he may not seem like a superstar

Abby is amazing and everyone notices. She is pretty, talented, smart, outgoing, friendly. We recently timed her to see how long she could go without smiling: not long. Dave's mom has always said she has a star hanging over her head.

Max is more reserved; he won't speak unless he has something to say. He is sensitive and caring but doesn't like people to notice him. He is funny (in the comedic way) with excellent timing and clever wit, but for a long time he got upset when he made people laugh. He avoids shirts and hats with slogans or logos that might spark a conversation with a stranger, or require him to explain his interests and tastes.

Max is talented and smart, just as much as Abby is, but in a different way; a way that is easy to overlook. But every once in awhile, we catch a glimpse of his star, not hanging over his head, like Abby's, but shining out from inside of him.

Like the first time we convinced him to practice his cello in our presence - many weeks after he started orchestra. None of us were prepared for how beautiful he would sound and it wasn't until the last concert of the year that we realized he was playing first chair; he never mentioned it.

When applying for an English class next year, which required a writing sample, I had him pull up a story he's been working on for at least a year or two. It was long - chapters and chapters and chapters long - but I found myself wanting to read the whole thing. As I am not a youth fiction fan, that's impressive!

Today he is supposed to teach a lesson in his church class. When he woke up I offered to read through the lesson, so I could give him some help if he needs it. His reply was something like, 'No, I already know what I need to do,' and then he opened the manual and asked me to type up some word strips to put on the board.

Outwardly, he may not seem like a superstar. But to those who know him best, Max is amazing too.

for better or worse

For a variety of reasons, Dave and I didn't dance at our wedding, and, neither of us being very romantic, we didn't have one song that we considered "ours." This wasn't really a problem of any kind, but we had a surprising number of people ask us what "our song" was, so we chose one at random: Silly Love Song  by Paul McCartney & Wings.

Admittedly cheesy, it's fun to sing and has the words "love song" and "I love you" right in it. No beating around the bush, nothing implied; it just tells it how it is. We started singing it to each other often enough that it actually became our song.

But even better than the song itself is the tradition it inspired. Over the past (almost) 18 years we have been married, we have collected more cheesy love songs; the cheesier the better. With the invention of facebook, youtube and rdio, it's become easier to find them and listen to them, and now Dave has a play list full of cheesy love songs.

There is no rhyme or reason to how we gather them. Sometimes they just pop into our heads, other times we hear them somewhere. Yesterday I woke up thinking of this one: Loving You is Easy 'Cause You're Beautiful by Minnie Riperton. And, last summer, Dave called me "Lady" for some reason, which added both Lady by Styx and Lady by Little River Band to the list.

These may not be the most romantic love songs, and some of them are just down right annoying. But they are "ours" and we love them, for better or worse. Just like we love each other.

liar, liar, pants on fire

I tried some clothes on this afternoon at T.J.Maxx, a task I loathe. Not only do I hate realizing I'm still fat, despite the hours I spend running each week, but I hate how the floor is nasty and the doors only cover the mid-section of my body, so that a really tall person could walk down the aisle and see me in my underwear.

The only really good part about entering a dressing room, for me, is the fact that most people seem to forget that only their mid-sections are covered by those stingy little doors, so everything they say is clearly heard by everyone around them. Since eavesdropping on strangers is a favorite pastime of mine, this scenario has high entertainment value and in a dressing room they can't see me, so I don't have to avert my eyes or pretend I'm not listening.

This was the conversation I overheard today. It is one-sided because the woman was talking on her cell phone...

"Yes, I'm on my way. The traffic is AWFUL! Oh, I know. I'm on my way. There is just SO much traffic and DETOURS everywhere! Well, I'm trying... I'll be there soon... I'm on my way..."

Liar, liar, pants on fire. The college students are gone now; there were hardly any cars on the road. And she was in there another ten minutes. :)

hope in his eyes

My schedule is all messed up at work right now, due to all the end of year stuff, so I haven't been reading with my students as much. The other day, one of the first-graders I read with saw me walk into the room and a big smile spread across his face. He pulled off his headphones and with hope in his eyes he asked, "Is it my turn today?"

Oh, that sweet little boy! There is nothing like a small child to remind you how important you are in life.

is this my favorite actor?

If you ask my kids what my favorite color is, they will tell you I don't have one, because I like all the colors. And I don't have a favorite food, because I don't want the other foods to feel bad. The same goes for movies, books, songs, bands, and the like. I told them this when they were little because the question, "What is your favorite...blah, blah, blah" often came up.

In truth, I don't really like all the colors in the world, and I know foods don't have feelings, so I don't lose sleep over that. In truth, I don't have favorites because I just can't decide. How can I choose only one book to love? Or only one dessert? There are so many variables at any given time, I can't commit.

For me, this has never been a problem. Aside from taking a bit longer to choose from a menu, I think I have managed to live a rich life. For my husband however, my not having favorites must have been a bit of a bane; at some point in the last 18 years, he started assigning me favorite things.

I'm not really sure how he decides, but it is fun to guess what my "favorites" are. For example, when he buys ice cream and I say, "What kind did you get?" and he says, "Your favorite," it's like a game to guess which flavor it is. And, since my memory is bad, it's a game every time. Right now my "favorite" is Orange Cream, which I do really like, unlike a former "favorite," Butter Pecan, which I don't like at all.

I also have "favorite" actors and actresses, which can either be people I do enjoy, like Johnny Depp, or people I don't, like Helen Hunt, who annoys me almost to death. For awhile my "favorite" actor was Greg Kinear (?) but most recently it is Hugh...Jackman. (I just had to check with Max.)  And once, at the beginning of a show, I leaned over to Abby and said, "Is this my favorite actor?" to which she replied, "Yes."

the great funeral potato famine

Tomorrow is Easter, so I am planning a dinner full of feast-y foods, including some standard Mormon-Mom dishes, like "Raspberry Delight" and "Funeral Potatoes." This is a treat around here since, although I am both Mormon and a mom, I am socially deviant and only make jello once or twice a year. I also typically avoid making dishes that have all my allotted daily calories in one serving, except on special occasions.

For those of you who have never heard of "Funeral Potatoes," take heart; they are not as morbid as they sound. They are simply some version of sliced, diced, grated or cubed potatoes mixed with a bit of onion, butter, cream of chicken soup, sour cream and grated cheese. If a person is extra fancy, they might add some crushed cornflakes on top.

Some people call them other things, like "Nauvoo Potatoes" or "Potato Casserole," but I call them "Funeral Potatoes" because in our church, when someone dies, it is tradition for the local church members to provide a meal for the family following the funeral. Most often, the church provides the meat and local members are asked to bring salads, desserts, rolls, and potatoes. And when someone you care about has lost someone they love, plain old potatoes just don't seem right.

But Funeral Potatoes are obviously very rich, so I only make them for funerals and feasts. Unfortunately, so does everyone else; late last night I sent Dave to the store to buy some frozen diced potatoes (by far the best way to go!) but they were out of stock. A store employee confirmed the potato supply was completely wiped out. None in the freezer case, none in the back.

Dave promised he will check some other stores this morning, but I am worried we will have no luck. We might be experiencing the great funeral potato famine of 2012...

i am at the cinema

Last weekend we went to see the Hunger Games. Since Dave had already suffered through it once with Max, I took the kids by myself. This rarely happens. I am a strong, independent, resourceful woman, but there are certain things I prefer to avoid. Like movie crowds. And mice. And drains clogged with hair. So when I go to a movie, I go with Dave. He buys the tickets, and the overpriced drinks and I find a seat with the kids.

This time, without my brave knight, Abby offered to buy the drinks. Unfortunately, they were out of the flavors she ordered, and she ended up with two Pepsi Slurpees instead. But Max doesn't drink caffeine and as I'm diabetic, a giant sugary Slurpee is not my friend, so there we sat with an extra $4 Slurpee when Dave texted me to see how I was holding up.

The cheapskate in me hatched a brilliant plan: Dave could come get the Slurpee and drink it at home; Abby would walk it out to him when he arrived. They both agreed, and when the time came, Abby decided to take the popcorn out for a butter refill. When she left, I pictured her traipsing around the parking lot with a giant Slurpee in one hand and a bucket of popcorn in the other, and I laughed out loud; loud enough to catch Max's attention.

Right after that, my sister called. Since I didn't want to start a conversation just minutes before the show, I used an automated message option that comes up on my phone. Trying to act quickly, I saw one that said, "I am at the cinema." Not quite the words I would normally use, but close enough. I selected that option and sent the text. Laughing again, I showed Max what I sent. He laughed but said nothing more.

Until Abby came back. Then Max described to Abby what had occurred while she was gone:

"Abby, Mom laughed like this, 'Ah, hahahaha' (putting a hand to his chest) and then sent a text saying 'I am at the cinema.'" Apparently this was an extremely funny thing, because they both took it up and have been at it all week; every time I laugh out loud, they put their hands to their chests and say, "Ah, hahahaha, I am at the cinema."

And, when I texted Abby "good night" the other night, this was her reply:

I am at the cinema.

Which made me laugh out loud, of course, "Ah, hahahaha..."