Sassy Grandmas

Those of you who really know me know that I have been yearning to be 70 years old since I was 19. I lived with my Grandma McEuen for a year when I moved away from home to go to college. I adapted very well to her retired-lifestyle pace. I traveled with Grandma to her hometown places of Oak City, Lemington, and Delta (population of all three places combined: 2,000 and all are related to me). I went with her to a few meetings of the DUP (Daughters of the Utah Pioneers), and I even attended some Orem Women Club meetings with her (motto: must be over 70 and love boring meetings). Through my associations with older ladies, I somehow found it within me to conjure up a killer Carol Channing impression, an alter ego you might say. Even today, any time my brother-in-law Nathan sees me, he says, "Hello, Carol Channing." To which I sing, "Diamonds are a girl's best friend...raspberries!"

We'd eat a lot of chicken, not so much red meat. And we watched a lot of mystery/detective/ lawyer shows like Matlock. I retired to bed no later than 8:30 p.m. every night, much to the consternation of my friends partying it up at that party school, Utah State University. (AKA: Dixie College North. Ouch! Keri, you know what I mean.) My friends at USU would call Grandma's house around 9:30 p.m. with plans for the upcoming weekend, but Grandma would give them a not-so-friendly lecture about me having to work at 5 a.m. and that I shouldn't be disturbed. The woman always had my best interests at heart. This was before cell phones and Facebook.

But living with Grandma gave me an appreciation for old people, in particular, old battle axes. Grandma wasn't some wilting violet. Grandma was rather stern, with some choice phrases and comments. She scared a lot of my friends, and she could even scare me. But she also had an underlying warmth and her house felt very homey to me. At least, that first year. As time went on, and we lived with her a second time when Lilia was first born, her ability to cope with unexpected stimuli wasn't as great as it had been. But that's another story.

So I was caught off guard this Sunday when I sat near the back row with a bunch of the retired ladies in my ward. Being in nursery for the last two years, I'd missed my homeys, my peeps: the over 70 set.

The teacher at this particular Relief Society meeting was asking the question, "Why does Heavenly Father love us?"

Silence followed her question, as it normally does as people reflect and try to come up with a good answer. One of my over-70 sisters said in her inside-whisper voice, "Whooooo knows." It was so sarcastically wonderful and said like only a woman who's traveled life's winding roads could say it.

I burst out into laughter. Why would God love a bunch of yahoos and dingbats like us? Oh how I love the humor of old ladies!

Kulani's Late Nights

Something that is made clear to anyone wanting to be a lawyer is that you must prepare yourself for long hours and heavy workloads. Not all lawyers work a lot of hours, but most do. And I know Kulani does.

When he has to work very late on projects, I take the kids to his office and we all have a sleep over. It's an adventure that may not be available to us once our fourth child arrives in June. (I don't think I've mentioned that I'm pregnant yet, so if you've been wondering, now you know.)

The great thing about Kulani's work is that it's in downtown SLC. Many adventures await us in downtown. We can walk to Temple Square and visit all the museums. We can catch TRAX and travel to the Gateway and take a visit to Build-a-Bear. All activities are free, unless the girls break me down at Build-a-Bear.

Kulani's office also has all kinds of drinks, including hot chocolate and V8 juice, my personal favortie.

We can stream Netflix over Kulani's computer, so the girls can also be entertained that way. Over Christmas break, Kulani let each of the girls take a half day with him at his office. I met him at the food court in the bottom of his building to have lunch with him, and then we switched girls so each could have a turn with Daddy.

Here's Lissy at Dad's work.



Here's Lilia at Dad's work.

Here's Nono monkeying around at Dad's work. Her attention span could not have endured four hours in his office.
Here's where Nohea and I sleep when we have a stay over at Kulani's office. We bought this couch at Costco. It's pretty sweet, as it looks like a couch, but it's really a leather daybed. The girls sleep on blow-up mattresses. Kulani works until about 3 a.m., and then he'll take a snoozer on the hard floor.

I'll miss these adventures.

A Photo Recap of the Last Several Months

I haven't downloaded the pictures from my camera since September, so I thought it would be fun to remember a few choice moments such as these:

Hugging Lissy on her first day of Kindergarten, Nohea secretly plans her takeover of the entire Fisher household. Sweet and innocent is just a ploy to her evil ways.

Walking Lissy to school and stopping to feed the horses. I miss these warm days.

Lilia plays soccer for the Purple Turtles.

Kulani finished his fastest Telos Turkey Tri ever on one of the most unseasonably warm November days.

Lilia turns 7!

Lilia on crazy hair day. She said she looked like someone on The Brady Bunch. Alice?

Lissy on crazy hair day sporting the school's colors.

Nohea falling asleep in one of her unconventional places.

Lissy and Nohea visiting with Glenda the Good Witch after watching American Fork High School's production of "The Wizard of Oz." Lilia was spooked by the Flying Monkeys who walked right up to her during the intermission and scared her. She refused to have anything to do with taking pictures with these people.

The family before the Pleasant Grove Turkey Trot. Lilia took first in her age group. Lissy even ran the whole thing. Nohea, not so much. She was cold, tired, and cranky. Kulani ran it in 28 minutes. It was a really fun race put on by a Scout trying to earn his Eagle. The race cost each of us five cans of food and $1.

The Thanksgiving table at the Kuhia and Susan Fisher house in Lindon. The entire Fisher clan, except Uncle Kawika in Nevada, made it to the dinner. I don't know why I didn't take a picture with people actually sitting in the chairs. I think I was grumpy and hid from everyone.

Kulani giving his mouth an amuse bouche of baked brie.

Nohea playing in the first snowfall of the year.

Honesty of a First Grader

Lilia hasn't quite mastered the art of knowing what information to share and what information to keep to herself. Her mom doesn't always have that one down either, so it's not very fair to expect a first grader to be savvy about such matters.

The other day, Lilia revealed to me that during lunch recess she peed her pants "just a little bit" because she thought she wasn't allowed inside during recess. Later, after she came home, she got so busy building a snowman that she again didn't take time to come inside the house and take a potty break. She was playing with her good neighbor friend Matthew. She finally did excuse herself, and she decided to take a quick bath to clean herself up.

After about 10 minutes, Matthew knocked on the door.

"Is Lilia here?"
Lilia shows up at the door with new pants on.
"Sorry, Matthew, I peed my pants just a little bit and had to take a bath."

Matthew didn't look phased from this pronouncement of honesty. They went back outside and continued playing. Happens to most of us from time to time, I'm sure. Might as well shout it out on this blog.

Sometimes she's so like me it kills me.

Constructive Criticism

I received some honest feedback on my blog by an anonymous poster recently. Who doesn't LOVE honest feedback, I ask you? I mean, when was the last time you really took the time to care enough about someone to say, "Your stories are boring me to tears." Or, "You lack the social graces of a cow." Or "Honestly, if I you look up 'dork' in the dictionary, there's a picture of you."

This caring annonymous poster basically had two complaints about this blog: 1) it's boring and (2) Kulani and myself are dorks. And he/she was passionate about both opinions, leaving comments on every post all the way back to June. I question how boring he/she really thought this blog was if he/she continued to read posts clear back in June.

But I can buy it. We are a bit boring, and I'm okay with that. This blog isn't for everybody. I'm not really sure why I created it in the first place. Yes, it's about my family. But it's also about just random thoughts. Mostly I just like to write. And I like reading about other's people thoughts and families, and maybe someone would like to read stuff that comes out of my head. But maybe not either. It's a free country, and a free blog service. Take it for what it is.

I wouldn't really want the life that is non-stop 24/7 high drama and/or FUN, FUN, FUN! When I was a junior in high school, we studied the play "Our Town." It's a rather boring play where nothing really happens, and that is the point. We're so busy living life that we don't always pause to enjoy the essence of life--the boringness of it. I remember our English teacher telling us that most of us would grow up to be ordinary people, not celebrities or extremely rich billionaires. Our lives would be simple. At the time, I thought, "Not me. I'll show 'em." But here I am: Boring Mayor of Boringtown.

It reminds me of a quote by Gordon B. Hinckley: "Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he has been robbed. The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to be just like people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, and most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. Life is just like an old time rail journey ... delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride."

Sure, I love me some celebrity gossip from time to time. I like a good People reading as much as the next person. But you're not going to get that here. You're going to read about a barbecue we went to, or how the girls are changing with each passing year. For me, it's nice to re-read happenings from our lives, and I hope as my girls get older they will especially appreciate random, lame stories of day-to-day living as expressed from their mother and father.

As far as us being dorks, I'm pretty sure I know now that the anonymous poster was my big brother Doug. After he left on his mission, I stole his shirt with the following quote on the front: "I'm Okay, you're a Dork." Doug, I'm sorry I stole your stupid sweatshirt.

(Note: The comments have been erased and this blog is now officially closed to anonymous posters, which makes me kind-of sad. It's like going from an age where you trust everyone and never lock the front door, to being paranoid of everyone and double locking everything.)

A love note from my girl

Lilia is heading head first down the super highway of growing up. If I'm not mistaken, preteens may be the new teenagers. Would you consider age 7 a preteen? Maybe not so much, but in some ways, I'd say yes.

Recently, Lilia has discovered the tactic of ignoring her parents. We ask her a question, and we get no response, or a half-glance of death. It says to me: "Leave me alone!" For example, she received a phone call from a boy in her class named Zeke.

"Hello," I answered the phone.
"Hi, is Lilia there?"
"Yes, who may I tell her is calling?"
"Zeke."

Me to Lilia: "Telephone for you. It's Zeke."

Lilia's face turns red, and she takes the phone.

"What do you want?" Lilia says to Zeke on the phone. "I'll play with you at recess." And she hangs up.

Me: "Lilia, who was that?"
Lilia: Blank. Nothing.
Me: "I won't make fun of you. I'm just asking who it was on the phone just now."
Lilia continues to write on a piece of paper about heaven knows what, but by the look on her face, it was very important.
Me: "Is he someone from your class."
Lilia continues to ignore.
Me: "He sounds like a nice friend."
Lilia acts like she's the only one in the room.

So I drop it and talk to Kulani about it later that night. He says it's because I tease her about boys. I didn't think I'd teased her that bad, if ever...maybe. Gees.

Lilia also gets squirmy whenever a kissing scene comes on TV.

"Turn the channel! I don't want to see this!"
Me to her: "But Lilia, this is the best part. When you get older you'll understand."
Lilia: "Never."

I think this awkward stage lasted until I was about 18, so I think Lilia has a long road in front of her as well, which is good. I'm very glad for her shy ways.

I did get a love note from her the other day that absolutely melted my heart. I've never been super fond of my name. I like it okay, but it's ... Cindy. I took a communications class in college that included a chart of names that evoke respect, confidence, and class. Cindy was not among that list. It was among the list of names that evoked airhead, commonness, and plainness. I reflect much of those characteristics, as does my name, but still, there are days I wish my name was exotic and mysterious like Abigail or Victoria.

And then Lilia gives me this note (please ignore misspellings):

It says: "Mom your name is vurey pitey to me. I can sae it 100 tims: Cidey! Cidey! Cidey! And you are a grate Mom."

I love my name so much more now, misspellings and all.

And I love my little girls.

The Iron Curtain

It was 20 years ago today that the Berlin Wall was yanked down by East and West Berliners in a symbolic fall of communism. It doesn't seem like it would be that momentous to a teenager in rural Idaho, but like most important news stories of the world, somehow we all feel affected and connected by great human events.

Ever since I was very young, I remember our family praying in our nightly prayers that "the Iron Curtain" would come down. My mom explained to us that freedom existed for one side, but not the other. Countries, cities, and families were torn apart because of this curtain. My mom explained that the Iron Curtain was a border made of high fencing of barbed wire, and anyone caught trying to get over it would be shot and killed.

My mom, who would like to sneak in educational films into our diet of completely inane cartoons and movies, once rented a movie about a family who escaped over the Iron Curtain in a hot-air balloon. It was based on actual events. That movie made it more real for me, and I had a fascination with the Iron Curtain for many years. I'd wish there was a way I could find a hole in it and sneak people across.

In late 1988, my oldest brother was called to serve an LDS mission in Hamburg, Germany. About nine months into his mission, we received a telephone call that he would be transferred to East Germany. East Germany? That's communist. They're letting missionaries into East Germany?

Within another year, the wall came down. When Doug returned home, he told us of the stark differences between East and West Germany. East German people had met relatively few Americans and were eager to talk with him. They loved giving stuff to the American missionaries, and a lot of the stuff they gave was communist medals and World War II medals. He picked up a lot of interesting souvenirs. Because in communist East Germany, rather than bonuses for good work, they got medals.

And the people lived more simply and poorly in East Germany, Doug told us. In most houses he usually had to shovel coal to feed the furnace in order to have hot water.

I remember watching news events of the fall of the Berlin Wall and the joy on the people's faces as they braced each other once again; brother to brother and sister to sister. An Iron Curtain hadn't existed in their hearts. It was like a huge dam had been broken and love came gushing out. And through prayer, I joined them in a long-distance bear hug.

Doug even brought home pieces of the Berlin Wall. It really just looks like a chunk of sidewalk. Symbolically, of course, it means much more.