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When it came time to graduate from Grad school, we needed a host or two for the program that my cohort was putting on to celebrate getting our Master in Teaching degrees. So, my friend Sarah and I decided, heck, we can host this thing — and so we took on the MC duties . We introduced the skits, the speakers, you get the idea. We were awesome. Professionals, really. But we were left out of one key piece to the puzzle. A small group of fellow grads wanted to give out awards — you know, “Most Inspirational” “Most Improved” things like that. We were not allowed to know the awards as we were included on the awards list.
But that didn’t sit well with us at all. So, we cheated. We went out for drinks one night at this wonderful place right on Puget Sound (Ray’s Boathouse Cafe for those of you in the area). And as the sun was setting over the water we were able to hold up the sealed envelope and read what we had been awarded. I didn’t like what I found. Probably because I am a cheater.
I was awarded “Most Effecient.” Seriously? That is about as sexy as a lump of coal. Especially in light of the fact that the man whom I would later marry was awarded “Most Charismatic.” Bah humbug. Efficient. Hey there, if you need something accomplished with a minimum of effort? With the fewest possible resources consumed? In a well-organized way? CALL ME…here is my number. Like I said, sexy as coal.
But it wasn’t long until I decided to embrace my efficiency. I think I came to realize that others saw something in me that I had yet to see in myself. When I was growing up I would loathe it when I was carrying groceries in from the car and my mom would say, “you may need to take two trips…” Uh, no, I do not take two trips, I would think to myself and shake my head at the ridiculous nature of that suggestion. Two trips? Whatever. Instead, I would load up 7 bags on each arm, creating red welts in my skin. But I only took one trip. So, maybe I did deserve the award.
Nowadays my efficiency looks more like getting all 7 of us to a location on time and with the required equipment. It means buying Christmas gifts in February. It means figuring out the fastest driving route to any location I may need to visit. Afterall, I only have so much energy and so I must use it very wisely.
My gift has grown with me, one could argue.
So, today I took it one step farther. I received a special notice in the mail from our local energy utility. They wrote me to inform me that I am WAY more efficient than my most efficient neighbors. I got two – count them — two smiley faces and was awarded the title of GREAT at being energy efficient. That my most efficient neighbors consume 1,593 something-rathers and my household of SEVEN only consumes 1,163. And I am even more energy efficient than I was last year.
Snap. Take that. No one who was awarded “Most Charismatic” ever got a letter from Puget Sound Energy.
Look who is sexy now….
Oh, and turn off your lights, why don’t ya?
In our house we have an epidemic. As much as I love each and every one of my kids, they spill. Like, a lot. So much so that we have a title that we pass around almost nightly. The title? The Spiller.
It goes like this. Izzy knocks over her milk and it spills everywhere and someone announces, “Izzy is THE SPILLER tonight!!!” She smiles. Ah shucks. I get to be THE SPILLER ? Cool.
We spill so much around here that also have an expression that immediately follows any spill. The glass goes over, water goes everywhere and I shout, “Mobilize the Spill-Unit!!!” Upon this command, Jade runs for paper towels, Izzy grabs plates and other gear out of harms way, Lily grabs napkins and goes low — mopping up the drips that are already hitting the floor, and Ty… well, we are working on him. Usually he helps Jade. I coordinate. In this fashion we get spills cleaned up and everything back in order in less than 90 seconds and dinner continues. We are a well-oiled machine.
Except for the time that Lily overwhelmed the Spill-Unit with FOUR back to back spills. No sooner had everything been put right when.. bloooppp… over went another glass. She spilled Jade’s milk, Ty’s milk and her own milk…twice. It was epic. We still talk about it when the conversation lags. Hey, remember that ONE TIME when Lily was like the Spiller-Extraordinaire? Oh yeah, we all say, that was epic! Then we sort of chuckle. But the chuckling doesn’t last because another spill is iminent and we have to be ready, on our guard for possible spill-unit mobilization.
Usually the SPILLER is Izzy. That girl could enter the Olympics if they had a SPILLER event and bring home the gold.
Last night Ty was the spiller.
The night before it was me. Like I said. It is an epidemic.
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Click here to see Emme and me during a Me Ra Koh photo shoot (last November) for her upcoming book!!!
Yesterday was my favorite day of the year. And nothing holds a candle to this day. Not Christmas. Not Groundhog’s day. Not the first day of school.
It is the day we FALL back. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh….. bring on that extra hour of sleep. I have said before how I feel about Springing ahead, but Falling back? Oh, that day makes all 364 other days worth it. I love going to bed Saturday night around 11pm and setting the clock back an hour. “Oh…is it only 10? ” and I snuggle in all proud of myself for going to bed early.
There was a time several years ago after Dave and I were first married where he woke me up early on Fall Back Day for some god-foresaken reason. I remember my incredulous reaction as I said to him, “You just RUINED my favorite day of the year!!!” Now, when you first get married there is a lot to learn about each other. But I will never forget the look on Dave’s face when he said, “THIS is your FAVORITE day of the year? Seriously?” Yes, dude, seriously. It is to his credit that he has never forgotten the lesson he learned that day.
To be fair, I could go without the dark mornings. There is something so sinister and depressing about waking up in the pitch dark. And it does signal the beginning of winter. Which means that around here we are headed for 6 months of solid rain. Rain. Every single day. Except when it snows. And then the whole area shuts down. Oh, I mean it. Those of you out there in regions where you get snow on a regular basis would be stunned at the Seattle area’s lack of snow savvy. People start to freak out. Two years ago, the schools shut down because there was a THREAT of snow. When it snows around here people don’t go to work and they call their friends and family to be sure they are surviving. We even have our own local reporter who loves to coin terms like “Storm Blast 2009.” He is usually in a hat, coat, and gloves standing on top of the Space Needle while the snow flurries around him and he — get this — HOLDS ON so as not to be blown away, I guess. Then he tells us to expect 3 inches of snow and to BEWARE of STORM BLAST 2009!!!!! Then the one snow plow that is owned by King County starts to work its way around the area. Cars pull to the side of the road and are abandoned as people claim, “I cannot drive in this stuff! Too dangerous!” (And, hec, I say pull over if you think three inches of snow is too dangerous.) When snow is predicted the stores RUN OUT of bottled water as people prepare for the worst. I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m not.
Now, RAIN we can handle around here – we don’t cancel anything for rain. But SNOW? Nope, we don’t do snow.
So, here I am today, all rested from my extra hour of sleep and ready to face Storm Blast 2010.
When Izzy was born, she was taken into the recovery room and we all had to whisper, turn the lights down low, and she simply settled in to the sound of her daddy’s voice. Now, here we are…13 years later.
In a lot of cultures and religions there are rites of passage that mark the passing from childhood to adulthood — the bar mitzva, the quinceanera, etc. But the it seems like this ritual is missing from so many of our lives. Especially for girls.
Enter the 13.
This idea was thought up by a friend of a friend and a former co-youth leader of mine that noticed this deficit and decided to do something about it. It goes like this. When a girls turns 13, she gets a party. But not a party full of other teens brimming with emotions and hormones. A party full of adult women. Women who will say to her: you are valued, we are with you, we love you. Think The Red Tent but in the suburbs.
So, last weekend was Izzy’s 13. She had been looking forward to this weekend away since her big sister turned 13 a year and a half ago.
Fourteen of us packed up and drove to the mountains and nestled into a cabin.
We then told her of her value, her worth. We formed a circle of women around her. We read to her the Word of God. We gave her gifts. We prayed. We showered her with advice. We cried.
And then we partied. We ate lots and lots of carbs. We played party games. We decorated our hands and feet with henna. We created an art project so she could carry this weekend with her forever. We laughed until our sides and our faces hurt. And we kept it PG-13…barely. When we got in the van to leave, Izzy burst out with “That was SOOOOOOOOOOOOO much fun!” It was like she had been waiting all weekend to tell me that; to get Jade and me alone so she could reveal how awesome everything was. And it was. We not only told her that she was wonderful, we showed her what it was like to be a woman. To cook together. To talk about the things WE wanted to talk about. To sit all huddled in front of the fire. To show her the sisterhood that will, indeed, get you through your life intact.
When it was my turn in the circle, I reminder her of the words of Jesus, “You are the Light of the World.”
And she is.
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To see more pictures from the weekend, click here to go to Christiana Childers Photography.
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