joué jusqu’à ce que nous ayons froid, environ trente minutes.

J’appelle Jacksonville « la région froide de la Floride » parce qu’elle est au nord, mais il n’y neige pas tous les jours, alors nous sommes allés dehors après nous être réchauffés, après nous avoir bu du chocolat chaud. Les garçons qui habitaient à coté sont aussi venus dehors (mais ils n’étaient pas mes premiers amours, au fait), et ils se sont battus contre nous (mon frère et moi) avec des boules de neige. Nous avons joué comme ça toute la journée. Nos cils ont blanchi et nos bouches faisait des petits nuages quand nous parlions. C’était mon premier Noël blanc. C’était un jour magique.

The Year I Didn’t Blog About Christmas

I have nothing new or original to add.

There were quite a few entries prior to this weekend, prior to finals where I mentioned Christmas. It’s been a while.

I didn’t even think about getting people Christmas gifts. Not on purpose.

Won’t my presence be enough. Won’t my company suffice.

I certainly wasn’t expecting anything.

It’s  nice taking classes at BYU; I’ve felt the Spirit more this semester through my professors and the texts than I have in a long time. Not even religion classes I took long ago offered the same experiences that I’ve had the past few months.

That’s because being 18-22 is so different than what I am now.

When my mom came home my first night back in Florida a few days ago, she said something snarky. Not to me, but to someone else, but it was about me. It hurt my feelings, so I snarked back. Hard.

I stayed angry for a little bit.

I’m so glad you’re  here.

Are you really, Mom?

I always feel like a stranger, because I don’t feel at home anywhere.

An appendage, an afterthought, a guest.

This is my fault, though, because I don’t feel like a daughter or much of a friend.

Poor me, right?

What kind of loser do you take me for?

I’m a great daughter and extraordinary friend.

Mom and I stayed up for the next couple of hours. She showed me some wedding photos and her wedding DVD; I showed  her some videos on YouTube, and we talked for a little bit.

She stood up to head off to bed. She hugged me.

I’m so glad you’re here.

Me, too, Mom.

So, what’s everyone else’s problem?

No problem, really; they’re off being awesome, too.

This is Christmas, right?

We know through Christ all things are possible. We know that all the Father has is ours, and we can enjoy it at this very moment.

Carpe diem is part of gaining eternity.

I’ll just sit here with my chocolate cake with peppermint frosting (for breakfast) and cheer you on.

I am happy for you.

I am happy.