Western Day and Cast-offs

June had Western Day at school this week. I should have been deterred from dressing her up, given our last experience with her being the sole dresser-upper for Mismatch Day. But we forged ahead, mostly because I actually had a couple of pieces that would work for the day.

 

I couldn't quite get her sleeve over her cast.

I tried taking some pics of Gwen so that she wouldn't be left out. But I forgot that Gwen wants to be left out.

Daylight Savings is pretty much a bad word around here. Everyone is still adjusting. Gwen goes to bed later and wakes up earlier than the other kids and refused to nap. But luckily, she has been caving on the naps the past few days.

And we got the cast off yesterday!! When we arrived at the doc's office and were sitting in a full waiting room, June loudly asked if she was going to have the girl doctor again. I reminded her that she didn't have a girl doctor last time. And then she shouted, "OH NO, DID THE GIRL DOCTOR DIE?" That got everyone's attention.

She then informed the entire waiting room that she had poop in her underwear.

I was grateful that Gwen had woken with pink eye that morning because Dan came home to be with Gwen and Harris while I took June to the appointment. So at least I didn't have to worry about them as I rushed June off to the bathroom to take care of her little issue.

Grateful for pink eye--that's where I am these days.

She did have a female nurse and was very comforted that she didn't die in the past three weeks.

All done. She had been dreading the removal of the cast--she loves it so much. I was glad she woke up Wednesday ready to have it taken off. Because that thing is a pain!

Emerging Adults

I recently read an article that made me roll my eyes a little. It was about the millennial generation (of which I'm a member) and how instead of going from teenager-dom to adulthood, they seem to experience a transitional phase in their 20s, where they are considered "emerging adults". Cue "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" by Britney Spears, please. 

I was quick to be annoyed and mutter things under my breath like "these kids need to get a job" and "I change three diapers before the sun comes out every morning" whilst reading the article. I think I've quickly gone from teenager-dom to adulthood to cranky old lady the way I mutter things under my breath these days.

But alas, I was quickly humbled when I realized, once again, that I am very much in the emerging adult phase in my life (at least in a few areas).

The first being--I am freaked out by driving into the city and haven't done it.

Everyone in my congregation drives into the city at least occasionally. Yes, there are times when taking the train makes a lot more sense, but there are plenty of times that driving our own van would be better. And yet, I've been pretty scared about it.

So I finally put some big girl pants this last week, and Dan and I drove the kids into the city to attend the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

We woke up at 3:15 a.m. and were out of the house by 3:45.

People from our church have the parade figured out very well and attend every single year. There is a couple that stakes out a place. This year, they slept outside. What the heck. That is dedication. 

The rest of us showed up between 4 and 5 to help save our spots, and we walk about a block away to use the restrooms in the local LDS chapel/temple.

And yes, I realize that it doesn't really count as driving into the city when you are doing it at 4 a.m., and there are no other cars on the road, but it was a good baby step for us.

Speaking of baby steps, it might be time to acknowledge that we aren't in Florida anymore. Being the emerging adults that we are, we weren't quite prepared for the cold. It wasn't terribly cold, but it was definitely cold. We brought hats but didn't have gloves. And then Gwen didn't want to wear her hat.

Luckily, friends came more prepared than us. Unluckily, they are fans of the U. Hopefully, that BYU scarf warded off any permanent Utah vibes.

True story: Harris slept most of the parade. He's awesome.

Also a true story: Gwen threw a huge tantrum right before the parade started. She was tired and cold and I don't blame her. This event is not pictured.

While Gwen sat in Dan's lap and received comfort, June was front and center sitting with some friends. She benefited greatly from this decision because they brought donuts. I've taught her well.

She was also the recipient of a lot of interaction with members of the parade. I don't know which float this was from, but she was excited.

When we finally arrived home and took her coat off, about two pounds of confetti fell out onto her bed.

The confirmation that we are definitely not yet total adults was once again confirmed when Dan and I were caught fangirling after particular celebrities from our childhoods.

Dan, whose own hands were full with Gwen, asked me to take some pics of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

And my heart skipped a beat when I saw Nick Lachey and the other members of 98 Degrees.

Can we talk about how disturbing this was to me? I wasn't even a die hard fan as a kid. I must have just been caught up in all the excitement.

As soon as we saw Santa, we made a run for the van and avoided all traffic going home. Home in 45 minutes! 

Everyone was asleep in the first 3 minutes.

I need to vacuum my van.

In short, the parade was a lot of fun and we would do it again. In 365 days and no sooner.

A few days later, we went at an event much more our speed--the Morristown Christmas Tree lighting. 

And also--here's Gwen from this morning after I told her she could have a banana but had to eat it inside the kitchen.

Such a delicate flower, that child.

Pennsylvania, Another Injury and a Helmet Update.

Dan travels for work fairly often, but it's not a bad deal because he's usually only gone one night each time he goes. He goes the same three places--Tampa, Jacksonville, and Carlisle, PA. Carlisle is about 3 hours from us, and though it is a quiet little town, there is a ton to do between here and there. So this last time he went, we all tagged along.

I should tell you that Dan has been practically begging us to tag along, but upon our return he didn't seem to think we needed to accompany him again soon in the near future. Interesting.

 We had a beautiful drive down and a great hotel set up. Because I've turned into somewhat of a social hermit in more recent years and my kids are terrible in restaurants (and non-restaurants), we opted to order Red Robin and take it to the hotel with us.

The hotel itself was enough reason to go. Two bathrooms (we only have one), better television, continental breakfast, AND an indoor pool and jacuzzi. Basically a resort by our standards.

 Dan went to meetings, and we swam and ate and swam and ate. Mostly I just sat in the jacuzzi and watched the girls splash each other. It was great.

When it was time to leave, we checked out and walked to the car outside. Dan was helping Gwen and pulling a suitcase, I was carrying Harris and pulling a suitcase, and June was walking by herself. She tripped over totally nothing and landed on her arm and cried and cried. It was a familiar cry. The sort of shrieky cry that tells me an orthopedist visit is in my future.

BUT.

It wasn't like it was visibly broken. And we had already paid for tickets to go to the Turkey Hill ice cream museum COMPLETE with the ice cream making class, and we weren't going to miss that. So I told June to wait and see if it would be okay in a bit, and she agreed. She held it close to her and wouldn't use it but mostly forgot about it while we drove to Turkey Hill.

We had a great time at Turkey Hill, aside from my usual complaint that I am Doug Beck's daughter and want to start at the beginning of the museum and move from exhibit to exhibit in an orderly fashion, reading every word and not missing anything and my children are wild banshees who flit and dart from place to place and ruin my wonderful plans. I actually DO want to know how many cows are milked each day for the ice cream. I DO want read about how the company started and who runs it now and whatever else the heck my $9.99 ticket gets me.

But I brought these people. And they are most excited about the slide.

I'm just going to blame the fact that I thought this picture next to a random garbage can was a good idea on how crazy it is chasing little kids around.

June wanted the full dairy cow experience.

Which brings me to this picture. I am the biggest ice cream fan alive. And it kills me (KILLS ME) when Dan and I go out for ice cream at some place that sells their own amazing flavor of Chocolate Crunch Caramel Moose Tracks Swirly Lovers' Delight or whatever, and this guy always order BUTTER PECAN. It's his favorite. So I always tease him about being an old man. I took him to the Creamery on 9th for his first time a few years ago, and he tried to order butter pecan and the girl behind the counter wouldn't even give it to him because she was dismayed that that would be his choice for his first experience at that wonderful place.

We go to our favorite place here, Last Licks, and he does the same thing, and the girls behind the counter tease him. They call him Butter Pecan instead of Dan. We asked them what the average age is for the people that order butter pecan there, and they said it's easily 83.

So Dan was able to take his picture with his fave flavor ever, and imagine my surprise when we found out it's their best selling flavor of all time. What is happening!?!?! Say it isn't so.

Then we went into a cute room where they give you whatever flavor you want to try, and we all picked winners. I think I had graham slam, which I love.

Then we went for more ice cream eating in the Ice Cream class.

We each started with our own tub of vanilla and were able to add extracts, mix-ins and sauces to our hearts' content. 

June made something terrible with whole pretzels in it that she refused to mash up. Yum.

 Gwen wanted "something red" and then didn't eat it.

And then we left. It was a lot of fun. I should mention that we ate Taco Bell for lunch before eating several servings of ice cream at Turkey Hill, and I'm rather surprised we didn't all end up in the ER getting our stomachs pumped. No one had a lot of energy on the way home for some reason.

The next day, I took June to the doc, and sure enough, she had a hairline fracture and needed a cast. For those keeping score, this is her third cast, and she's only five. To be fair, they were all for hairline fractures which can heal without a cast, but they recommend a cast in case they fall again and do more serious damage. Upon departure from the doc, June fell on her newly-casted arm, so I think it's fair to say we made the right choice.

I'll admit I fought the cast. June LOVES having a cast, and she was begging for one, but I think they are such a pain. Oh well.

On the bright side, this was one of those rare days when I could actually manage a french braid!

I should mention another June moment here. It was about this time that my friend Jen sent me a text asking me if I had seen June's pic on the school district's website. I hadn't, so I went to look and what did I find?

You may recall that I posted recently about dressing June up for Mismatch Day at school. When she came home, she told me she was the only kid who dressed up. I asked her teacher about it later, and she said it was true. It was poorly advertised and June was basically the only kid who mismatched in her entire school.

 Well that day she was also selected to be in a photo showing the rock garden for her school. Each kid had painted a rock to represent themselves, and a few kids were pulled for a photo. So here is June flying solo rocking her Mismatch Day clothes among a bunch of kids in normal outfits.

 I don't know why they would pick her when she was looking like that, but whatever. I'm still cracking up so hard. I'm sure everyone thinks we are totally crazy.


And lastly--a helmet update.

Harris is making excellent progress, as shown by these two scans.

We already took family photos but now I kind of wish we would have done them with Harris' helmet, June's cast and mismatched clothes and Gwen just running past as a blur. That would have been more accurate.

Sabbath.

I started writing this post last Sunday after church, but the day got away from me. So I'm finally finished it and posting it now.

We had a great Sunday at the Jolley house. We've been making a concerted effort to have people--neighbors, fellow members of our church or Dan's co-workers--over for dinner on Sundays, but today all of our plans fell through. We love having friends over, but it was a nice change to have a quiet Sunday. I read a book. An entire book that I started just yesterday. It was cold and rainy outside and I planted myself on my bed with my old lady sweater on and fuzzy socks and 126 blankets and a heating pad and sat comfortably at my favorite temp of 80 degrees (Flllllllllooooorrrrrriiiiiiiiiddddddddaaaaaaaaaa, are you still there?)

I had friends join me on the bed for awhile, at which point no reading was accomplished at all, but silliness sure was.

I want to be one of those people who always has a book she is reading, but I'm not. Instead, I go months without reading anything and then for my birthday or Mother's Day or something, Dan watches the kids and I read a book in a day. Nothing too deep either. I don't have the brain power for that anymore.

I should back up and say that the morning was a little crazy. Daylight Savings reared her ugly head, and though this is supposed to be "the good one" where we all get sleep, anyone with kids under age 10 knows that's not happening.

So we got ready for church really early and had time to spare and so the girls colored.

And my writing activity with June for the day consisted of my helping her spell out "No Gwen" so that Gwen wouldn't take her stuff anymore.

At some point during church, I was looking through my purse for something and found a page of the hymn book. In my purse.

I hope we don't sing that one soon. Whoops.

I felt prompted to share my testimony, and I fought it. I play the organ and I teach Relief Society, and I'm an obnoxious over-commenter during most any class, so everyone hears from me a lot. Too much.

Actually, that's only half the reason I didn't want to. The main problem was that I felt like I should share a hard experience from my mission. 

You know how some experiences are really hard but a little while later you can laugh about them? Or at least smile about it? The burden from it has been lifted.

This experience still haunts me to this day, eleven years later. I still feel terrible about it, but I also recognize that it was a necessary teaching moment for me.

On my 22nd birthday, I had just finished up my fourth transfer in Romania. I had been serving with Sora Brandstetter for two transfers, and it was the best experience. I felt like we could run from place to place without getting weary. We were on the same page with regards to obedience. We taught a lot. We were also really good friends and laughed constantly. It was the best.

The day I turned 22, we went to a transfer meeting to get our new companions. It was there I found out that I would be receiving a "mini missionary". We had an odd number of sisters in the mission at that time and rather than having one companionship be made up of 3 missionaries, my mission president would often ask local members if they could serve as a missionary for six weeks. This was good for us because companionships of three can be really awkward on a doorstep, and it's good for the mini missionary to see what missionary life is like. Win win.

So I was asked to be a senior companion and I was assigned a mini missionary. This sweet sister that came to me wasn't particularly active in the church. She only came with casual clothes. She didn't know the lessons or even a lot of the doctrine. She was of both Romanian and Romani descent (Gypsy is the non-PC term), and our cultural differences and the language barrier were significant. But she was kind and loveable and wanted to do right.

Unfortunately, I couldn't get over how hard it was to serve with her--both to be in charge of everything as senior companion and also to figure out how to get her missionary clothing, teach her the doctrine and the lessons and find and teach people. I. Was. Stressed.

My 33-year-old self would have had the wisdom to slow down and do what was important. This was a great opportunity to help this girl become strong in the Gospel!

But 22-year-old Heather couldn't stop going the pace she was used to. I forged ahead, becoming almost robotic in my missionary work. I taught everything and at the end of each lesson, my sweet companion would bear a simple testimony about the Church. 

It was during such a lesson that a great investigator we had stopped me and said, "Sora Beck, you are a great teacher. You are so clear, and I understand you perfectly. But I feel love from your companion, not from you."

I was simply sick. Still am a little. But it made me think and made me change some habits.

The truth is--I still struggle with this. I would rather check things off my list than almost anything else. And I know that's wrong.

Anyway--my testimony was a shortened version of that story but the point of it was that I was so grateful that the Lord loves us enough to chasten us. The bad news is that we mess up. But the good news is--we get to change!