harmonicas and such

By choice, we live in a very small house. 900 square feet upstairs, 900 square feet down, and a bonus room behind the garage, nicknamed the "Room of Requirement." That is where Max's drum set lives, so technically it's not in the house. But all the other instruments are.

We have collected such a ridiculous number of instruments, that I counted them the other day: 4 guitars, 1 bass. Abby's french horn, trumpet and mellophone, and a flute from my mom. A ukulele, a banjo, and a tambourine. Bongos and cowbells too. A tiny violin Dave's mom loaned us when Abby was four, and an accordion I occasionally pull out of its case. I will spare you the list of harmonicas and such.

Sometimes I'm tempted to get rid of a few, especially the ones we don't know how to play. But then I hear Abby writing a song, or practicing her horn(s). Or I hear Dave and Max discussing some band. Or I play the piano for a couple of hours, until my heart and mind are at peace. Then I know music is the soul of our home and I'm glad the instruments live here too.

14 funfetti-filled years

From the time Abby was old enough to point at a box, she wanted a funfetti birthday cake. Every single year. Eventually we started to complain. I don't know why. It was only once a year, and it's not like I never baked a cake at any other time. Nevertheless, by the time she was 10, we had teased her into better flavors.

A couple weeks ago, she had a party to celebrate the end of the year. I offered to make some cupcakes but, short on time, told her we would just spice up a mix. We went to the store, to the baking aisle. I was looking for a few other things. When I turned around I saw Abby, her hand on a french vanilla mix, but eying longingly the funfetti box.

I encouraged her to get it; you're only young once. You should have all the funfetti you want!

Note: We added 1 box of vanilla instant pudding and used buttermilk in place of the water. We made our own buttercream frosting from scratch. The "funfetti" cupcakes were really quite good. :)

i am your monster friend

For some reason, when my kids were little, my mother-in-law was fond of giving them gifts that make noise. Most of them were Christmas things, like a creepy little tree with a Santa hat and big white eyeballs that popped open when you walked past him, followed by an unbelievably annoying voice singing "Deck the Halls" or some such carol. Or a bright red and green angel with yellow yarn hair, wings that beat gently back and forth, and a head that moved eerily around on her body as she lulled you into the Christmas spirit.

But one time, she gave them an extra-large stuffed monster who faintly resembled Animal from the Muppets. He didn't sing, but had two or three sentences he would shout out when roused. He was big, blue and furry, with a black mouth, scary monster teeth and pink (or was it red?) hair and beard. We tried to get them to like him, but they were never too interested in playing with him (What do you do with a monster friend?) and eventually we stuck him up on the closet shelf. He stayed there for weeks, months, maybe a year, until his batteries started to die.

When that happened, he would occasionally call out from the closet shelf, in his gruff monster voice. It only took a few times of him scaring me nigh unto death before I donated him to the D.I., but in memory, he lives on. Just today, I found myself telling the kids, "I am your monster friend!"

hard things

When I turned 40 I decided to start running. I figured instead of looking back on all the things I haven't done, it would be more productive to choose one of those things and do it. Part of my process was to look at all the reasons I had never run before. Most of them were obvious: A) It's hard. B) It's hard. C) It is really, really hard.

I then tried to look past these reasons to figure out the ones I could more easily solve: A) It hurts my feet and my knee. B) It's too cold/hot outside and I don't have time. C) I'm too fat; I don't want people to see me, which eliminates running outside or at the gym. I found solutions to these problems fairly quickly. New running shoes helped a lot, and a little ibuprofen at first. I bought a treadmill so no one would have to watch me strain, and I could fit in my runs (mostly walking) without leaving the house.

But then I was back to square one: running is hard.

I am not good at doing hard things. I know this because I have, occasionally, tried and given up. I have always required some natural ability at a thing in order to continue, and running was never my thing. I have accomplished other things, like playing the piano, serving a mission, graduating from college, becoming a mom. But none of those things ever made me simultaneously want to throw up, scream out in pain and cry all at the same time. Running has.

When I decided to start, I started out slow - like one minute at a time slow. I figured I could do anything for a minute. And I could. I did. But in truth, it was hard. I can remember counting down the last 30 seconds of every minute I ran. Gradually I worked up my intervals to 2 minutes, then 3, with an 8 to 10 minute walk in between. I still didn't love it. I never "got in the zone" and forgot to stop, but every minute I gained was a victory. I was taming my beast and it felt good.

In retrospect, running has definitely improved my health. But maybe more importantly, it has improved my attitude toward hard things. A few weeks ago I ran every step of my first 5k. I feel it is one of my biggest accomplishments, ever. Not because it is the most important thing I have done, but because it was one of the things I was least likely ever to do. And by doing this hard thing, I know I can do other hard things as well. Which is a powerful thing to know!

41

41 pages is a good start on a book. $41 is spent way too fast. 41 carbs is (almost) 2 pieces of bread. 41 days is too far off to think about right now. For 41 minutes I can endure just about anything, even running. 41 years is starting to freak me out.

what could be

Yesterday was the day my dad was born. He's been gone for years now, but I still miss him terribly. He wasn't perfect, my dad, but he embodied possibility. There was no "I can't" in my dad; there was only "let's try" and "we'll see."

A dream could be one or a million steps away from real life, but either way, it was worth a shot. So what if it ended in a pile of failed attempts? We were no worse off for trying and, no doubt, learned something new along the way.

I hope to instill possibility in my kids, the way my dad instilled it in me. I pray they will (sometimes) ignore my warnings of what will be and embrace what could be instead.

utah in march

For at least 6 weeks I've felt restless and worn. There have been a few days when I've crawled into bed, fully dressed, to get warm. And then today it was Spring. I know it won't last - not in Utah, in March. But for one lovely hour I worked my land. I could feel the sun through the coat on my back; I could feel it burning my face. As I walked, the ground was soft beneath my feet, not dried out and parched from the heat. Even the weeds were a hopeful shade of green, all mossy and wet. I know it won't last - not in Utah, in March. But for a minute I stood perfectly still, took a breath of fresh air, and felt completely at peace.