Life...It Goes On

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on." -Robert Frost

I apologize for the sparseness of my blog entries. Sometimes the living of life becomes so all-consuming that the recording of it becomes difficult. This is a happy problem. Nothing would be worse than a life with all the time to write but void of anything to write about.

Let me recap the last week for you so that you might have a glimpse. Monday was Jessica's final orchestra concert at Layton High. Oh, so bittersweet.

Mrs. Smith honored all of her outgoing seniors with a Symphony Bar. She praised Jessica and called her her "kindred spirit" in music.

The final piece was a fun Jimi Hendrix number complete with electric violin. Jessica and her stand partner were the only ones sporting sunglasses for this piece. They tend to have more fun than anyone else. The only reason I wasn't crying is because I know that I'll be back here next year watching Sabrina perform with the orchestra.

"This is my cello sister!" Jessica would say. They will miss each other!

The next morning, Neil got up early to watch Jessica receive a Legion Award over at the high school. She received a legion award in the Artistic category. It's basically like she majored in art stuff in high school. She gets to wear a special medal on graduation day.

That evening, it was Sabrina's turn to receive a major award. (Sorry a certain lamp from Christmas Story comes to mind anytime our family jokes about winning a "major award") Anyway Sabrina received special recognition for being an outstanding student in the MESA program this year. MESA is an after school science program that Sabrina has participated in over the last two years.

Sabrina hates shaking hands, so I was sure to document that long line of educational bureaucrats that she begrudgingly shook hands with, including Miss Black Utah USA. 

She did a pretty good job of acting like she was enjoying herself and that she cared about who these smiling administrators were.

We watched video interviews of all of the honored students. Most of them discussed how beneficial MESA was because they now aspire to becoming mechanical engineers and bio-medical engineers. Sabrina wants to be a writer. But hey, who doesn't need another certificate for the ol' scrapbook?

The next evening was the final orchestra concert at the junior high. This was officially the last time I would enjoy a Legacy Junior High orchestra concert. After six years of attending concerts here, I grew a little nostalgic.

Spencer and Sabrina played the theme for Narnia as a little ensemble during the art show. I love that these two have been able to play together this year! I'm so glad that we convinced Spence to join the advanced orchestra. It has been good for him.

This girl is so beautiful, especially when she plays!

And this cute boy poking over the stand is becoming quite a remarkable young man.

I'm so proud of Sabrina. As she stood up as Concert Mistress and led the orchestra in tuning, I thought about when she first picked up that tiny violin at eight years old. She has come so far!

Like I said, beautiful. Staring up to the teacher she adores and will miss tremendously.

There are my kiddos receiving another "major award" for their superior rating in district solo and ensemble festival.

And more Symphony bars, this time for Mrs. Ellery's outgoing 9th graders.

We finished up the concert, and I quickly texted Jess to see if she had played at the high school yet. She texted back that if I hurried I could still catch her. So we threw violins and violas in the back of the car and I drove like the dickens over to the high school. We got there in just enough time to watch Jessica rock the electric cello as accompaniment for the show choir's performance of "Radioactive".

This was fun. So much fun!

You're probably wondering, where was Neil through all of this? Just three days earlier, he had been sustained as the second counselor in our new bishopric. Yes, we've only been in our house for two months. Yes, we  only know about 5% of the ward, but there you go. So Neil was in a three hour bishopric meeting while I was flying solo with double booked performances. Who knows where Jonah was that night. It kills Neil to miss his kids' performances. Kills him. I suppose that if Abraham was willing to sacrifice his only son, then perhaps Neil can give up a concert or two.

The next day was Jonah's 5th grade program. I didn't get there my normal three days in advance, so our seats were crummy. Oh well, thank heavens for a zoom lens. 

My favorite was the We're Writing the Constitution number, where Jonah and the other "founding fathers" seemed to be deep in deliberation and writing during the whole song. I dubbed Jonah John Adams, because he is my favorite founding father.

That evening, Jessica graduated from seminary. It was a wonderful meeting where the Spirit was in abundance.

We are so proud of this beautiful young woman!

We had to enjoy a celebratory shake at Farr's afterwards. I don't know that my waistline can handle one more celebratory ice cream. 

This brings us to yesterday, which was much more relaxed. We took flowers to the graves. I remember how itty bitty this tree was when we buried Dad. Oh, those poignant reminders of the passing of time.

This cemetery is filling far too quickly, and there are far too many young people buried here.

Grandma's grave is still quite fresh. We miss her gentle presence.

Once we had honored our dead, it was time to relish some time with the living. We enjoyed a nice BBQ spread at Mor Mor's house. It seemed to be the first real warm summer night of the year, and we basked in it as did the cousins.

It was a week full of good-byes, new beginnings, and no shortage of major awards. This mama is now ready for a carefree summer.

Clutter's Last Stand

"Clutter is the physical manifestation of unmade decisions fueled by procrastination." -Christina Scalise

We are a house full of clutter bugs over here at the Watson residence. I am the worst clutter bug, Neil is a close second, and the four children are constantly trying to compete for my slot as number one mess-maker. Somedays they are successful. When we were designing our new home, a mudroom was a must. You see the dining area in my last house was a perpetual disaster. There were always shoes and jackets and backpacks and A-day binders and B-day folders strewn about. I blamed it on the fact that we had no real place to keep these items that were in constant use. We needed a mud room straight off the garage. Then everything would have a place. Then there would be order. Then there would be cleanliness.

I ask you... does this look like order?! Does this look like cleanliness?! It will take just one last pair of shoes to bring the mess over the threshold of the mudroom and into...you've got it...the dining room! I blame the school system. I blame the school system for everything. If my children didn't have to rush out the door at unreasonable hours in the morning, this might not be such a problem. If they didn't come home so darn tired after a long day at school, perhaps things would get put away properly. If society would just allow us to run around as the illiterate barefooted barbarians that we truly are inside, then my mudroom would be clean.

I have decided that no amount of square footage, no amount of forward thinking and designing, no perfectly placed mudroom can control nor contain the clutter of this desperate family.

I give it one more week. Then my precious mudroom is getting an overhaul. From that point henceforth until the next school year, the children will be allowed one pair of flip flops under my darling bench and one pair of sunglasses dangling from my dear hooks. Then we sluggards will give one last-ditch effort toward tidiness, before I pronounce us officially and pathetically hopeless.

That Time of Year

"Start of the school year: 4 new packs of pencils, 7 awesome folders, 10 pens, 3 packs of paper, and 1 ruler...end of the school year: 1 pencil."

It's that lovely time of year again. You know, that time of year when you're done packing lunches, the youngest is going to school in holey jeans, and the sight of a major school project makes you throw up in your mouth. Luckily, most of my children are self-sufficient when it comes to their end of year projects. 

We helped Jonah finish up his Presidents Report last week. He only handed it in a week late. For a kid who struggles with writing more than anything else in the world, a seven paragraph report is nothing short of sentencing the kid to a spleenectomy without anesthesia. But we got through it. I couldn't be more grateful that Zachary Taylor died of cholera 16 months into his presidency because it simply meant one less paragraph Jonah had to write. Sad day for the country back in 1850, glorious day for the Watson family 150 years later.

Our eldest child suffering from her own case of chronic senioritis, a malady that may prove fatal if graduation day doesn't get here quick, had to put together a presentation on Gone With the Wind for her film history class. She was up until midnight on Monday. She is passed done.

Sabrina had all of her honors english projects due yesterday. She spent the first half of the week putting together a collection of authentic Elizabethean recipes. Recipes calling for egges and yolkes. Sabrina wasn't quite sure whether this recipe belonged in a 16th century cookbook or in Gollum's cookbook. I told her it probably belonged to a very uneducated peasant. She also had to research Henry V and do an art representation of the play. She toiled over her charcoal drawing of dashing Kenneth Branagh as Henry V all night Wednesday, then stayed up until midnight typing her report. She handed in the projects yesterday with a sigh of relief.

Spencer's honors english project was due today. He had to research Merlin from the King Arthur story and make a poster sized coat of arms depicting the things he learned. I was up until 10:30 helping him color his poster, at which point I told him he was on his own as I needed to go collapse into my bed. I have no idea how late he was up, as I fell into an end-of-school-year coma about 20 seconds after hitting the pillow. All I know is that the child and his poster were gone this morning. 

Spencer has one more project due on Monday for his Utah History class all about the history of Lagoon. Yes, the amusement park. We found a highly entertaining 1987 KSL documentary on Youtube that has proven somewhat helpful. A very young Bruce Lindsay is the reporter in the segment. He may have been sporting some acid washed jeans. Or I could be making that up. It's hard when the child is supposed to have like three "different" resources. I'm sorry, but really the only resource that my kids can cite at the end of their reports is THE INTERNET. Books from the internet, articles from the internet, documentaries from the internet, illustrations from the internet. I wish it was this simple.

Resources used for this report:

THE INTERNET

Do you think Spencer's teacher would go for that? Probably not. Instead we have to make it appear that I got Spencer an appointment in the reading room at the Library of Congress where he poured over a vast array of original documents detailing the history of that obscure amusement park located in little Farmington Utah. 

Well, I'm sure he'll figure it out. He'll make it look all official and such. And then we should be done. Then this, the longest school year ever, can come to a close. Wait, I think I called last school year the longest one ever. In my brain, they are getting longer, or maybe I'm just getting tireder. Yep. I think that's the problem.

One Day, She Just Grew Up

"You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than the other girls." 

-J.M. Barrie Peter Pan

One day, you're holding your little 5 pound 11 ounce bundle.

The next day, she is dragging you all over the streets of Salt Lake for her senior photos, intent on stopping at every deliciously painted wall, door, or window.

One day, you watch as she carefully takes her first steps with those itty bitty legs.

The next day, this girl who is all legs, looks at her photos and says, "Man, my legs are long! No wonder I have such a hard time finding pants!"

One day, you dress her in her darling cream romper and take her to the studio in hopes that she won't scream for the camera like she is prone to do. And when you get this precious shot, you think you may have the most beautiful baby ever placed upon this earth.

And the next day, she dresses herself into her gorgeous blush concerto gown, and you know that if the lighting is right, you'll have no problem getting some lovely shots. And then you look at the photos, and you're quite sure that your daughter is the most beautiful young woman ever placed upon this earth.

One day, she is toddling around in pigtails.

And bouncy curls.

The next day, her hair hangs down her shoulder, simple and elegant.

One day, she is napping on the couch next to her dad, lying comfortably in the stink bug position, kool-aid stains on her cheeks, sporting those purple stretchy pants that I could never get her to take off.

The next day, she has abandoned the stretchy pants and the kool-aid, and has replaced them with her own fun style.

One day, I send her off to the school bus, holding back the tears as she faces the cutthroat world of kindergarten.

The next day, she confidently looks to college with ne'er a glance backwards.

One day, I'm admiring those darling freckles.

The next day, the freckles seemed to have faded. I'm puzzled as to how this happened before my very eyes, and I never noticed.

One day, I was buying her her first pair of glasses. 

The next day, I am buying her one last pair of glasses with the children's discount.

One day, I was helping her with her ballet slippers.

The next day, I was trading in those slippers for a cello.

One day, I was taking this photo.

The next day, I was taking this one.

One day, she is frolicking carefree along the beach.

The next day, I realize that we just took our last beach vacation with our dependent young daughter. That all subsequent vacations will have to be worked around an adult child's work and school schedule.

One day, I look at my little girl, and realize that she is not a little girl anymore, that she is growing up.

The next day, I realize that that was not grown up. This...

...is grown up!