The world is full of boring people and sad stalkers

It occurred to me the other day as I logged out of Facebook that I am fairly disappointed in people's daily, secret lives. In fact, I've discovered that most people's daily secret lives are incredibly and mind-numbingly boring. Just so you know, this makes me feel loads better about my own life trapped at home in the burrow. Knowing that other people's lives are as mundane as mine takes a lot of pressure off of me. I don't have to work to be interesting or relevant. I can wear my sweats all day. In fact, I think I will do both and then tweet about it, and people will read it. Huzzah! Greatest American Novel? Forget it; I'm blogging about hygiene again with perhaps a little dose of what the dog ate.

I used to wonder wistfully what regular people did during the day. I vaguely remember what I used to do besides work -- it involved errands and planning ahead and lots of banking. Now I know what others do. I know everything they do. They go to the gym. They go for coffee. Or they shop. And then they tell me -- and the whole Facebook world -- about it. "Oh Hey," I read on a recent post, "Stacy just pulled in to Trader Joe's." or "Look, Grace's 1st grade teacher is having coffee at Starbucks." It got me thinking that while I am happy that I am as ordinary as the rest of them, I am also disappointed in the human race for not being more interesting. FYI: When you ask someone what's going on in their lives and they answer "nothing," you need to believe them. People, you need to liven things up!

Even celebrities' lives are boring because they tweet or post the same type of stuff. What happened to the secret lives of celebrities? Are celebrities really as dull as the rest of us? Do they just want us to think that they are? If so, why? If you are going to be a celebrity, then be a celebrity. Tell us that you got the last table at a fancy restaurant that I cannot afford to eat at. Tell us that a famous designer just dropped off a whole new wardrobe for you. These things don't happen to the rest of us, and we'd like some insight into why we feel the need to worship you from afar. If it's because you are shopping with your family or taking a coffee break, then I'm confused. I do those things, and no one has given me the cover of Vogue. I realize that you are gorgeous, but I have gorgeous friends and no one is after them.

Which leads me to another point: I am starting to feel bad for stalkers. You used to need real skill to stalk someone (and a good pair of infrared goggles, a trusty map and a notebook -- not that I know anything about it). Now all you need is your phone and a global network. Why? Because people keep telling us where they are. Even celebrities. I think this bothers me most of all. If you've just arrived at a certain store and you let us know, or you are a celebrity and you tweet that you just finished a great meal at The Ivy or whathaveyou, then your stalker has a pretty good idea as to your whereabouts. He or she doesn't even have to try. It kind of takes the fun out of it. And for all our talk about safety and taking precautions in this scary ol' world, what are you doing mapping out the route back to your house?

Thank goodness for Charlie Sheen and his never-ending parade of debauchery to keep us on the right track. Not only does he never quite know where he is (presumably so he can foil his stalkers), but he also lives the celebrity lifestyle that I'm waiting to hear about. Charlie and celebs like him do things I cannot or will not do. For example, I don't have the wherewithal or the desire to destroy a hotel room with a hooker. I do not have the power to request only green M&M's in my candy bowl. I cannot in good conscience smack things with my guitar or get thrown off a plane. Those are tweet-worthy items. They may not make me worship Charlie Sheen and others of his ilk, but I'm pretty sure I can be amazed for a few short minutes. Truth is stranger than fiction, and sometimes we all need a dose of strange.

It used to be that the joy of logging on to Facebook was to catch up with friends who I won't see anytime soon and to look at their pictures or to read funny stories about things going on halfway across the world. Facebook has been brilliant in this regard, bringing people closer and helping us forge and maintain friendships that would have taken years with any other medium. The downside, of course, is our subjective lens when it comes to what is interesting or newsworthy. There are clever posters; there are sentimental posters; there are political posters and game posters (more cows for my farm, please). Then there are the "super posters," whose very job, they believe, is to keep you up-to-date. They believe in quantity not quality . . . or relevance . . . or even good judgment. Discernment, mystery. These are words missing from the vocabularies of super posters.

So please, friends, update me when Dylan makes his first touchdown or you need support because your twins are down with the flu, and it just sucks. Tell me about your latest trip to Costa Rica or the fact that your cat had 17 kittens and you are going crazy. These are the moments I want to hear about because they aren't happening to me. What I'd rather not hear about is your shopping, anything involving you and your spouse, bathroom issues, or any of the totally boring and ordinary things that are happening in my life too. Be mysterious. Show discernment, and who knows? Maybe I'll take up stalking again.

Farewell . . . for Now

It started out as a normal farewell dinner, if indeed there is such a thing. Farewell dinners, by their very nature, are NOT normal. In fact, they signify, quite publicly, that things are not going to be "normal" ever again. The farewell dinner states for those in attendance that the status quo no longer applies. It helps prepare us to think differently. What will life be like now? How am I going to feel about my world tomorrow? The whole evening became quite poignant for me in that regard.

At this particular farewell dinner, I said good-bye to my wonderful friend Diane who is moving to Chicago. She is relocating for her job, and she will be leaving in a matter of days. I said good-bye eight years ago to our other college buddy and confidante, Rhonda, who relocated to Florida to be with her now-husband Oren. It was hard to see Rhonda go, and it is difficult to see Diane go as well. We have so many memories here -- memories of achievement, of struggle, of friendship, of love, of anxiety, of sorrow, of encouragement, of bonding. These girls were present at the birth of all my kids, threw me a fabulous Goddess shower, read Mists of Avalon with me and exulted in our feminine power, and shared a graduate program and masters' exam experience with me. Both these women have been fabulous role models and friends, and I miss just hanging out and discussing literature and life and wine and food and everything else that makes a life. Diane and I usually meet Rhonda for lunch at Zov's, our favorite restaurant, when she is in town. Now, I will try to arrange lunches with both of them when our schedules all coincide. I think we all know that those occasions will be few and far between. This is simply what life will be now.

In the midst of this reverie at dinner, I felt a pull in another direction: a sense of farewell to a former self. Marc, our dinner companion, friend, and colleague of Diane's, was amusing us with tales from the office. Then, Marc and Diane took turns amusing the table with tales of their many work adventures. As I laughed and listened, it struck me that I had little to contribute. This had been my world for many years when I was working as an editor and then when I was heading up the non-profit. I knew some of the players in their escapades, but my association with them was long ago. My stories aren't current. Staying at home and educating my children is my new job, and most people aren't interested in the vagaries of this highly unglamorous (and grossly underpaid, I might add) lifestyle. My value is now lodged elsewhere, and it's impossible to wow a table with stories of ADHD medicine decisions, how Sean loves wearing his Mario Halloween costume hat everywhere, how Gavin won our first Bookopoly round the other night or how Grace is really bummed that Teen Titans has gone off the air.

Even as I write out these frustrations, I am keenly aware and know for sure that staying home with the boys is the best decision I could have made. I know that everything I'm doing now is of critical importance to the boys' growing selves, to their self-esteem and identities. I just want to scream from the rooftops sometimes that my life is more than the minutiae of our day-to-day lives. I don't want to be ungrateful; I know it sounds petty to complain about staying home when there are so many women for whom this is not an option. But I cannot make a living doing what I'm doing. We are struggling financially, and I am capable of so many things. I guess I'm just hoping that others will notice. I am a force to be reckoned with. I have skills!

These insecurities and neuroses lie deep within me or bubble to the surface depending on the day. Feeling a bit overwhelmed (and overweight I might add) that night, I fought with my feelings of inadequacy a lot, understanding that I am going through a season of my life, that Diane's life is not one that I could do well, that my life has value even if there is no paycheck, and so forth. I will have power one day, just not now. And just to underscore that idea, the waiter who had been very fun and attentive all night dropped off the bill and his business card, hoping to entice the table back for another visit. The only problem is that he gave his card to Diane and to Marc only. He did not offer me one, nor did he offer one to Jacquie, Diane's mother.

I'm not sure what his message was in excluding both Jacquie and me. Did he not think we would come back on our own? Did he think that we were not decision-makers? This slight bit of business, this unexpected oversight was hurtful in ways that Craig the Waiter could not have imagined. It shocked me. I felt ashamed. I felt angry. Could he not see that I was a person of value? Who was he to judge?

I went home that night defeated and just sad. Part of the sorrow is that my friend is leaving. Part of my sorrow is that part of me is already gone. I have to say farewell to who I was before staying home with the boys. I need to mourn that identity and take advantage of the lessons I am learning now so that the new me can flourish when I am given or I take the chance.

And Another Thing . . .

Hi there Target,

I am so glad that you now carry more grocery items. Imagine my surprise when I found Honeycrisp apples and Greek yogurt the first time I looked around. Awesome. You are my favorite store, hands down.

However, you need to hire people who know how to bag groceries. It was a bit disconcerting to find my apples in the same bag as the new hand soaps I bought. Even more disturbing was to find my new yogurt in the same bag as two heavy cans of soup. That my yogurt did not burst open on the way home after being jostled against the Progressos had to be an act of the gods.

Just a helpful hint. Thanks!

Halloween 2010

Sean and Gavin as Mario and Luigi, respectively.

Grace as a female Robin Hood.

Halloween was great fun this year. It was mellow and relaxing, unlike other years where there were costume parades and class parties, which, although lots of fun, brought lots of stress and planning and running around.

The boys chose Mario and Luigi costumes after the video game characters. Sean really wanted to be Yoshi, but there were no costumes to be found (except expensive ones online). It took a lot of coaxing to get him to decide on Mario, but he did it. Gavin was a great sport and said he would be Luigi if Sean wanted to be Mario. This concession did the trick, really, and it was pretty hilarious watching the boys put on their costumes and then speak with Italian accents for several days. Gavin even said "Grazie" to each person who gave him candy, and Sean decided to wear his Mario hat everywhere regardless of the weather or his outfit.

Grace had wanted to be a box for Halloween until we told her that she probably wouldn't fit in anyone's car if she constructed too large of one. She acquiesced only after she figured she could be Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games. There were no Katniss costumes, per se, so she settled on Robin Hood, and she looked darling.

Fulton had a costume day, and Grace went as her Robin-Hood self, but she had to dress out for PE which kind of sucked, and others in her class were not happy about having to remove their costumes and run laps. As she remarked, "You know, we'd have a lot more school spirit and a lot more participation in these dress-up days if we didn't have PE." I totally get ya, my girl.

The boys didn't dress up until Trunk or Treat at the Peterson's Church on Saturday night. We arrived a bit late, but no biggie -- the kids got candy, played games and danced a bit. Then we went back to the Peterson house for some serious candy swapping and dessert. It was great fun and a very memorable night. The boys remarked that it was one of their best days ever.

Halloween night was fun too. Kirk, Alexis and Raelee came over, along with Grandpa Charlie, and we had a great dinner and then set out around the neighborhood. After the smaller kids pooped out, Grace and Mom went with Aunt Laurie and Maddie to another tract and did some more trick-or-treating.

So much fun. So much candy. Way too many Italian accents.

Targeted Behavior

I love Target. Target is one of those places we visit frequently and where I could drop $500 a month easily. I don’t, but I could. I’m just saying. I love that I can find Halloween costumes, a bicycle pump, moisturizer, scotch tape and Ho-Hos all in the same place. While we were tooling around the new grocery section on a recent pilgrimage, a mom with two small children called out to Grant to ask if he could help her reach some wine bottles on an upper shelf. My husband being the affable guy he is said sure and got them down for her.

Now, Grant is happy to help others, and someone asking for his help isn’t the most blog-worthy thing in the world, so you might be wondering why I am commenting on this. Well, the reason the woman chose Grant to help her is the reason for this post. The woman said she felt comfortable asking Grant for help because she had heard him yelling at our kids and she totally understood. Apparently, after overhearing Grant talking to the kids (she said yelling), she felt a particular kinship with Grant and felt confident asking him for help. Weird! We decided that the request, couched in her terms, was indeed strange, for many reasons including the following:

#1. Grant wasn’t yelling at the kids. I have heard my husband yell, and believe me, it is not a subtle thing. You will know when he is. Instead, he was telling them in a rather stern voice that he was tired of their not listening and following directions and would they please follow the cart so as not to get lost and so that he could tell them where we were going next. Taking twins with ADHD (one who cannot stop talking and the other who could get lost in a closet) out anywhere is a challenge, and I’m the first to admit, it’s easy to lose patience with them, but Grant’s voice was nowhere near a code red.

This woman could have referred to his “reprimanding” or could have said, “I overheard you talking to your kids, and I totally sympathize,” or she could have NOT SAID ANYTHING AT ALL and given him a knowing smile or a nod of understanding. However, even those options seem weird. Why not just ask Grant for help with no commentary? Most people ask for a simple favor without needing to invoke the “it’s okay if you lost patience with your kids” club membership. Perhaps she thought Grant would be embarrassed that someone overheard him, so she was trying to say that it was okay. Maybe she had just laid into her kids and she wanted to feel better herself. Not sure. But it seems that using eavesdropping as a basis for a request conveys the idea that Grant will be obliged to help her out of guilt at his “lapse” and that to refuse her really means he’s guilty.

#2. She commented on our parenting skills, even if it was to show solidarity. I’ll admit that I assume – incorrectly, of course – that all of my parenting moments take place in a vacuum. I know this is not true, but I’ve really never had anyone comment or applaud after I do or say something. Most just go on their merry way, judging silently, (which is what I do). I’ve overheard other parents in a store doing something that I wouldn’t do, but I keep these comments to myself. I think, “Wow. She’s stressed. Been there,” or occasionally: “Wow. I’m so glad I’m not her kid;” or “Wow. That was a great way to handle that question. Gotta remember that.” I think it is part of human nature to assess others’ parenting styles and solutions because we are searching for ways to validate ours. However, we don’t normally comment out loud to the other parent or rate them or say, “Because of what you did, you are now beholden to me for a brief amount of time.”

#3. The woman really wanted her wine. I feel her pain. I really do. She had two little ones in her cart and she couldn’t reach the top shelf. Dammit! So, rather than going on a search for the closest Target employee, she found the closest human who could actually reach the stuff. She wanted/needed those particular bottles, and Grant was the key to her getting her booze. Okay, perhaps I’m overdoing it, but it does seem as if she pulled out all the stops to just get this one thing done. I do know how she feels. When you are running errands by yourself with lots of kids hanging in and out of your cart, sometimes you just have to say, “I’m overwhelmed; please help me” so that you can get your errand done and go home. Maybe she was at that point. I’m just not sure why she didn’t just politely ask for a hand and then say thank you and move on. Wine causes people to do crazy things, but that’s usually after you drink it.

This poor woman. She’s in my blog now and all she wanted was a little help. I don’t think she planned on being judged, nor do I think she really meant any harm by what she said. It’s just another instance where human beings try to connect on some level but miss. We have all said things in a way that was misconstrued by the person on the other end. Sometimes the baggage we bring to an encounter keeps us from understanding someone’s true motivations or message. Ah well. Just another day at Target. Next time we’ll stay out of the wine aisle and keep our voices down.

Happy Birthday, Melissa!

In this happy picture, I am posing with one of my best friends in the whole wide world. Melissa is so fantastic and has become like a sister to me. She makes me smile and laugh, and we have great adventures together, including hunting down our favorite authors all over the Southland! She loves books as much as I do, and she is the one who introduced me to the Twilight series waaaayyy back when the books were new and Stephenie was a regular visitor to twilightmoms.com. Melissa was one of the original Twilight Moms and got to visit more than one movie set and meet Robert Pattinson and the other stars. She has been on TV in various capacities, sings at Segerstrom Hall on a regular basis, and is the queen of all that must be organized. I love her sense of humor, her capacity for understanding, and the value she puts on friendship. She is very creative -- coming up with awesome ideas for her girls, whether it's for their scrapbooks, for their parties or to reinforce a spiritual lesson. She is passionate about education and I know that she will change the world for the better. God has given her so many talents and gifts, and I am very happy that she shares those with me. Happy birthday!

Letting Her Fly

Fulton Middle School had its Back to School night last night, and for the first time, I really got to see what my daughter will be doing this year. She has been in school for four weeks, and she's doing great, but I really had no idea what challenges she was facing each and every day. I came home in awe of my 11-year-old and what she has done in this first month at a new school and with more challenging curriculum.

1. She has figured out how to use her locker.

2. She has devised a system for keeping her classes and schedule straight so she knows what books and folders are needed and when throughout the day.

3. She has navigated the PE scene, where she can dress out for PE and then back to her regular clothes with relative ease and virtually no embarrassment.

4. She has charted a course so that she can make it from the front of the school where her English and Social Studies classes are to the portables in the way back of the school for math without being late.

5. She has found ways to have fun and laugh despite having to carry the heaviest backpack in the world.

6. She has bounced back from an incident in science where she forgot her assignment and received a zero.

7. She has made some new acquaintances and has enjoyed getting to know familiar faces better.

8. She has learned to check the school email system every night so that she can double-check what assignments are due and compare that information to what she wrote in her notebook.

9. She has chosen a wardrobe and hairstyle that reflect her personal style and make her feel good about herself.

10. She has been patient with me as I flit around her not knowing how to help and wanting to make her transition to this new school easy and painless.

After hearing what her teachers have in store for her this year, I am thrilled for my daughter. For the first time ever, she is being asked to use the brain God gave her and is being taught amazing things. She will not have an easy time, but I was impressed with what the teachers want these kids to learn and the creative and innovative projects that await them. My only concern is what do I do now? How does my parenting style that involves so much protecting and shielding line up with my daughter's newfound joy and confidence?

All I can do is open my palms so that the little butterfly can see the open sky and watch in awe as the butterfly dances upon them before taking off. She stamps her tiny feet on my palms so that some of the dust from her wings shakes off and lands there. She'll know the spot to come back to. She'll recognize it. All I can do is send her soaring and watch how she uses the currents to fly higher or dodge danger. All I can do is hold my breath as the sun threatens to scorch her wings or the rain threatens to drive her down. All I can hope is that she'll alight safely in my palms again although I know that she'll never tolerate my palms closing over her. She's seen the sky; she knows how to fly now. I will have to find new ways to protect her that don't diminish her need or desire for the wind.

Grace: rabble rouser and funniest person ever

Gavin and Sean decided long ago how they felt about their sister. As soon as their consciousness evolved and they realized who she was, they both crowned her "funniest and bestest person alive." Grace has always been a great sister to them. She's made them laugh and created wonderful games and shared her books. Now she makes for great entertainment because they know they can annoy her. She is and always has been the life of their party.

Grace, for her part, has enjoyed their attention, has created fun games for them, and has tried her best to teach them valuable life lessons (Gavin, catch the ball like this. Sean, you are not playing fair.). In the past couple of years, however, she has become even more important to them as they have decided that her jokes and funny sayings are the world's most creative. She can rile these two up just by walking in a room. If I am still teaching lessons when she breezes in from school, I need at least 30 minutes to get the boys back in focus. One line from her can leave them breathless on the floor from laughing. (Africa is a lima bean!) The worst thing is that they repeat EVERYTHING she says whether they understand the context or not. A line from Grace is pure gold -- comedic genius that must be repeated as often as possible.

One of the latest gifts from Grace is the fart/burp game. Using every ounce of tweenage creativity, Grace and her pals devised a game where when you burp, you stick your pinky finger on your forehead and say a color: "blue," "green," etc. When you pass gas, you stick your thumb on your forehead and say a shape: "square," "circle," and the like. Now the boys took to this game like pigs to mud, and, of course, normal colors and shapes do not apply in this game. So now EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY, I am faced with unusual colors and made-up shapes being shouted from every corner of the house because even if you do not do the burping, you still get to comment.

buuurrrrppp: "Cerulean!" "Mahogany!" "Ding!" (more on ding in a second)

fffaaarrrttt: "Rhombus!" "Hexagonal prism!" "Trectangle!" (more on that in a second)

Having children who a) like to one-up the other and b) are never happy with traditional choices means that I get to hear really bizarre things every day. For instance, Grace and her friends have voted and "ding" is now officially a color and Trectangle is a new shape -- I haven't asked for a drawing yet, but I do plan on it. I had to laugh this morning as Grace and two of her friends sat around the breakfast table, burping and dinging all morning long, with an occasional pause for a rhombus or two.

Grace, I thank you for your off-beat and strange humor. It makes our house loud and fun, and it makes your brothers love you to bursting.

Photography

Grace is taking a photography class at Fulton. These were a few of the shots she got while on a "nature walk" on campus. So cool!

International Talk Like a Pirate Day

September 19 is International Talk Like a Pirate Day. How do I know this? I'm not really sure why I have remembered the date, but Kevin and Bean from KROQ talked about it years ago, and since then, every September 19 has found me dusting off the pirate lingo and spending the day accosting folks with "ARGH!" or "Ahoy Matey," which as you know is the standard pirate greeting.

If you choose to participate tomorrow (and you should), you can also pepper your conversation with the following:

Avast me hearties!

booty (one should always use this word, even if it's not talk like a pirate day)

shiver me timbers

Davy Jones's locker

land lubber

There are many more examples on the Talk Like a Pirate Day website. You can also find out your pirate name, which can be helpful when you find yourself in a situation where you have to identify yourself to a group of pirates. Saying your name is Sheryl Mosher isn't as impressive as saying your name is Captain Ethel Kidd.

Have fun tomorrow. Try talking like a pirate in church. I know I'm going to. It might bring a whole new and deeper understanding to the message. Or it just might bring about "Arrrrrmageddon."

If you've got a problem . . .

Yo, he'll solve it. Check out his moves while the

DJ revolves it . . .

Word to your mother.

Love Letter to Sean

On one of the last days of school for the boys, Sean was working steadily on a project at the kitchen counter. He was hunched over, busily working, and then asked out of the blue about military school. My boys often ask things out of the blue, as this is their nature, so I wasn't totally surprised. But I was curious about the subject matter this time. He turned around and said in a very concerned voice, "Mom, do kids at military school ever get to come home?" When I told him that they do get to come home on holidays, his eyes welled up, "You mean, they don't get to come home on their birthday?" When I told him that no, most would not be home on their birthdays, he just started sobbing. I told him to climb in my lap and hug me, and I promised him that I would never send him or his brother or his sister to military school because, after all, you have to spend your birthday with your family.

Such is the life of my son, Sean, the sensitive one. He is always one breath, one heartbeat away from feeling deeply about a person, an object or even a piece of music or a poem. He is, like his sister, always feeling what others feel. He can put himself in their shoes, and he doesn't like it when the outcome isn't happy. He wants happiness and joy always, so he is affected by music that is dark or suspenseful. He can sense when someone is going to be embarrassed by something in a television show, and then both he and Gavin -- who is also very in tune with embarrassment -- will run from the room with their hands over their ears. Only when he knows things will turn out okay will he venture back in to watch. Sean is my child who needs to take walks during movies when the tension is too high or the music is too powerful.

Because of this bounty of emotional energy, Sean is both irresistible and difficult. He is the child you want to shelter from the storm, comfort in sorrow, and jump for joy with because he truly experiences all these things. The difficulty with emotions is that they are fleeting and can be temperamental, so he may whirl things up and just be mad. He experiences almost everything to the fullest, so anger is part of who he is. He seethes when teased instead of letting it bounce off him.

Sean is so very smart. He spends a lot of time thinking and dreaming up ideal video game scenarios and cool inventions. His imagination knows no bounds, and he doesn't apply normal boundaries to things. He is a free mind, willing to look at impossible things as just events that haven't happened yet. If you want to have a conversation about space travel or time travel, you can have a pretty good one with Sean, and it won't matter if the science isn't sound. All those details are relative.

Sean is a child who can meet his own needs. This has led to some funny situations, like his ordering room service when he was four because he wanted to try some warm milk. He doesn't sense boundaries the way others do (we're realizing now this is part of his ADHD -- more on that later), so he finds a way to get what he needs. This sounds like rationalizing bad behavior, and sometimes he does do things wrong, but other times he is simply searching earnestly for ways to meet his own needs. For instance, getting a book in class to read during silent reading when it's not time to be out of your seat, asking the librarian immediately where the book he wants is as opposed to spending some time finding it, peppering Grandma with video game requests the second he has a new one in mind, navigating through the world of "cheat codes" on the computer to find out how to conquer the next level. He is not afraid to try something if it means that he can achieve his objective. And yes, Grant and I see both the danger and the potential for greatness in that character trait.

Sean makes me happy most days because of his willingness and desire to share himself and his feelings. He wants hugs and kisses from me and will walk up and ask for them. He is so complicated and lovely and open. I cannot wait to help him grow up into such an amazing man, in tune with his emotions and able to share himself with others. I want to teach him to live passionately and enjoy life while accepting society's rules and to not get too discouraged when life gets tough and messy.

Back to School

This picture was taken on August 30, the first day of CAVA 3rd grade. The boys were up and ready to work (and eat breakfast) at the counter where we do our lessons. They were in a great mood for the first day of school (going out for doughnuts really helps), and we buzzed through our lessons in record time.

Grace was home on our first day of CAVA because Fulton didn't begin until later in the week. It was nice to have her home for our first couple of days, even if she does rile up the boys a bit.

Here is the daughter on her first day of middle school. She was awake early and ready to go. It was a Thursday, which is early day, so she didn't have to worry about packing a lunch. Her bookbag was heavy enough with the binders and school supplies, but she was confident and felt good about starting her year.

I am so much more calm for the start of this school year. I was actually looking forward to the start of school, not because I wanted the kids out of my hair or I was craving a routine (although I do like a good routine), but because for the first time in a long time, I am not stressed about the outcome. I am not worried about my boys. I am confident in my daughter and eager to see her rise to meet new challenges.

Thank you, Lord, for small mercies: for the beauty in first days of school that are free from anxiety and worry. Help me manage my insecurities and anxieties so that there will be many, many days like today.

The Unforseen Conclusion, Part II

Picture by Grace Mosher

Well, so much has transpired since summer, when our fact-finding mission about the boys heated up and then came to a graceful end. It was one of those life experiences where you are terrified going in -- scared to hear the diagnosis, trembling at the thought that so many mean-spirited, horrible people could have been correct in their assumptions about my children. Was there something terribly wrong with them that made them unable to keep quiet in the classroom, ask questions non-stop, be obsessed with Pokemon and other video games, prefer adults to children, get really, really upset when they lost a game or did poorly on a test, or refuse to participate in activities that they knew they wouldn't be good at? What did all these behaviors add up to? Only God knew, and once again, He provided an answer that surprised me -- a second, unforseen conclusion.

In May, on the advice of our pediatrician, we took the boys to see a neurologist in Long Beach. I was so worried that these boys had autism or another spectrum disorder since that is what certain teachers and others kept intimating. I didn't want that diagnosis -- no parent does -- but I was finally prepared for it. I needed to find out what was going on in their heads. What made these boys tick? If they needed help, I was going to have to ignore my pride and get it for them, so we began the journey with a trip to Dr. Lake.

The boys were their usual talkative selves, asking the doctor questions and providing running commentary. She asked me questions and then listened while I gave her our whole story, stopping to acknowledge the boys and their interruptions whenever they occurred (something I really liked about her). She then paused and said, "I don't really know why you think they have a spectrum disorder. I'm not really seeing that." My heart leaped. "For one thing," she continued, "they both immediately engaged me the second I walked in the door." (we know that is their way -- talk to EVERYONE, ALL THE TIME.) "Children who are affected by spectrum disorders do not willingly engage anyone, even those children who have been in therapy and understand social protocols. They usually have to be approached first. I'm really not seeing this, but I will refer you to a specialist if you are interested, though I'm not sensing you are." (She was quite astute.) However, I am seeing something." I drew in a breath and held it. "I think they have ADHD."

I was shocked. I had never in my life considered ADHD since both boys can sit for a really long time completely and totally engaged. And they love learning about anything, so they don't jump up and run around and miss key points of a lesson. What I didn't understand about ADHD is that it affects children differently and there are host of symptoms and behaviors that accompany the diagnosis.

I left there amazed and relieved. While we would have to learn more about ADHD and the symptoms, overall the boys would be okay. I was relieved to learn that there was something concrete that was driving some of their behaviors. I was amazed that the same condition that affects millions of children also affects my own. But most of all, I was encouraged and humbled that my God had been watching over these boys and us all the time, steering us toward this eventual path. Along the way He knew I'd hear some devastating words from people, so He made sure I had wonderful friends and confidantes there to shore up my defenses and keep me sane. He also showed me some teachers who are amazing and love all children, so I wouldn't be so disgusted with education as a whole. He knew that I would eventually get to a place where I needed to know the truth, and He was there to surprise me with some unexpected news. I am grateful for such a creative God, who delights in surprises, rescuing His followers from seemingly impossible situations and providing unforseen conclusions that cause us to behold Him in awe.

Vegas, Baby!

Yes, this picture is of the Moshers in good old Sin City. We took a last-minute summer trip across the desert and hung out with good friends. It was 105 every day, but, you know,

it's a dry heat.

We started off our trip on Sunday, August 22. We drove through to Barstow and ate lunch at Del Taco. This restaurant was a wonder to our kids for three reasons: drawings and renderings of all the Del Taco restaurant styles from 1964 to present (this thrilled Gavin), giant, jaw-stretching gumballs (Sean was in heaven), and tacos that were filled to bursting, unlike our regular Del Taco (Grace was full after two tacos -- unheard of!). Gavin was so enamored of this particular restaurant that he asked us to "bookmark" it for future trips.

Sean and I enjoy goofy time.

One of the highlights of our trip was hanging out with the Lawrences, who stopped in Vegas on their way home from the Grand Canyon. Here, Uncle Mike takes on all the kids in the Marriott Summerlin Resort pool. He was a trooper. The Mojitos we were enjoying poolside really helped him. They also helped me, but not for the same reason.

Look at this face. She is soooo cute. We love Kellen.

And Kellen loves the pool. She has no fear.

On Sunday evening, we went to Chili's and celebrated Jay's 8th birthday. We were so fortunate to time this so we could enjoy his special day. Jay got to celebrate his birthday in the states of Arizona and Nevada, but not his home state. Wacky!

Sean was quite the fashionable dude in Vegas. He was bound and determined to wear his funky magician hat all over town. Where else but Vegas, right?

The other reason we went to Vegas was to visit our friend Rod and his son Christian. Christian just graduated from high school and will be heading off to the Air Force in November. We are so proud of him and so amazed at how he has grown up. Grant and Rod got to spend some quality time together, which is terrific.

More crazy pool shots.

Grace and Gavin

Grace and Sean

Here we are leaving on Tuesday. We had a really nice time and will be out again this way soon.

Alohomora!

This summer, the boys unlocked the joy and wisdom of the Harry Potter universe. Grant and I were so excited at their enthusiasm for the characters because we have loved these books and have found such great joy reading through them over the years. Both of us have spent August days anxiously waiting for our Amazon boxes to arrive with the latest Harry Potter book inside. There was even one summer when I spent the entire day in a hotel room reading the 7th book from cover to cover (I ordered room service, took a nap, and it seriously was the best day EVER). These books have been so important to us that it is gratifying to see our children like them or, at the very least, embrace the world that is within them. The boys were introduced to Rowling's wizarding world through the new Lego Harry Potter video game that we bought for our trip to Escondido.

Since our vacation, we have spent many a night watching the Harry Potter movies and discussing the many elements of the books. Yes, the boys have picked up the first book and are reading through it, but the books are big (at least after book three they are big), so we see more skimming through the tomes than actual consumption. However, no matter. We still have talked about the themes present in the books: friendship, bravery, wisdom, choices, good vs. evil, and so forth. We have had very meaningful conversations because the books are so rich with examples and details of the many things children (and adults) face in real life (albeit our lives are lacking in real spell casting and the presence of dark wizards). Almost every day, we get peppered with questions about characters or why certain things happen and in which book something occurs. Often Sean will just grab one of the books and skim through it at night, reading the parts that appeal to him. That's fine by us.

Grace has enjoyed this resurgence of interest in the books as well. She started the series when she was in kindergarten, and she had forgotten some of the details of the books. She found the Potter Puppet Pals on YouTube a couple of years ago, and she can quote nearly all the episodes, including "Wizard Swears" and "The Mysterious Ticking Noise." She has enjoyed playing the video game and the new Hogwarts Lego board game that we recently bought. She put the whole thing together and has played several games with her brothers, trying extra hard to be patient with them. It's been fun to watch them all play together with something that they all enjoy.

In addition to our all being able to sing the catchy tune on "The Mysterious Ticking Noise," the best example of how this new obsession has invaded our lives was the sentence I had to utter -- no, I'm sorry, shout -- last night when the boys were having yet another wizard duel in the living room. I've become so complacent about the Harry Potter vernacular that I find myself answering questions about/with Hogwarts terminology: "Well, yes, if you did have a Firebolt, you could do your chores more quickly," or "You have to make a choice. We don't have a Time Turner!" You get the idea. Since this easy shift from real world parlance to wizarding world lingo takes place on a daily basis, it didn't even dawn on me what I was saying until I yelled at the boys last night: "I will not have any killing curses in my house!" when Gavin went straight for the Avada Kedavra on Sean instead of using something more realistic like Stupefy! or Reducto! I mean, really. Unforgivable curses are so illegal.

Thank you, J.K. Rowling, for allowing us to borrow your creativity so that we can be more creative in our lives. We are indebted to you.

Guilty!

My name is Sheryl, and it's been a month since my last post. I am feeling horribly, horribly guilty. There has been much to write about, but my thoughts have been jumbled, and there were so many things to choose from that I ran away from my computer whenever I could.

What is wrong with me?

Potential story lines and future entries:

1. ADD/ADHD and its newfound prevalence in my life in all its forms.

2. My daughter's shifting identity as she enters into middle school -- aka "the purple room."

3. The absolute, unquestioning need for stillness and meditation in one's life

4. How cute is Zac Efron?

5. Leadership and God's timing

6. Helping others sometimes means stepping outside of yourself

7. Why Dr. House is awesome despite being a loathsome human being.

8. How can I make an extra $1000 a month without resorting to the world's oldest profession or auctioning body parts?

9. Frustration turned inward is depression; frustration turned outward is anger.

10. Monster High is going to be a huge hit, and my friend Wendy is responsible for it!

These and many other thoughts float through my brain often, and I compose nearly half of one entry and then abandon it because I either fall asleep, are nowhere near the computer while I'm composing, or I'm painting or cleaning another room in the house and therefore will forget by the time I actually sit at the computer.

It's maddening, I tell you! For those of you who actually read this blog, please stay tuned. More is coming; I swear.

Things I Learned on our Family Vacation

10. Sometimes, twins will read the same exact book, on the same exact aisle, with the same exact head tilt, and will laugh out loud at the same exact time. Go Pokemon!

9. Sometimes you learn new words that you can then add to your daily vocabulary. In this case, Geedunk -- as in, "Do not eat too much geedunk before dinner!"

8. Kids will get up early while on vacation when there is a hunt for the world's best donut. VG's in Cardiff is in the running for the #1 spot. Close second: Peterson's Donut Corner in Escondido. We Moshers will travel far for a good pastry.

7. Night swimming is awesome. It is especially helpful for those who do not want to a) blind people by their white skin and b) are mortified to show off their bathing-suit-clad body -- see blog entry below.

6. Addendum: Night swimming is a very popular activity. Note that when a family is playing a game like Marco Polo with one other, be sure to steer clear of the action or you might find yourself in the middle of their game and tagged, or, in my case, goosed.

5. People who goose total strangers during a family game of Marco Polo can get really, really embarrassed.

4. The 100th game of Uno is not as exciting as the first or even the 10th.

3. Addendum: Uno can bring out both the best and the worst in players, causing them to say things like, "This sucks monkeys," or "Really, people?" or "Are you telling me that in that whole stack of crap you don't have any threes?"

2. Addendum: Family games of Uno are made better by eating KettleKorn and boxes of Gobstoppers and Nerds. Well, at least the games seemed to move more quickly . . . .

1. Having fun with your family is really one of the greatest things you can ever experience. Thanks, Mom and Tom, for the fun week.

Help, There's a Fat Lady in my Picture

I'm pretty sure I'm famous in Nebraska. I also figure they know me in some small mid-western town; let's say in Kansas. I know for sure that there are folks in my home state of California who know me as I've traveled and vacationed extensively in the Golden State. I've been to Florida, Texas, and New York, so there is a chance that my face might ring a bell there, too.

The thing is I'm not sure they would know my face. I'm pretty sure that if anyone does know me, my identity is relegated to the image of a large, very white lady in a bathing suit and towel frantically trying to get out of his or her vacation photo.

Picture Bigfoot walking through the forest.

That's what I look like trying to dodge those parents who are desperately trying to capture on video or via high speed zoom lenses "Little Johnny's First Dive" or "Sabrina Splashing!" I just don't have as much hair, and I'm wrapped up in a towel.

I realized that I might be famous a few summers ago while vacationing in San Diego. That was the day I decided to throw caution (and my towel) to the wind and just lie out by the pool. This was not an easy decision as I am EXTREMELY self conscious. See, after birthing three children, two at one time, I do not have my old body back. In fact, I'm not sure whose body I have. It's fairly unrecognizable and is definitely not bathing-suit ready. Without surgery, my stomach will never, ever see the light of day (I think even the hub is scared, but he won't say anything). I can find somewhat flattering clothes, but swimwear is just not an attractive option, no matter what. To decide to lie out on a beach chair without being wrapped up, even for a few minutes, is pretty daring for me. Also, considering that I have no discernible skin color whatsoever, I have to be careful not to let the sun's rays bounce off my skin and blind those near me. My hope on this particular day was to gather a few minutes of sun, cause minimal retinal damage to innocent bystanders, and then head back up to our place.

This is where Family O comes in (as in Family "O, Wow! Why is that gal in our photo?). Family O is happily splashing and throwing super soakers and just having a grand old time. Their sons are jumping and diving and acting ridiculous. Awesome. Until I realize that Dad has been filming them do their crazy stunts. Across the pool from me. For quite a while. There is a fairly decent chance that I am forever a part of their family history. And even though I'm in the background, every time they watch this video, there is such a good chance that they see me.

It got me thinking about how many other photographs and videos I have become a part of over the years, all unbeknownst to me. Some of the pictures might have been flattering. Some of the families or guys or gals could have looked at their recently developed film and said, "Wow, check out this girl's hair style," or "Hey, this girl has my same pair of Jordache jeans!" (apparently all pictures were taken in the '70s) There was a news story recently about a couple who was looking at an old picture album and saw a picture of the two of them at age nine. The funny thing was that the picture was taken by the girl's family, and the boy just happened to be in it! Years later these two people met and got married, never realizing that they had shared a moment so many years before. That's really amazing.

Have I ever been picking my nose and been trapped in a picture? Has it ever looked I was? (Jerry: There was no pick!) Have I ever adjusted my pants, bent over at a wrong angle or made a really screwy face that is now part of a history that isn't mine? This type of thinking can drive you nuts, mind you, but I find it fascinating. I have no control over what others do with their cameras, and yet my identity is up for grabs by those who have captured me in celluloid. They might never notice my inclusion in their photos, or they might make up stories about who I am or why I'm doing what I'm doing or looking how I look. I will never know.

In his book 1984, George Orwell warned us about Big Brother (not the reality show, although he probably would have warned us), and the effects of an over-reaching, controlling government interested in ferreting out all that was secret in the lives of its citizens. In his story, Big Brother saw everything. My concern is that with all the camera options open to us today, my days of being a background part of only one family's video per summer are over. It's time to stay bundled up by the pool no matter what.

The Unforeseen Conclusion, Chapter I

I am convinced that God speaks to us in a variety of ways. I think He uses any means at His disposal to teach us something, to point something out, or to point us in the direction we need to seek. He presents us with choices, and He waits. He presents new people, old friends, difficult circumstances -- all for our benefit so that we can learn from these events and become a better, more complete person. It's not easy or pleasant sometimes, but it's all for the greater good.

In my life, God has taught me lessons in a variety of ways. Sometimes it's a direct, very difficult time that shocks and hurts me. I panic; I cry; I pray; I talk; I learn. Other times the approach is more gentle -- a nudge in one direction or an idea that just seems right. Sometimes there is silence while He waits for me to make up my mind based on my past experiences, prayerful consideration and common sense. Twice in my life now, however, God has presented a rather life-changing experience in a very unique way. I call it "the unforeseen conclusion." It's the solution that wasn't even in your realm of thinking, but when it comes, it's absolutely amazing.

The first time this happened was when I was pregnant with the boys. At 20 weeks, I had no idea I was having twins; I just knew I was big -- really big. I had the routine genetic testing done, and the results came back as problematic. I was told to see a counselor who would give me information about the baby and what could possibly be causing the odd numbers. For 10 days I waited until my appointment praying about my unborn child, researching different birth defects and what would be required for care, watching families with disabled children walk around the supermarket or the mall, and wondering how on earth I would cope.

What I noted during my observations of families with special-needs children is that they didn't look overly sad or depressed. They didn't rend their garments or act any way other than loving towards their children. I knew that this was the root of everything: love the child that was on the way, no matter what. Grant and I spent lots of time talking, and we both prepared ourselves. No matter how long our child lived and what was needed, we would handle it.

The day of the appointment arrived, and we spoke to the counselor at length about our family history, ethnic backgrounds and current environment. She then said that because of the numbers present, her best guess was that I was carrying a child with spinal bifida, or this was a multiple birth. Could we come back in an hour, while the clinic shut down for lunch, and they would do a simple ultrasound to check? Seriously? After the completely unfair extra hour, we went into the exam room, held hands and waited, still resolved to love our child, no matter what and for however long we had.

As the technician ran the ultrasound wand over my large belly, we watched as the outline of not one but two skulls popped up side by side. Twins. Identical. I cannot really describe the feeling of seeing them that day. I had steeled myself for an outcome that would require a different set of emotions. Joy, yes, but also resolve and sadness for a life that would be shortened by an ailment that could not be fixed. At seeing the two little ones moving around, I broke completely, overwhelmed by the gift that God had given us. Two lives. We looked at each other in amazement. These were two healthy, perfect babies. Twins we could handle with ease! (God then laughed really, really hard.)

I go back to that time in my life often, wondering why God needed me to experience those 10 days and that one extra hour. I know that He wanted me prepared for any eventuality. I know that my love for my child needed to be first, no matter if that child were physically or mentally impaired or both. He needed Grant and me to be a single parenting unit, joined together by purpose. The experience also made me realize that there is often an unforeseen conclusion that only God knows about.

Perhaps if I had found out about having twins all on my own, my reaction would have been one of worry and hand-wringing. Perhaps I would have freaked out and needed bed rest for my anxiety. As it turned out, I carried those babies for 38 1/2 weeks, with no bed rest, and I delivered naturally. Two baby boys, Gavin Michael and Sean Ellis, were born May 20, 2002 and weighed 6 lbs. 6 oz. (Sean) and 6 lbs. 3 oz. (I told you I was huge.)

On some days, when there is a slight breeze and I can see the leaves just barely rustling in our ficus, I am obliged to close my eyes and stand quietly. I know that God is trying to get my attention and that He is hoping to remind me of the lessons I learned so many years ago. My children, and all their imperfections, need to be loved completely just like God loves them. No matter what their impairments or difficulties, they are still the greatest gifts. He gave them to us, to me, with the thought that I would be the best mother for them. I need to remember that while there might be better scenarios or wishful thinking (we all want our children to act differently sometimes), there are also worse scenarios and people who do not get to have their children for long. The surprise and joy I felt on that day was the result of God's love for me and for them, and I need to remember that every day.

Good-bye Moiola

On June 17, 2010, Grace spent her last day as a student at Moiola Elementary. She will be a 6th grader in the fall at Fulton Middle School.

This was a bittersweet day because we had assumed all our children would attend Moiola from kindergarten through eighth grade. We imagined a happy, caring environment in which I could volunteer and be a big part of campus life. We liked the idea of all our children at the same campus for a longer time. We imagined everyone knowing our family and delighting in watching our kids grow in this safe, small, tight-knit neighborhood school. Trust me when I say that lots of people know our family, but I've had to mourn the educational dream I envisioned. I've had to realize that sometimes other situations are better for your children or for yourself.

So, instead of Moiola, the boys will continue with me at CAVA for third grade and then move to a traditional brick and mortar school in the years to come. And instead of Moiola, Grace is going to go to the middle school where hopefully she will have more academically appropriate classes and more opportunities for growth. She leaves behind so many wonderful friends (half her group is going to Fulton and half are staying) and the memories of many happy days. Moiola was a good place for Grace to grow and form lasting friendships and be in the classrooms of some pretty wonderful teachers.

Good-bye Moiola. Thanks for everything. You've set us on a new path, and for that, we are grateful.

Grace on her first day of Kindergarten. She's in her calm but confident pose.

Grace, standing on the front porch, which is our standard "first day of school" spot for pictures. She's wearing her favorite pink and brown Roxy surf outfit, complete with skirt -- yes, you read that right -- a skirt.

My beautiful 11-year-old, with her yearbook and her glasses and her straight teeth and her new hairdo, ready to attend her last day of school.
Grace standing in front of Moiola's school sign. We are walking to the car after summer blast, after having friends sign her yearbook and after saying good-bye to some favorite teachers.

Poor Henry

I do not like the cone of shame . . .

Coach Wooden -- A Light in the Darkness

When we decided to keep the boys at home and enroll them in CAVA, I knew that my time would not be my own and that I would have to shift my schedule to accommodate errands, appointments, lunch with the girls (sniff) and other important things like shopping. However, the schedule has limited other things as well, namely my ability to read the newspaper. It was difficult to read the whole thing on a given day anyway, but it is a special pleasure for me to sit and gather up the news in this way. I also can skip the sections or stories that do not interest me that day, usually fashion (duh), sometimes sports and probably the rest of the business section (we have no money for stocks, so why peruse?).

Getting my news from the Yahoo page on my computer is a different type of information- gathering experience. While I do appreciate the immediacy of the news and yes, I can select what I want to read, it is not the same. For instance, there are far more stories about celebrities and their antics, which is okay, I guess, but I find myself drawn to those. When I see that a story is "trending," I worry about that person, only to find out that he or she has decided to split from his or her spouse or wore extremely high heels to her latest movie premiere. This is news? sheesh. At times, though, really cool news stories about my favorite people do appear, like Patrick Stewart being knighted. Make it so!

The other thing that depresses me about Yahoo news is the comments that appear at the end of every news story. Yahoo invites its users to comment on the material in the news story (again, something blissfully missing from the LA Times. Their comments are contained within beautifully crafted letters to the editor ). I'm not sure what purpose this serves other than to annoy those who actually care about grammar and good writing. The ignorance of basic writing and the English language displayed in these comments is breathtaking. It's like a train wreck, and I cannot look away. In addition to the horrible writing is the hatred that most of these people have toward everyone else. Never have I read (or tried to read; I'm serious; these comments are indecipherable) such vitriol, such prejudice, such mean-spirited words, and as I said such ignorance. It makes me sad for our country, and yet I look anyway.

On Thursday of this week, legendary UCLA Coach John Wooden was taken to the hospital. He was listed on Yahoo news in grave condition, and at 99, he was not expected to recover. I saw the story and was immediately devastated. In our house, UCLA is number one, and Coach Wooden is one of those people who is revered, even by those who attend rival schools. Coach died Friday night of natural causes.

If you don't know about Wooden and his legacy, here is a primer: he is the winningest (yes, it's a word) coach in college basketball history, but more than that, he is the coach that everyone refers to when they talk about success. He revolutionized the game of basketball by having his players go back to the basics, even teaching them how to put on their shoes and socks. Why? Because, he told them, everything matters. How you do each thing in your life matters. He developed a pyramid to success that included such things as perseverance and hard work. He made his players wear jackets and ties, be polite, get good grades, treat each other kindly. He knew that success on the court meant that players needed to be successful off the court. He was kind and humble and lived simply.

He also loved his wife. She passed away in 1985, and on the anniversary of her death -- on the 21st of every month -- he wrote her a love letter. When Coach showed Bill Plaschke, the Times writer, around his house (a small condo he lived in for more than 30 years), Bill was shocked to find that Coach had been writing letters to his wife. "I obviously don't have anywhere to send them, he said. But I had to write them anyway." She was the love of life, and he missed her greatly. He was a devoted man, a sweet man, an amazing man. The world is bereft of his goodness, and that makes me sad.

I braced myself for the comments on Thursday after reading about Wooden. This man was the pinnacle of goodness, and I could not stand for him to be slammed in any way. I was prepared to write back if needed. Imagine my surprise when I read comment after comment about the greatness of this man. Imagine my surprise when the comments were short and sweet with reasonable punctuation. Imagine my surprise when I read that people were generally saddened by his condition and wished him a speedy recovery. Imagine my surprise when I couldn't find one negative comment, even a hint of negativity. Imagine my surprise when I read comments that gave actual examples of Coach's goodness and how he inspired them in life.

I shouldn't have been surprised. Coach Wooden was such an inspiration to everyone that he could even bring out good grammar in those who don't normally embrace it. He could calm the vitriol in those who normally spew it. He could cause the most hardened of hearts to pause and shed a tear. He will be missed. He cannot be replaced, but hopefully he will be emulated. We need more coaches like Wooden. We need more human beings like him. RIP Coach.