When I was a little girl I used to look forward to going to stake conference with my Grandma and Grandpa Webb. We would attend the morning session of conference at 10:00 o'clock, eat lunch at their house on Yuma Circle, and then go back to the Granite Stake Center for the afternoon session at 2:00 o'clock. I think the reason that we only have one session of conference now, the morning one, is that everyone slept through the afternoon session. The building was hot. Fans were required.
But even with all those fans fluttering, no one could stay awake after eating lunch.
Going to church with grandparents meant candy and airmail messages. They always brought soft, pink, minty lozenges to secretly pass into eagerly waiting hands. This candy eating had to been done carefully, so that we still understood we were at church and not a movie. My parents never ever let us have treats at church, but grandparents live by their own set of rules and that meant we could eat pink candy at church. The second part of the fun involved paper airplanes. Grandpa would write a note on a small piece of paper, usually writing some little thing like, "What do you think we are having for lunch? Do you like the music?" Folding the note, he would place it inside a small paper airplane made from the program, and then pass it down the row to us. Because the note was in a paper airplane he called it "airmail." We would answer back on the same paper, refold it, and place it back in the paper airplane and send it back down the row.
So now we are in the present time. On Memorial weekend I had the opportunity of taking Tehya, Jake, Jack, and Savannah to church. Yes, I thought, we can start our own grandparent church memories. However, I think my new memories are quite different from quiet pink candy and airmail notes. See what you think.
Marci had warned me to leave the house by 2:15 for 2:30 church. Having not paid attention to directions last January, we used Google Earth to see the way to church. I wrote down the streets, but forgot to write down the direction of the turns. We started out happily at 2:10, but my pride in actually leaving early became my downfall. I turned left instead of right on the main road (I can't remember the name) and we found ourselves passing Trailside Park. Oh, no, I knew that was wrong. Flipping a U-turn that I hoped was legal, we finally managed to find the church. However, our problems were just beginning. Marci had put Savannah and Jack's car seats back in the car before she left for Tom's wedding, but the straps were too tight. Poor Jack could only barely breathe and move not at all. By the time we drove into the parking lot, he was asleep, really that was the only thing he could do in his buckled in position. I grabbed Savannah, the diaper bag and the 20 pound church bag, made Jacob and Tehya promise to stay by me and then went around for Jack. He started crying after I woke him up and saying, "Grandma, carry me." Luckily, a nice, female churchgoer happened to park her car nearby, and I begged her to carry Savannah into the church. I carried Jack and the church bag and the diaper bag. On our way to the door I noticed that Jacob had two different shoes on, but at that point what could I do? I was really quite proud of him for solving his problem of finding shoes for church without any help from me.
As we entered the doors I could hear the opening song. Then I made the biggest mistake yet. I told the dear sister (I don't know her name, but I consider her my best friend) that we were fine now and I could take Savannah. I put Jack on the floor and carried Savannah. Now, I might have been fine, but Jack certainly was not. He grabbed my left leg and clung on like at blood-sucking leach and screamed my favorite words, "Carry me Grandma." I spotted a bench near the back and we paraded in. Tehya looking like an angel in white, Jacob in a brown shoe and white shoe, me and Savannah and the arm breaking church bag, and Jack screaming, still attached to my leg.
As soon as we sat down, Jacob and Teyha grabbed the puzzles to play with on the floor. Jack was playing with the felt princesses on a flannel board and Savannah was making cute faces at the couple behind us. I thought briefly about requiring some arm folding, head bowing for the prayer, but everyone was quiet at that point, so I just did the reverent part myself.
We made it through the sacrament okay. Savannah seemed quite content with one piece of bread and a sip of water for her and my dress. We moved on to coloring and stickers during the talks. Savannah ate the cracker snacks like she was starving. I wanted to put a sticky note on her dress saying I really did feed her lunch, but I just watched her amazed. Jacob suddenly announced that he needed to use the bathroom. I asked him if he knew where it was, he said yes and then left. After about a minute I realized I had just sent a four year old by himself to the bathroom. I told Tehya I was leaving, picked up Savannah and tried to sneak past Jack. That didn't work. Jack came with us, he's no fool. Arriving in the foyer, I realized I had no idea where the bathroom was. Another kind sister pointed the way and I prayed all the way down the hall that Jacob would be there. My prayers were answered when we met Jacob by the drinking fountain and all was well, for a nano second anyway. Having a flash of inspiration, I asked Jack if he needed to go to the bathroom, after all we were already near there. He said that he did and so we found the men's room and Jacob and Jack went inside. I could hear Jacob explaining the urinal to Jack and then they came out. I asked Jack if he had used the bathroom and he said no. I sent them back in, but again they returned quickly. I decided to take Jack into the girl's bathroom instead of letting the two little boys have another tour of the men's room. Jacob said, No, no, grandma, boys can't go in there." I asked him to wait at the door, but that didn't happen. Jack insisted on locking the stall door, which took a few minutes. Eventually we made it back to the hall only to find Jacob missing. Savannah, Jack and I marched back to the chapel meeting Jacob on the way. He said, "Grandma, I went to the bench, but you weren't there." Mission accomplished, all heads accounted for, we sat back on our seats.
By now Savannah had eaten all the Special K crackers. I did wonder if they were good for babies, and my answer came soon. Jacob and Jack covered themselves with stickers. Since my expectations were now no hitting or crying in church, I just let them decorate their shirts, bodies, whatever, with stickers. Tehya put a little, tiny sticker on Savannah's finger. Being smart and a problem solver, she figured out that the only way to get the sticker off her finger was to eat it. However, the sticker caught in her throat. All the gagging caused her to throw up and into my hand came the digesting crackers. I do not recommend stickers or Special K crackers for babies. The sweet couple behind us turned a little green. I did apologize, but I don't think we will ever become friends.
Thankfully, by this time it was time for the closing song. Primary, my salvation, followed. Because this story is so long, you will have to read the rest of the adventure tomorrow. Just be warned. My fantasy of church never did come true.
I love you, Teyha, Jacob, Jack and Savannah. I still love going to church with you.
Love,
Grandma
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Once upon a time there were three little girls: Maurine, LaRue and VaLoris. They lived on a farm in Riverton, Utah with hundreds of chickens, 27 cats, several horses, and a mean dog. Every day they had to help their mother, my grandmother, collect eggs from the chicken coop. Now this might sound fun, like Easter every day, walking around the barn with a basket picking up white or brown eggs from the hay, but chickens sat on those eggs with great hope. Can you just imagine those mother hens thinking, "why are you taking my eggs? They belong to me. I laid these eggs, so nice and round and perfect. You can't have them." So Maurine or VaLoris or LaRue would have to push the chicken aside and grab the nice warm egg quickly before the mother hen could peck their hands.
Besides tricking hens and collecting eggs, the three little girls had many other farm chores to do: picking beans, feeding pigs, and weeding gardens. Could you do all do that work in a dress? Of course not. So the three little girls wore overalls that had long baggy pants with big pockets and straps with buckles that let the pants hang longer on your body as you grew taller. They were made out of heavy, striped material that survived washing, wringing out, line drying, and patching. Overalls never wore out. They could be handed down from sister to sister, cousin to cousin, boy to girl. No problem.
Life on the farm continued in overalls until Aunt Norma came to town. As their Dad's youngest sister, Aunt Norma held a special place in their hearts. She was a woman of the world, she lived in Provo. She taught school. She hated overalls! Wait, what was that? She hated the favorite clothing of the farm. Overalls. She marched right in and told their mother that she never wanted to see her nieces in pants again. They were girls, and girls should wear dresses, not overalls. Oh, my.
Aunt Norma might have been strong willed and opinionated about dresses for girls, but she also understood how hard life was on a farm and how many eggs a farmer had to sell to buy dresses for play and church. So Aunt Norma became the first dress fairy. She bought dresses for Maurine, LaRue, and VaLoris with her teaching money, and then she expected them to wear them daily. I know the overalls were still the clothing of choice on the farm, but when Aunt Norma came to visit, the three little girls always wore dresses.
Maurine, LaRue and Valoris grew up and left the farm. Maurine and LaRue got married and had their own families. LaRue had Shaunda, and Maurine had Patty, Carol and Janet. Guess what happened? Valoris became the new dress fairy. Every Christmas she would buy the most wonderful dresses she could find for her nieces. Shopping at ZCMI and Auerbach's, she bought plaid dresses, blue, red, or yellow dresses. Perfectly wrapped, under the Christmas tree, surprise dresses. Oh the anticipation of having a store bought dress on Christmas morning. Maurine, my mom, sewed constantly to make her three little girls school and Sunday church dresses and we appreciated her efforts, but imagine walking past downtown store windows, looking at the displays and wondering if that most amazing dress would be under your Christmas tree.
Pat, Carol, and Janet grew up, got married, and eventually had their own little girls: Marci, Natalie, Jennifer, Michelle, Shauna, and Emma. For just a little while, Valoris continued as the dress fairy. But she added a new kind of dress, a lacy, ruffled, twirly dress, full of magic. As soon as Marci or any of the girls put the dresses on, they just had to spin and spin, twirl and twirl, the air lifting the skirt up into a full circle. Little princesses dancing to silent music and love.
Now Marci is all grown up, living in Virginia with her own little girls, Tehya and Savannah. Guess who gets to be their dress fairy? Grandma Pat. I buy you dresses of red, pink or yellow, plain or lacy, plaid or striped, but they always have to be twirly dresses. Do you feel the dress magic coming from Maurine to Pat to Marci to Tehya and Savannah. All princesses and daughters of God, with a dress fairy that wraps each special dress with love and a promise: you are special. Please don't forget it.
Love,
Grandma
Besides tricking hens and collecting eggs, the three little girls had many other farm chores to do: picking beans, feeding pigs, and weeding gardens. Could you do all do that work in a dress? Of course not. So the three little girls wore overalls that had long baggy pants with big pockets and straps with buckles that let the pants hang longer on your body as you grew taller. They were made out of heavy, striped material that survived washing, wringing out, line drying, and patching. Overalls never wore out. They could be handed down from sister to sister, cousin to cousin, boy to girl. No problem.
Life on the farm continued in overalls until Aunt Norma came to town. As their Dad's youngest sister, Aunt Norma held a special place in their hearts. She was a woman of the world, she lived in Provo. She taught school. She hated overalls! Wait, what was that? She hated the favorite clothing of the farm. Overalls. She marched right in and told their mother that she never wanted to see her nieces in pants again. They were girls, and girls should wear dresses, not overalls. Oh, my.
Aunt Norma might have been strong willed and opinionated about dresses for girls, but she also understood how hard life was on a farm and how many eggs a farmer had to sell to buy dresses for play and church. So Aunt Norma became the first dress fairy. She bought dresses for Maurine, LaRue, and VaLoris with her teaching money, and then she expected them to wear them daily. I know the overalls were still the clothing of choice on the farm, but when Aunt Norma came to visit, the three little girls always wore dresses.
Maurine, LaRue and Valoris grew up and left the farm. Maurine and LaRue got married and had their own families. LaRue had Shaunda, and Maurine had Patty, Carol and Janet. Guess what happened? Valoris became the new dress fairy. Every Christmas she would buy the most wonderful dresses she could find for her nieces. Shopping at ZCMI and Auerbach's, she bought plaid dresses, blue, red, or yellow dresses. Perfectly wrapped, under the Christmas tree, surprise dresses. Oh the anticipation of having a store bought dress on Christmas morning. Maurine, my mom, sewed constantly to make her three little girls school and Sunday church dresses and we appreciated her efforts, but imagine walking past downtown store windows, looking at the displays and wondering if that most amazing dress would be under your Christmas tree.
Pat, Carol, and Janet grew up, got married, and eventually had their own little girls: Marci, Natalie, Jennifer, Michelle, Shauna, and Emma. For just a little while, Valoris continued as the dress fairy. But she added a new kind of dress, a lacy, ruffled, twirly dress, full of magic. As soon as Marci or any of the girls put the dresses on, they just had to spin and spin, twirl and twirl, the air lifting the skirt up into a full circle. Little princesses dancing to silent music and love.
Now Marci is all grown up, living in Virginia with her own little girls, Tehya and Savannah. Guess who gets to be their dress fairy? Grandma Pat. I buy you dresses of red, pink or yellow, plain or lacy, plaid or striped, but they always have to be twirly dresses. Do you feel the dress magic coming from Maurine to Pat to Marci to Tehya and Savannah. All princesses and daughters of God, with a dress fairy that wraps each special dress with love and a promise: you are special. Please don't forget it.
Love,
Grandma
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Baby Robins
Once upon a time, or just yesterday, I saw a robin in the backyard. He had gold lines around his eyes, and so when he looked at me he seemed to be wearing glasses. He hopped down the wooden steps where Jack likes to jump off, hopped up on the rock that Jacob likes to climb, and then hopped across the dirt under the roses that Tehya likes to pick. Stopping once, briefly, he turned his head sideways as if to listen for underground worm sounds. He must have heard some because he began to chirp excitedly. Continuing on his inspection tour of the yard, he hopped to a sprinkler head and stood there like a king of the grass. "Chirp, chirp," he called to living things. To my great surprise, a lovely, fat (with eggs) robin jumped out from under the deck and joined him in conversation.
Flying quickly to a familiar branch of the cherry tree he seemed to say, "This spot is perfect, just like the place where we built last year's nest."
"You silly daddy bird," says mother robin chirping back. "It is the place. Maybe a fall wind blew our nest down to the ground and some sweet boy took the nest to school for show and tell. I like this yard and love the tree. I know it will be full of wormy cherries. Let's live here."
I wanted to tell the robins to be careful. A fat, orange cat lives in this yard. This is her yard to explore at night and sleep in during the daylight. But I didn't know how to speak robin, so I just watched. Robins, take care.
If the robin family does come back to our tree I think I will make a collection of building materials: newly cut hair, stuffing from quilts, yarn pieces, stuffing from quilts, and soft flannel. Scattering them on the ground, I will wait for mother robin to fly over and see them. "Oh, my," she will say. "They are having a sale. I think I will choose the hair and the yarn and the stuffing. The colors are perfect for my nest, just like the ones I saw at Mt. Vernon."
Little ones, do you remember last summer's picnic under the cherry tree? We ate sandwiches on a nice blanket and watched the mommy and daddy robins fly to the nest above our heads. All afternoon long we watched the parade: Mother robin flew in with a worm, naked baby birds popped their heads up all saying, "Me! Me! Me! My turn! My turn! Feed me the worm, I'm starving." Mother robin stuffed the worm in a beak and flew away. Dad comes in with his worm and the babies cry again. "FEED ME!"
Perhaps I should plant worm seeds this summer and grow fat juicy worms for the baby robins. Although I don't think Costco or Target or Walmart have such silly seeds for sale.
And so my dear little ones, you too are my baby birds. Your mommy and daddy bring you pizza and cookies and noodles and apples, but never worms. Sometimes you cry and say me, me, me, my turn, my turn, I'm starving. When nighttime comes you snuggle in your soft cozy beds with quilts and warm blankets, say your prayers, and know that you have a mommy and daddy who love you as much as the robins loved their babies. Sleep well, little birdies.
Love,
Grandma
Monday, April 6, 2009
For Tehya, Jacob, Jack and Savannah
Everything scared me. Like swings. What if I pumped too hard, went too high, so high that my hands let go of the chain and I fell off on my head and my face squished into a flat lumpy thing and no one knew who I was ever again.
Or maybe those airplanes I could hear at night carried bad people who would parache out of the plane as it flew over my house, and they would land on my roof. Dressed all in black the bad people would climb down the brick walls like geckos, sneak in through the open window, take all of my toys and cookies and leave me nothing to do but dusting and vacuuming and cleaning, forever.
Then there were apples. Oh my, big, shiny, red apples. Juicy, sweet apples all crispy and white sleeping in the refrigerator, just waiting for me to take a big crunchy bite with my loose tooth. Snapping, grabbing, that apple would snatch my wiggly tooth right from my mouth leaving me nothing but blood and a hole and a tooth for the tooth fairy. I would like my tooth under my pillow and worry if I would wake up in the morning and find pennies, or nickels, or dimes, or spiders, or caterpillars, or scorpions.....
But the scariest thing of all started in August. School. Kindergarten. Four blocks, two streets, two hours away from home. So many questions: Where is the bathroom? Is my teacher nice? Does she know my name? Do I have to write my name? Will I ever find my way home again?
On the first day of school, my Mom and I walked together on that long, long journey to school. Step by step, past barking dogs, neighbors, across busy streets, closer and closer to school. Then something magic happened, something so wonderful that I have never, ever forgotten that moment. I looked up at my wonderful Mother and said, "Hold my hand a little tighter." And she did. Squeezing my hand so tightly, her bravery traveled from her heart through our hands to my heart and I felt no fear.
And so, beloved grandchildren, please know that there is always a hand to hold. Holding hands a little tighter always makes you feel better. Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa like nothing more than to hold your hand and give you courage every day. If you need to be braver than you feel, just say, "Hold my hand a little tighter," and we will.
Love, Grandma
Or maybe those airplanes I could hear at night carried bad people who would parache out of the plane as it flew over my house, and they would land on my roof. Dressed all in black the bad people would climb down the brick walls like geckos, sneak in through the open window, take all of my toys and cookies and leave me nothing to do but dusting and vacuuming and cleaning, forever.
Then there were apples. Oh my, big, shiny, red apples. Juicy, sweet apples all crispy and white sleeping in the refrigerator, just waiting for me to take a big crunchy bite with my loose tooth. Snapping, grabbing, that apple would snatch my wiggly tooth right from my mouth leaving me nothing but blood and a hole and a tooth for the tooth fairy. I would like my tooth under my pillow and worry if I would wake up in the morning and find pennies, or nickels, or dimes, or spiders, or caterpillars, or scorpions.....
But the scariest thing of all started in August. School. Kindergarten. Four blocks, two streets, two hours away from home. So many questions: Where is the bathroom? Is my teacher nice? Does she know my name? Do I have to write my name? Will I ever find my way home again?
On the first day of school, my Mom and I walked together on that long, long journey to school. Step by step, past barking dogs, neighbors, across busy streets, closer and closer to school. Then something magic happened, something so wonderful that I have never, ever forgotten that moment. I looked up at my wonderful Mother and said, "Hold my hand a little tighter." And she did. Squeezing my hand so tightly, her bravery traveled from her heart through our hands to my heart and I felt no fear.
And so, beloved grandchildren, please know that there is always a hand to hold. Holding hands a little tighter always makes you feel better. Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa like nothing more than to hold your hand and give you courage every day. If you need to be braver than you feel, just say, "Hold my hand a little tighter," and we will.
Love, Grandma
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