Time to Ask to Prom

It's that time of the year when we rack our brains for a creative way to ask a girl to Prom. Actually, Travis is the one doing the asking, but I am the one supplying the ideas. Many suggestions were offered, and finally this one proved satisfactory to that 17-year old son of mine.

The concept was easy and simple.  Scrabble tiles were hot-glued onto long skewers and stuck strategically amongst an arrangement of flowers.

The tiled letters of Travis' first and last name were jumbled up in a little bag attached to the vase. A small tag contained the hint that the asker's first name is spelled with six letters.

We had to go with orange roses because we are Timpview (orange and blue) after all.

Now, we just hope she says, "Yes!"

         

My House Has Stars

My House Has Stars
by Abby

My house has trees, many kinds of trees and plants. Aspen and maple stand, their branches protruding and bearing glorious leaves that fill the ground and sky with arrays of color in the fall. Ivy crawls along weathered brick and flowers purple in the spring. Bushes grow along the perimeter, slowly lighting fire in the fall. Their red and pink leaves cast shadows in the evening. My house has trees.

My house has cats. They find nooks and crannies to curl up into. Sleeping the day away. Their fur is soft and their eyes are bright. Always searching for their prey, they scan keenly the area and often spot a mouse lying in the grass. They sometimes bring them home as presents. One is young and spry and was not long ago a kitten. She jumps and plays with anything that moves. The other is old and wise and never is too energetic, he watches and observes. But the oldest and wisest of all is always outside. He never leaves the rose bushes, or the soil where they are grounded. But silently he watches and observes beneath the shadows of the towering aspen trees. My house has cats.

My house has stars. They gaze at me in the night. Glowing green, yellow, orange and pink. They steal the light from the sun and gather energy from the light bulbs. On my ceiling they wait until night comes, where they can shine and release the stolen energy. But they glow for me at night scaring away the monster and demons that have barbed tails and gleaming teeth. So I lay there every night, underneath the stars. My house has stars.

Orange, Blue, White

"Orange, Blue, White. T-Birds, let's fight!"

For some reason this cheer was running through my head in the middle of the night a few weeks ago--some time close to 3 am to be more precise. I'm sure it had something to do with the fact that I have been attending about eight basketball games a week for the last two months.

Travis (#54) is on Timpview's JV and Varsity teams. JV games typically start at 3:30 while Varsity tip-off isn't until 7:00 on both Tuesday and Friday nights.

Abby (#13) is on a Bantam league with other 8th grade girls. She plays Mondays and Saturdays.

In between Travis' games we are usually watching the Varsity girls play--hopefully Abby's future team. This makes for long afternoons and evenings, but honestly, there is nothing I love more than watching my kids' games.

My photos are often blurry due to the speed of play and dim light of a high school gym. However, despite this irritation, I still appreciate the "outtakes" I found in my attempt to capture the action.

Our season is officially over now, but I suspect I will still be humming . . .

"Hey, hey you! You know what to do. You've got to rock with the orange and roll with the blue!"

for a while yet.

All Home

All were abed. All were asnooze. A sudden realization. An overwhelming peace and calm. All my precious ones were gathered home. All within reach. All safe. All here.

I wish I had the words . . .

The Snowball Fight

We've had snow on the ground for a good month now. When it was freshly fallen my "kids" all had an epic snowball fight in our backyard. They started by building opposing snow forts, but soon left their fortifications for hand-to-hand combat.

They were pretty worn out by the battle's end, but, oh, did this mother's heart smile!

Winter is . . .

a snowy blanket,

billowing loaves,

failed divinity the texture of silly putty,

and icicles at sunset.

Winter, I will look for your beauty.

     

The Tin Foil Star

A tin foil* star resides atop our Christmas tree. Brian skillfully crafted it out of poster board (perhaps a file folder?) and foil in 1984--our very first Christmas together.

(Brian making our tin foil star, Christmas 1984)

             

Our first tree was flocked (as per my family's tradition) and its branches were sparse to allow ample ornament hang (as per Brian's family's tradition.) We purchased one box of small glass balls and a string of lights for our little tree. The rest of the ornaments I had received as gifts over the years.

(Our first Christmas tree, 1984)

Secretly I had wanted a shiny and glittery tree topper like those found only at the fanciest of department stores, but Brian's star made me happy. I figured it would do until we could find something else. Years past and I finally did find a beautiful gold star to top our tree. Brian, ever the sentimental, wanted to continue with our first tinfoil and cardboard star, but I convinced him to let me use the "nicer" one for almost a decade.

(Me adding the star to the tree, Christmas 1984)

Then, in my thirties, something happened to my proud tree-topper heart. For some reason that year, when we pulled the old silver star from the box to retell the story of our first Christmas together, I allowed it to be placed atop our now round, fat, ornament-laden tree. Perhaps it was the Christmas that my brother passed away? I'm really not sure of the exact date, but from that time forward our tin foil star has presided at the pinnacle of our Christmas celebration. 

It is a symbol to me of humility, of gratitude, and of what really matters. It is memories. It is family. It is pure love. I don't even care that the foil has pulled away from one of the points. That endears it all the more to me.

(Christmas 2012)

"Star of wonder, star of light, star with royal beauty bright. Westward leading, still proceeding, guide us to thy perfect light."

*In reality it is made from aluminum foil, but for some reason I grew up calling the substance tin foil and continue the usage today. :)

Don't Mess With Tradition

Sound advice, really, yet this year all of our usual Thanksgiving guests had other obligations for the big feast--even the Grandmas. Once I realized it would be just the five of us, all kinds of nontraditional holiday options swirled through my mind. We could go for a hike, take in a movie, and even EAT OUT for our festive meal.

Perhaps I could have a real day of rest? No rising at the "crack of dawn" to chop onions and celery for stuffing, no peeling of potatoes, and no raw bird to primp and prepare--such holiday luxury! Surprisingly, the kids actually agreed to something different as long as my homemade stuffing and King's Arms Tavern Sweet Potatoes were prepared and consumed at some point during the week. 

A few days before Thanksgiving (at our customary Sunday dinner with the Grandmas) we had our pseudo Thanksgiving feast. Grandma S. brought her heavenly potato rolls (my personal Thanksgiving favorite) and Grandma W. brought her delicious chiffon pumpkin pie. A Costco roasted chicken was our nod to poultry.

The plan for Thanksgiving day was to go out to lunch at one of our favorite local restaurants, take in a movie, and enjoy our other two must-have pies later in the evening.

Even the best laid plans tend to go awry, and they certainly did for us. All of our favorite restaurants were CLOSED on Thanksgiving day and those that were open were only serving a "special turkey buffet." However, we simply wanted to enjoy the establishment's usual fare because our taste buds had already been satisfied with our own familial holiday food.

Nix the idea of going out for Thanksgiving dinner.

Instead, I tried a brand new recipe--Slow Cooker Chicken Tikka Masala. Ooh, it was delicious, but suddenly our holiday meal became just like any other weeknight dinner.

While the chicken and spices were melding in the crockpot we did take in a movie--Wreck-It Ralph. We let Abby choose. The other two weren't super excited about this kid movie, but it really was quite good.

What did we do when we got home?

Watched football, of course, in our almost finished and remodeled basement. According to Travis, "watching three games of football is the most American way to spend Thanksgiving."

Luckily, the day did end in a more traditional way with Kellie's freshly baked pecan and apple pies. For the first time in years every bite of that fabulous pecan pie was savored and relished because I wasn't so stuffed when I ate it.

Sure, it was a relaxing day. We even played some games as a family, but retrospection (that wise old friend) visited as I was preparing for bed. At least one of my offspring was obviously NOT happy with the day. The other two seemed fine, but some how Thanksgiving wasn't an exceptional day. Without that extra effort in food preparation, without those special friends and family guests, it seemed like any other day of the year.

Certainly, it was more relaxing for me, but is that what Thanksgiving is all about? Perhaps the sacrifices involved in a traditional celebration are a way of expressing my gratitude and my love for all that I have and for all that surrounds me?

This year I learned a lesson and I made a resolution. No matter how few of us are left at home, Thanksgiving will be celebrated in our family's traditional way. We will invite lonely neighbors, coworkers, roommates, and distant relatives--whomever it takes--to fill our home and table. It will involve days of hard work, but it will definitely be worth it.

After all, one does not mess with tradition!