If I ever get to meet Santa Claus, I'm going to make a suggestion. I'm going to suggest that the kids start each new school year on Christmas day. That way, instead of coal, we can just fill up their stockings with school fees receipts. And we can wrap up all their school supplies and text books and sports uniforms and back packs and back-2-school attire (and scrubs, since my daughter is studying to be a medical assistant) in bright packages and bows, and say ho ho ho, and call it good.
Two birds, one stone. You get me?
I just don't think I can put my wallet through this again in four months, you know!
Speaking of Christmas, I feel like I need to write you a Christmas letter. That's how long it's been since you've heard from me. I just checked the stats and I've only written to you THREE times in August!
What the what!? That's less than a handful!
I pinky promise I write to you in my head every. single. day. Can't wait till they come up with an ethernet cable you can plug into your brain. Then none of us will ever have to write Christmas letters again.
But since we're still in the stone ages, let me send some seasons greetings from my Dummy family to yours.
Let's start with me. Ever since the Bishop broke up with me as the YW Prez I've been drowning my sorrows in work. Work, work, work! That's what we do best here in Utah. We are industrious about our grief. It's the quickest way to turn our hearts back into stone.
Mostly I've been working on my "to do" list rather than my "to bee" list. (Another Utah dealio.) First I finished unpacking from the move two years ago. Then I cleaned out and organized my storage room, then my laundry room. Then I took a nap. Then I cleaned out my kitchen drawers, and rearranged the kid's play room, which is actually more of a man cave now, since all my kids are teenagers. With teenager needs.
There was a time I used to cry in my soup because I couldn't seem to get pregnant. I was afeared I would never be a mom. Then I started getting pregnant. Then came all the miscarriages. Then I was crying in my soup and my salad. Then came all the babies. Boom, Boom, Boom. (Even brighter than the moon, moon. moon.) (Sorry, sometimes my mind works like a Katie Perry song.)
Anyways, now my daughter is 16-years-old and my son is 15-years-old and my twins are 13-years-old son. And they are full of needs. Needs, needs, needs. Deodorant needs and protein shake needs and cake batter needs.
It just goes to show you, you should never cry in your soup. Just keep the faith, because one day you'll probably be crying in your cake batter.
But enough about me. It's a milestone year for us. My twins just started Jr. High, which means their needs include zit cream and new shoes and an extended course in how to open a locker. They also feel the need to shake their heads and say, "OH MoM! You ruin every song. And why are your waistbands so high?"
My middle son just started high school. And so his needs are great. But then his needs have always been great, so I should probably say his needs are greater. For some reason this year he had a great need for a gold fish. Go figure. He also has a great need to play basketball for the team with the best program. I have been fighting it for two years because we are not in the boundaries of the best program and it requires us to give over our guardianship to my hub's brother. In short that means that every week night he has to sleep at their house and wake up at 6:15 a.m. for scripture study. It's a sacrifice fer sure. We don't wake up for scripture study until 6:20.
But whatevah! I'm over it! GO MY SON! Go and climb the ladder! Who am I to hold you down!
And then there is my daughter. Who is in her senior year. And who still refuses to cause any trouble. All she wants to do is make us proud. She saves her money and doesn't text while she drives. She takes flowers to the elderly and organizes family temple trips. And yada yada yada, she finished her Personal Progress. I keep telling her that one day she's going to go off the deep end if she doesn't get a tattoo or something, but I'm just her mom. Whaddu I know?
She made the high school tennis team. But then everyone makes the team at AF High. No one gets cut, so if any of you want to play on a high school tennis team let me know . . . I can hook. you. up.
Martha, you will be happy to know she is playing 1st singles. But I'm not being Braggetty Ann in saying that. It's not the same school she played for last year, which was a tennis school. This school is a band school. The best band school in the whole world. The kind of school where people get cut from the band if they've never played an instrument. But it's not the kind of school where they get cut from the tennis team if they've never picked up a racket.
Last season they only won 2 matches all year, but they're all super nice and my daughter loves it. She could care less about playing for the best program and getting up at 6:15 for scripture study. She reads her scriptures at night. And she could care less that her new coach looked right at her and said, "Whoever plays 1st singles is going to get slaughtered."
And so she goes, like a lamb, to meet her destiny.
But not without a fight. She won her first match 6-1, 6-2. Woooohooooo! (Sorry, sometimes my mind works like a Black Eyed Peas song.)
She lost her second match, but she didn't go down like a lamb. That sassy pants went down like a lion. Rrrraaarrrr!
As for my hub, he's doing great. He spends a lot of time outside trying to reset the sprinkler system. Oh, and he wants to raise chickens.
Just when you think you know a person, they decide they want to raise chickens. There goes the neighborhood, right? As if we're not popular enough with our charming dog. FTR, my hub has agreed to fast and pray about it for a year before we start building coops, so don't start checking the by-laws yet. And please don't leave any anonymous letters on our doorstep from the proper authorities.
So that's life in the dumb lane. Hugs and kisses to all of you! Ex's and Oh's. Hope your season is merry and bright. And filled with peace and prosperity. Above all, prosperity.