counting by cicadas

It is a cicada summer this year. Every night at about 8 or so the quiet woods behind our home are suddenly filled with the distinct sounds of cicadas calling to one another from the trees. It is an unmistakable sound. It's a sound that I have come to associate with those dog days toward the end of the summer, those last halcyon days before school begins again and life returns to a more predictable, responsible pace. I have always loved those days. Every summer there are cicadas, but this year is the end of a 17-year life cycle so there are many more than usual and the deafening clamor coming from our woods are a testament to their numbers.

I remember the last cicada summer. It was the summer of 1996. I spent that summer in St. George, working a little and playing a lot. At end of July just when the cicadas were picking up steam, I met a boy. Once I met him, I thought him to be the funniest, most interesting person I had ever known. I still do. It shouldn't have worked. We were far too young and poor. We had so much school ahead of both of us. We really were still children. But. I only wanted to be with him. So I fell in love with the great love of my life to music of the cicadas. The next summer, when I married him, there weren't so many, but there's always a few in July and they played at our backyard wedding.

While those cicadas were sleeping we have traveled far. In our now 16 years of marriage we have lived in 12 homes, in 5 states and in 2 countries. Between us we earned 4 degrees. We climbed mountains, we rafted rivers, we ran races. We failed, we succeeded, we kept trying. We fought, we made up, we decided we could not do without one another. We had babies of our own, babies who will stay with us only a little longer than a cicada sleeps. And that's the thing we learn from the cicadas. On the surface that 17 years seems so very long, such long time to be sleeping, but now, I can see all the water that has flowed under the bridge during their nap and it doesn't seem like enough time. So much of my life and flown by in these last 17 years. We have grown and changed and come so very far. I can't stop wondering and dreaming about where we will be when the baby cicadas from tonight wake up.

Photography courtesy Erin Dahl Photography

kicking a**- thankful

This morning in boot camp there were a few extras. They were unintentionally skinny college girls who were home for the holiday. It's not their fault, but I sort of hate them for being skinny with little or no effort. I hate my own 20-year-old self for the same reason. I am not particularly happy with what I see in the mirror or on the scale these days but this morning, I was stronger and faster than every one of those toothpicks. So there.

better with him

(photo courtesy Sara Weihn)

Today is July 23. If I was a good wife I would have written this post five days ago. Ergo. I spent the morning in Tulsa with my girlfriends and I came home in the afternoon to a husband with a raging migraine, poor thing. It was very romantic. We aren't really that kind of couple. But we are really happy.

We quibble over movies and we search for new hole-in-the-wall restaurants. We watch the Office and French steam-punk movies on Netflix. He bikes, I run. He talks through his tax transactions with me, I tell him all about playgroup gossip and sewing techniques. We get the same jokes and can finish one another's sentences. We married when we were barely more than babies and we grew up the rest the way together.

We waited seven years to have children because we really liked being with each other. We wanted to be selfish. We went to Denny's at 3 in the morning and we slept until noon on the weekends. We never had much money but we had a really lot of fun. We lived abroad and moved a lot. We found out that we were really good at some of the things we loved. We worked multiple jobs and went to school and came home to heaven, because that's where the other was.

We had a beautiful a baby boy and bought a grown-up house. He learned his profession and I learned to stand on my own two feet. We leaned on each other. We had another beautiful boy and started again in a new city. I learned how to fix and make things, he learned to believe in himself. Our boys are delightful and one of the great joys of our lives, but we miss each other lately. There is always so much to do. I admit to missing the freedom that came with being penniless nomads, the gobs of time to be together. Just together.

We have been together for 14 years, married for 13 and it feels like a lifetime. It is in a way. My lifetime, so far. All of the best parts have included him, they wouldn't be the best without him. And the best parts keep getting better.

a small wallow

I am a social creature.  I adore my friends and tend to have lots. This is not due to anything on my part but the fact that I want to be around people most of the time so I foster any relationship that interests me in the slightest. But I have started to notice something about my friends. They are all superstars.They are all extra great at what ever it is that they focus their energy upon. They are not middle of the road people. Not one of them. They are volunteers, artists, supermoms, professionals, doctors. They know their schedule by heart, they know my schedule by heart. They create amazing works of art in their spare time. They work out hard six days a week. they cook healthy, home made dinners every night. Their houses are clean, they are effortless hostesses. They spend hours volunteering in the their kids' schools and the wider community. They are mostly skinnier and prettier than me. They do the same things i do, but better. They run faster, write more eloquently and control their tempers completely.They are reading this and scoffing out loud because they don't see it in themselves but they are, quite literally, amazing. Most of the time I revel in being surrounded by these super inspirational people and I love them but this week I feel like the 14 year-old who somehow got invited to the party at the cheerleaders house and just knows it's a mistake. And I am waiting for them to notice that I am not so very awesome but much closer to average.  And that lately, I just can't keep up. And that I compensate by talking to much and laughing to loudly. Is it weird to feel intimidated by people you love, by people who, by all accounts, love you? 'Cause today, I kind of am.

just keep swimming

I keep having all these great ideas for posts when I am not at the computer. I, of course, do not write them down and thus, when I return to said computer can think of nothing to write. Sigh. There are things I want to write about but am not allowed to, things that I could write about but that would be so boring to read that my few readers would delete this link in disgust or I could complain about some interesting customer service I've had lately or the stupid January weather but I am not offended enough by wither to bother. That means you are stuck with the following ramblings. I hope they don't drive you away.

I'm feeling a little obsessed lately with the idea of starting over. I don't think I ever recognized how often we do it, both in big ways and small. New years, new challenges, new goals, new seasons, new babies, new lessons, new hardships, new joys. This idea of beginning again must matter. It must be essential to our humanity and to our continued progression, right? Because this time we will get it right, we will do it better, closer to the goal. Even it's just a little closer. So here's my epiphany;

It's never too late.

Never, as long as we are breathing.

I am overwhelmed by the hopefulness of this thought.

And so very grateful.

#8-(sort of unrelated) Take self portraits to find peace with my body, enjoy my youth and health while I have it and to know myself better.
#9 Carry around a notebook to jot down ideas for writing and anything else that I don't want to forget.

why i look like this

Dear Mom,

I need you. I need you to come stay with me for a month or so. I will teach you all about my bedtime routine and then, I need you to enforce it. I want to go run at 5:30 am, in order for this to happen, I need to go to bed by 9:30. That means lights off. No "just going to finish this chapter" reading, no computer, no texting, no cleaning, no laundry,and no more sewing. You have to help me be O.K. with going to bed with unfinished projects, because I just can't seem to do that and it is really messing with my sleeping. Then, I can't get up to run in the morning and so I have to go run while Tommy is at school which is when I should be doing all sorts of other things and the behind-ness just gets worse as the day progresses, thus causing me to stay up late at night finishing things and beginning the cycle all over. My kids go to bed on time almost always. This is because I understand how important it is for them to get enough sleep. Once again, I am a hypocrite. A very tired, puffy-eyed hypocrite.

I need what my children have. Someone who is so worried about their welfare that they will force me to do what is best for me even when I fight them. Ty can't help because he doesn't' believe in telling me what to do (bless his heart). If you don't come soon, I will lose my looks completely and become a bridge troll out of sheer orneriness. Hmmmm, do bridge trolls get to go to bed? Probably. I bet they don't even have unfinished projects.

Love, Me

greener grass

Dear Super Skinny Chick who goes to my gym,

Yes, you. The one that my trainer and I gossip about being anorexic. The one who is always there, no matter what time of day I go, the one whose ribs I can count through her t-shirt if the angle is right. You. Cognitively, I know that you are super unhealthy. I know that you eat like, three pieces of lettuce a day. I know that it really isn't good to spend five or six hours working out every day. I know. Secretly, I wish I had your discipline. I do. I wish I could eat three pieces of lettuce and them shame my self into eating nothing the rest of the day. I wish I could push my body for five hours every day. I wish you could count my ribs. Because maybe then I would feel OK about my body. My perfectly healthy, perfectly good body. The body that will carry me through a marathon or yoga or wrestling in the living room. That body. It's just that every time I see you, you smile at me and so I think you must be happy and I think you are happy because you are skinny. I am happy, pretty happy, after all, I have really great life. But. I am exhausted with how I feel about my body and even though I know better, I wonder if you know the secret. I know that you don't, that it's not real and that this is not the most important thing in life, not even close, but, I wonder. I'm sorry, but I'm glad that you are not my friend because, then I would feel even more like a failure in this endeavor and I wouldn't have the heart to tell you that what you are doing is hurting you in the long run and that you should stop and that wouldn't be fair to you. A friend should tell you the truth, not encourage the self-destructive fantasy. Because I don't know you at all, I will say it here. What you are doing is self-destructive and dangerous and you should stop. But just so you know, I totally get it.

Sincerely, Me

and you, and you, and you were there....

So, I had this dream last night. I was attending a class reunion. It was held, of course, at the Target store in Farmington. We were all just sort of hanging out at the front, near customer service. There were even booths ( I had my nails done). Later there was a helicopter and other amazing dream sort of things, but here's the kicker. At the reunion everyone was holding invitations that they had received from other classmates to private parties, some people had several, but everyone had at least one. Except me. I was of course very polite and ignored them but inside I was dying, you know, like you did when you were sixteen and felt left out. How is it possible, at the ripe old age of thirty-two, that my subconscious is still insecure about high school? Good grief.

almost as good as my lexapro

In case you ever need it, the following is a list of things to do with Julie in Tulsa that have been pre-tested (by me, this past weekend). They are guaranteed to make for a delightful weekend and the send you home feeling like you can probably face the world again and do a little better job living your life.

1. talk and talk and never even need the car radio.


2. have flowers painted on your toes.


3. eat desserts at a french restaurant at 10pm.


4. haggle with flea market con men


5. buy school clothes and birthdays and Christmas at fabulous consignment sale.


6. lunch at Cosi-Why don't we have Cosi in Wichita?


7. drink peppermint tea and read unusual magazines at Barnes and Noble for hours.


8. search for an organic, homemade hair conditioner recipe.


9. Cheesecake Factory, again.


10. Braid hair in pajamas.


11. Send slightly sexy pics to missing spouses (only to be informed by my own that his phone is a "work phone" and I probably shouldn't do this anymore).


12. wear your heart on your sleeve, for the whole weekend.


13. expose secret fears and obsessions so that they aren't so scary anymore.

once upon a time

Last Friday, I painted the kitchen. I had decided I was not thrilled with the color I had chosen three years ago when we bought this house and wanted something else. I sort of mentioned in passing that I wanted to paint the kitchen to Ty and took his affirmative grunt as tacit agreement. When I painted a whole wall (to check the color) on Thursday evening he got a little miffed with me. He felt, quite correctly, that I hadn't consulted him. I just hadn't thought he would care. Luckily my color choice was spot on and the kitchen is much more lovely than previously, so he forgave me. Saturday was our 12th anniversary. We are not good at anniversaries, things always seem to go wrong, (and we couldn't find a sitter) so we played it safe and stuck close to home. Take -out and a dvd are not what I had in mind as a romantic evening when my much younger self pictured future important evenings together. But we have been to all those places, fancy restaurants and concerts, candlelight and roses, and while I can't say I don't adore all of those things, they don't make the evening. Him being there, with me, is all that I care about. He, of the obvious joke and the surreal comment. He, who thinks I'm smart and pretty, even when pregnant. He who always lets me go my own way and supports me even when I take a wrong turn. We aren't super demonstrative in public (He still blushes when I kiss him with anyone watching) so maybe you weren't aware of the fairy tale love that lives in our house. I guess I am living my happily ever after. Lucky me.

homeostasis

This morning I am puttering. I am a champion putterer. In my case, such behaviour is often a sign of a sort of general satisfaction with my life. It has taken me almost this long to get my life back in order since our little jaunt out west. Finally things are back to home base and now I want to heave a huge mental sigh of relief. I am a creature of schedule and habit. I get all antsy when things mess with my schedule. Yesterday I reordered the sewing room, practiced piano and got in a good run, Tommy went to school and both boys had a playdate in the afternoon. Daddy came home for dinner and after bedtime I worked up a new project for a friend. Blissful normalcy. This morning's rain is the frosting on my cupcake.

I just bought three pounds of cherries. If you have been in northern Utah in the summer, you know that Provo has one of the biggest fourth of July celebrations in the country.When I was a kid we went to the parade almost every year. We took folding camping chairs and hiked blocks and blocks from far away parking spots to sit on the curb and eat cherries while watching the beauty queens and high school bands. They throw lots and lots of candy at that parade but what I really remember was the cherries. We always had them. Always. My Dad is a creature of habit. For me it just wasn't the Fourth of July without cherries. Still isn't. Somehow I never can get past the first week of July without buying masses of cherries. I don't even think about it. They just find their way into my cart at the approriate time of year. Muscle memory perhaps?

sun worship

( This is absolutely NOT my flat tummy, but feel free to pretend)

When I was in college my favorite thing to do in the afternoon, after all my classes were finished, was to head out to the pool in my skimpiest swimsuit and no sunscreen to just lie in the sunshine. There was nothing like the feeling of soaking in the heat until I had to jump into the pool and cool off so that I could start all over. Now, I am a grown-up and I know all about melanoma and wrinkles and I dutifully apply sunscreen every morning. Most of any tan you see on me in the summer comes from a bottle. I never, ever have time to just lie anywhere, for any reason. Yesterday while the kids were eating their lunch at the little picnic table on the deck, I stretched out flat on my back and just soaked in the sun, just for ten minutes, but oh, it was terribly lovely. Later in the day I followed that little slice of heaven up by planting flowers in a tank top (straight from the gym). Obviously, that second job produced the first sunburn I've had in years. Every time I shower and the hot water stings, I thrill just a bit at all the memories that come flooding back. But today I made sure to sunscreen all exposed parts of my body, I can't seem to help but be all adult and responsible. Plus, I am very anti-wrinkle.

upswing

Someone I love has had a difficult year. For a time, when I would see her, her smile never extended to her eyes and they were often swollen from crying. As of late when I see her, her eyes are shining and she is almost glowing. I am sure that her life is not perfect and there are still things that make her sad, but, while she has always been lovely, she is more beautiful lately then I have ever seen her. My heart is overjoyed to see it.

errant questions

How do you know the right thing to do? As we try to plan our lives, I am having the hardest time knowing what would be right for us. I believe that God has an interest in our lives. How do I recognize His influence as opposed to what my heart aches for? Are they the same thing? How do I know when the time is right or when to be patient? How do I know when to make the turns on the road map of my life?

unfortunately, I was the entertainment

Today was my birthday. My beloved did all that he could to make it lovely. He made muffins in the morning, watched the kids during yoga, chased Johnny at the soccer game and even went to fabric store with me. I can't prove it, but I'm pretty sure it was the first time he has ever been to fabric store in his life. This evening the sitter arrived promptly at 7:30 and we headed out to dinner. The vegetarian place had great entrees, but the dessert menu was not quite what we were looking for so we headed to the place that has flour less chocolate cake as a staple. We were seated in a raised booth not to far from the live jazz ensemble right in the center of the action. The hostess had mistakenly handed us regular menus so I volunteered to go and request the dessert list. I stood up and headed towards the hostess stand, except remember how I said we were seated in a raised booth? I forgot about that part and went sprawling onto the floor. I, of course, curtsied prettily to my laughing audience and gracefully continued on my errand. I remember thinking when I was a clumsy, gawky thirteen-year-old that some day I would be a grown woman, elegantly and polished. Apparently, at 32, I am not there yet. Yeesh.

no, i am not pregnant

This morning I am faced with a conundrum. I cannot decide between peach pie and homemade macaroni and cheese for breakfast. "Hmmmm," you are saying to yourself, "neither of those things sound like the approved sugar- free, low carb fare that if all the rage at the Daniels house lately." You are absolutely correct, but here's the thing. Last night and this morning I feel like milk toast, you know all bland and soggy, not really sick mind you, just sluggish, and when I don't feel well there are only two things I feel like eating. I assume that by this point you have guessed what they are. I suspect this is why I blow up like a balloon every time I am pregnant. Luckily for my flabby tummy both the pie and the macaroni will be gone by the end of the day and I will have nothing in the house to eat but sugar-free jello and grilled chicken breast. Long live South Beach.

must. get. motivated.

Last week I registered for the St. George Marathon. I find out next month if I make it in. Everyone feel free to hold your breath until then. Also, in December, I had toe surgery and due to my complete inability to run gained almost 15 lbs in the 3 and half months it took to recover (I know, gasp, right?!) At any rate, I now am allowed to run and am signing up for every race I can possibly find to get me out and running. Starting completely over is harder than I thought it would be, much harder. The other problem is my schedule. My sweet husband goes in to work at about 6 AM most days. This means that yours truly has to drag her delicate behind out of bed shortly before 5 AM(!) in order to be back in time. I don't think I can emphasize enough how much I despise 5 AM and all that is associated with it (dark, cold, sooooo sleepy). I remember from a time when I was having a little more success with this that I actually love when I can get into this routine. I get to run first thing and feel great all day and I have all sorts of time to be uber productive while the kiddies are still dozing. I have done this before. I know can do it, except that I don't seem to be able to. Instead I end up trying to squeeze in runs at all sort of odd and inconvenient times during the day and invariably missing one or two a week because I simply can't get my act together. This is completely unacceptable. I pledge here and now to cowboy up. I figure if you all know about my quest then perhaps me and my slacker attitude can get it together, if only to save face.

PS. One of my dearest friends just started a great blog about body and workout issues, probably out of frustration born simply from having me as a friend but we'll all pretend it's just general information. It's great so far and you can find it here.

i think my hair is psychic

This morning my bangs were not obedient. As you can see from the photo they did this weird flyaway thing and I just didn't have time to address it before I went flying out the door. As a result I looked frazzled from the moment I left the house. Coincidence? Random occurrence? I think not. I will explain. We drove to preschool too fast because, as always, we were about three minutes late. After dropping Tommy off we ran to the fabric store to pick up my new roller cutter and mat. We hurried because I (as did everyone else) had a 50% off coupon and they sometimes run out of the more popular and relatively big ticket items. From there we raced to My Gym for Johnny's class. After class we went home for 12 minutes to feed Johnny lunch and then back to preschool to pick up Tommy. Took both kids home for a quick nap for Johnny and to wait for the garage door man. Garage door man is late- we wait until we are late for Mommy's doctor's appointment. So late in fact that we have no time to run the kids to a friends house and so must bring them with. The appointment is a podiatry surgery consult and will involve x-rays- this will go well. Get lost on the way to office, go to wrong office, arrive 20 minutes late. They will still see us but we must wait a while. 90 minutes later after exam and x-rays (with lots of effort on my part) we head home. On the way home get call from a friend to make social plans this evening- sounds great. Call Tymon to confirm plans to have him mention tonight is the company Christmas party. Curses. I have that on the calendar for tomorrow! Call sitter- cannot find sitter. All the while running around trying to feed children, get fancy and straighten house for babysitter (assuming I can get a hold of her), also making calls trying to find back-up childcare just in case. Sitter calls back and all is well. At the party Tymon won an empty box (booby prize) and it was the perfect ending to the day. Next time I am listening to my hair and going back to bed.