The Nutcracker

Warning: This post is fraught with public admissions of mistreatment to my parents, confessions of bad behavior, and general attitude problems. Just to warn you. My image may be knocked down a few pegs here. I can handle it though.

When I was about 14 years old I became the devil incarnate. Really. It's true. I was a beastly teenager and I am so scared for the karma that is undoubtedly mine to come in the next 4-5 years. But still, I'm pretty sure that whatever teenage Abigail has at the ready, it will be nothing compared to what I put my parents through at the same age. Evil makes me sound like a spring day when trying to describe my behavior.

Well, it was during this time that my parents wanted to try out a new Christmas tradition. They bought 6 tickets to the Nutcracker for all of us to go to together. It had to be expensive, I'm sure. It had to be a bargaining session between my parents, I'm sure of as well (my dad and dancing? Ummm. No.). It was a sacrifice to say the least.

When we got there I remember all the velvet everywhere. The giant nutcrackers in the entry to welcome us. Everything was so pretty. We climbed up flights and flights of stairs to our seats and got settled. After that it only took a few minutes for me to begin to ruin everything. I think I even set an Olympic record. A tall guy ended up sitting right in front of me, and so I threw a fit. I was the little bear in the bed and made everyone roll over until someone fell out and then I wrecked the entire evening. I'm sure I thrashed around in my seat so much that even people who weren't my family members began getting annoyed. I've never thought of that before now!! I probably owe an apology to total strangers as well!!

Dear total strangers,

If you went to the Nutcracker about 18 years ago, and were unfortunate enough to have to sit behind, next to, or in front of a family of 6 with a teenage girl who had blonde hair down to her waist who was acting like a total ingrate, I sincerely apologize. I would try to make it up to you, but apparently my behavior was so bad that it made "ballet" a swear word, and I probably won't be able to remedy that. Just know that my parents were totally disappointed and cannot be held responsible.

Sincerely,

The recovered bratty girl

The ride home from the event was icy, to say the least. Never, never, never, never again would we even think about repeating any event of the kind. Back at home I had a direct line to Satan himself. He called me up on the Devil phone and said "Wow. Nice work. I'm totally impressed. I wouldn't have even gone that far. Kudos to you, Christmas wrecker".

So now, 18 years later and with kids of my own, it is ironic that Jeb's work can get tickets for the event. We've managed to go 2 years in a row; the first year with Abigail and her friend, this year just me and my girls. It's really a lovely event and I enjoy it immensely. The dressing up, the elegant setting, the music. Really lovely. Both years we have invited my parents to come along with us (well, really just my mom. Remember? My dad and dancing? Ain't happening), but they just smirk a little and politely decline. I ask them if it's because of the fact that it is ballet, or the fact that it is ballet with me next to them. They always say they just aren't interested in the production, but I'm pretty sure that if I managed to get them into the theatre they would have a terrible flash back and begin to hyperventilate and paramedics would have to be called. That would be a new story for a new crop of strangers, though, wouldn't it?

I think it was right after Christmas that year that I began to reform, thank heavens. My parents managed to survive. But little did we know what was waiting in the wings - my sister Tracy was about to hit 14. Oh. The. Humanity.

My girls were much better behaved than I ever was. Abigail is taken right from the lifting of the curtain. Leah just had to be reassured that there were actually people in the bear and mice costumes, and that they weren't really real. Then came the only other 2 questions:

"Do all the boys wear girl shoes?"

and

"Are the boys wearing tights, or pants?"

My Persistence Has Paid Off

It has only taken 14 years of training, but I finally have Jeb right where I want him - scared to death. It happened after one too many pregnant hormonal freak outs over one too many items of clothing shrunk in one too many loads of laundry that aren't meant for the dryer. That's right. He committed the unforgivable offense of actually drying the clothes that were in the washing machine. How dare he!!

I get that he was trying to help, really I do. I just can't bring that understanding to the bulge in my belly that is cooking up all the crazy lady hormones in my head. That would take reason and rational thinking; 2 things that are among the first to go out the window when I am with child.

We both knew this would happen. I'm always hopeful that this pregnancy will be the one that won't bring out the psycho-crazy-head-spinning-pea-soup-shooting mom, but I'm always found powerless in the face of gestational hormones. When we told my side of the family that we were bringing the number of grand kids up to 7, my sister in law reminded me that she comes from a family of 5. She mentioned that her mom had to stop at 5 because they almost lost her in the delivery of that baby. My brother said "Don't tell her that!", but it didn't bother me one bit. I told them that really the only person who risked any injury to life or limb with this pregnancy was Jeb. If either of us wasn't going to make it through, it was absolutely my poor husband who would suffer at the hands of his mood swinging wife.

All of us could feel it brewing. The soundtrack of our house was starting to intensify, and all our hearts were beginning to beat a little bit faster and faster every day. It was just one bad moment when his good Samaritan efforts, with an unfortunate and unintended outcome, launched me over the edge. Poor guy. It's good he was far away from home when he called to check in on me. Even with that space I'm pretty sure I did mange to do some kind of damage through the phone. He hung up completely deflated. On the other hand, he would be in the hospital if it weren't for the distance from our house to his office.

To try to avoid this mistake in the future, he decided to make a simple sign for me to put on the washer when there are items in the load that shouldn't be dried.

See? Scared to death. Now, what should I do with this new found power? I could use it for evil, if I wanted to, right? I'll be thinking on that while he's driving to the gas station in the bitter cold to get me that drink I demanded before I burst into tears. Poor, poor man.

The Jazz Game

In looking for excitement while the kids are off track, we were lucky enough to attend a Jazz game. The kids had a lot of fun. Leah began covering her ears about a block away from the Delta Center, and didn't uncover them until we were in the car on the way home.







What? I know, I know. It's called the Energy Solutions Arena. But, my parents taught me that once you get used to a name, that name can never be changed. That is why my dad still calls it Grand Central (which then changed to Fred Meyer, and now doesn't even exist, but not in our house) and why my mom still shops at Pic 'N Save (which then changed to McFrugals, and then to Big Lots). Plus, ESA is lame, and Delta Center is just easier to say.

Anyway...


Hudson was in heaven. He has a thing for sports, you know. Football on TV captivates him and brings out the Hakka Dance in addition to his intimidating growl and the bearing of his teeth. So a real live basketball game was his idea of nirvana.

It was a fun outing. We had good enough seats for the kids, which is all that matters. They were also given calendars and programs as we entered the doors, so right from the start it was a success; and a success for mom and dad since those counted as souvenirs and we didn't have to go and get something from the tables. Perfect ending to a great activity.

Abigail's Secret Project

I am not into Reflection contests. It's just one more thing on the homework checklist that I don't want to have to put any effort into if it is not required - along with anything else that ends in the word "Fair". But this year, Abigail was all about it. She saw that there was a category for photography and just like her talented father, she has been bitten by the photography bug. For the past 4 years or so she has asked for some type of camera for Christmas, birthdays, and any other event that would warrant a gift. So when photography was a category that she could enter, she knew that she wanted to participate in the madness that is Reflections.

I was fine with that idea. She can run around and take kookie pictures of whatever. That's groovy. But when she told me the theme and what she wanted to use as her subject to convey said theme, that's when my heart swelled to the point of turning me into weepy mom.

The theme - "Beauty Is...."

The subject she thought would be the best - Grandma.

So, we arranged for her to follow grandma around for a few activities, but always on the low down. Abigail was set on making her project a surprise. She documented one of mom's treatments, grandma playing with Hudson while jam was cooling, and a few other outings where grandma put up with a camera in her face like paparazzi.

Sweet, sweet girl. She thinks my mom going through her cancer treatments is beauty. I've thought so during this whole ordeal, I just didn't know that Abigail had caught onto it as well. I am always amazed at the depth of my little girl. Some kids would cower at the sight of their grandma in the hospital (I have one who did), grandma losing hair, and grandma not feeling so well sometimes. But Abigail sees only the strength, grace, and beauty that has come out of these things. Oh, I love that girl. She's developed more traits from grandma than mom, that's for sure.

Here's the finished work and the pictures that Abigail took herself. Even though she didn't move on in the competition, I still think it was the best entry there.

She cropped me out of this one, thank goodness.

Leah Boo

Leah and I have shared some magic this year. It was the year she and I were 3 together. She was 3 and I was 3, too. Or 3-2. Or 32. Whatever. She was 3 and I was 3, too. This birthday magic started when Abigail was 5 and Papa was 5, too. Perfectly planned, if you ask me. But Leah decided to move on. She left me in the 3, too dust. Now she is 4 and I am just back to plain old 32. Not as much fun at all.

She's been very excited for her birthday. 4 is a party year for us. 4 also means that she is finally old enough for school, when school starts next fall for her. Bummer. I try to get them all to stop having birthdays at 3, but so far none of the kids have been takers on that. We had her party at our local aquarium with a few of her favorite friends. I think we all had a pretty good time.

Leah is my sweetheart. If you didn't know, she is the reason the sun comes up every day. I love her blond hair, big brown eyes, and chubby little cheeks. She sure does give me a run for my money, boy howdy. She is the reason why child proof doorknobs were invented. But, even though she is usually the reason behind my most frustrating days, she is also always the one to pull me out of them.

My Leah favorites from this year:

- She still wants to wear skirts every day. No matter how cold it is outside, she is in a skirt with ballet flats. Almost exclusively pink skirts and pink shirts. Her closet looks like it has been hosed down with pepto bismal (extra credit if you can place that movie quote).

- Whenever she goes to her friend's house, which is usually right across the street, or across the street and 2 houses down, she rides her bike. With every 7 or 8 pedals I hear "Love you, Mom!", another 7 or 8 pedals and again I hear her little Lullaby League munchkin voice yelling "Love you, Mom!", over and over again until she gets to her friend's house.

- She says to me "I can count by 10s. Want to see?" "Sure" I say. "10" she says. And then with a shrug of her shoulders says "See? It's easy."

- Leah mysteriously stopped sucking her finger sometime in this past year. I noticed it when, after a day of manicures, her polish was lasting. I asked her "Do you suck your finger anymore?" She said "Yeah, sometimes". I said "Really? Because I don't see you do it anymore. Do you only do that when you go to sleep?" She replied "No. I only do that on Thursdays and Fridays now".

- Leah asked Abigail to help her write her letter to Santa. Abigail wrote down everything Leah instructed. I then got the report:

Abigail: She asked Santa for ponies.

Leah: 'Cause I like 'em!

A: She would like Littlest Pet Shops.

L: 'Cause I like 'em!

A: She asked for Barbies.

L: 'Cause I like 'em!

I love my Boo. She is a wonderful warm ray of sunshine. I wish we could stay 3 and 3, too together for oh so much longer.

Utah Vs. BYU

Doesn't Jeb look a little scared at the prospect of taking Abigail to the rivalry game? Or maybe he's just scared of Utah.




Jeb and Abigail decided to brave the BYU vs. Utah game together this year. In the past we have thought that rivalry games are no place for small children. But, with it being at BYU this year, and having her dad at her side, we figured that Provo was probably a safer place for Abigail and Jeb than my parent's house.


Unfortunately for me, Abigail is a die hard cougar. I manage to keep them in my Utah fold until they are old enough for Jeb to start taking them to games. Apparently, I lack the excitement, Cougar dogs, and churros that the stadium offers, since once they begin attending the games there, their loyalty goes with them. I'll have to work on that.


Harrison is still with me, though. Really he is with any team that will get him a toy. He's easy that way. I'll take what I can get. Leah is deathly afraid of Cosmo, so she's still in my camp as well. Hudson has no choice in the matter whatsoever. He doesn't get to chose what he wears, and can't voice a complaint, so red it is for him.


The small Ute fans and I went to watch the game at my parent's house. It was fun. We had painted red hair, red snacks, and the game on full blast. Even our socks were red. Too bad the team didn't have our enthusiasm. Now Abigail and Jeb have bragging rights for an entire year. They are good sports, though. Abigail just called up grandma and papa and said "Go Cougars!". To which my dad replied "No way! Utah rules and Cougars drool!" Excellent comeback, dad. Abigail thought it was funny. If only the quarterback of the winning team had as much grace in winning as Abigail does. She's a good sport. Even if she does live with a classless mother. Watch out for next year!! We'll be on a rampage!!

The victor. Go Cougs, I guess.

Abigail and Grandma and Papa

Lucky little Abigail has been spoooooiiiiillled by Grandma and Papa lately. She has wanted to do a secret "project" that involved grandma (more about that another time), and so my mom has had a cute little shadow in the shape of Abigail for a few activities. First, Abigail was lucky enough to accompany Grandma to a treatment at the Huntsman one Saturday morning. While my mom was being infused, Abigail was taught the fine art of counted cross stitch. I remember being taught the fine art of counted cross stitch when I was about her age, too. Abigail and I both had the most wonderful teacher. We are both so blessed.

Next, my munchkin asked Grandma if she would teach her how to make jam. She had to ask grandma since this activity usually involves a stove, and so as a rule does not involve me. I have lost touch with stoves and ovens more and more with every baby that comes into our family. We currently barely even exchange Christmas cards. If you could just reheat jam in the microwave, then Abigail would have asked mom to teach her, but since there definitely is a stove involved, Grandma was just the right teacher.

The plan was that I was going to just drop Abigail off and then leave. I ran in to do some paperwork which ended up taking the same amount of time as the jam. This did not meet Abigail's approval. Oh, well. It was just the two of them jamming, and we ended up with 9 jars of strawberry jam for our house, and NOT ONE JAR left for Papa, which made our jam that much sweeter.

Next, Abigail was able to take Grandpa for 9 holes one Saturday afternoon. You would think that Papa would have taken Abigail, but with the way she spanked him on the course, it was absolutely Abigail who took Papa. She had a blast and can't wait for another go. Maybe this time she will drive the cart? Look out, Stonebridge. I think she and Papa have a few secrets from that trip, since every time we drive by Abigail looks at all the geese on the green and gets a devilish grin on her face. I wonder what she and Papa did to those geese. I guess that's a mystery that was left on the fairways of Stonebridge, and between just Abigail and Papa.

She is a lucky, lucky sweet little girl.

Off Track

We made it through another 9 weeks of school. Hallelujah. Now starts our Christmas off track. It really is the most wonderful time of the year. I get to love, mug, and chew on my monkeys every day at any time clear through the New Year. They have no choice in the matter. We are going to be sleeping in as late as possible, and then stay in our pajamas all day long. My mattress will finally feel comfortable with the perfect number of 4 lumps in it instead of the 2 that have been there by themselves for weeks. If you are looking for any of us, that's right where we'll be. All of us glued together wherever we go. All 4 of them beside each other, and right with me. I love it.

This off track brings even more happiness to me because I have the Santa Factor. If I want these crazies to do what I ask, all I have to do is remind them of that Jolly Old Elf watching, and boy do they move. It's done miracles in the past, and I hope it still works this year. I'm afraid that they have realized the strength in their numbers, though, and the threat of the naughty list is losing its hold on them. They know that if they don't do what it takes to be in Santa's good graces, at least our neighbors Grace and Brynn have had their names etched on the good list for life. My guys think that if they just wait until Santa shows up to the Christensen's house, they can totally take that bowl full of jelly, no problem. If this is the case, I won't be celebrating this off track with my 4 Christmas angels; it will be more like the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse that I'm dealing with. Let's hope for a happy vacation from school for all of us. If not, I'll just be munching on their 4 pairs of chewy cheeks from the depths of the time out room.