Why do I love Family History?

Well, aside from the obvious reasons, like finding ancestors and being able to perform their temple work for them, it's because occasionally, you come across some gems like this:
This is Gertrude Miller Meldrim.

She is my grandmother's grandmother. She was born in Wisconsin in 1880. Her family moved to California for her dad's health when she was 13. Apparently, she got pregnant, or married and then pregnant, by H. Raymond Blake, about whom I can find next to no information. But I guess he "slept around a lot", and her doctor was worried he would give her "diseases", and advised her to divorce him, which she did before the baby was born. This was 1901. People didn't divorce easily or well back then. But she soon married the man she worked for, Harry Meldrim, and he adopted the baby, Helen Clarisse Blake Meldrim Zimmerman Zvara, my Granny Z.

She was born in 1902 in Pasadena, CA. Thanks to Harry's good business sense (He started City Transfer and Storage in Long Beach) the family was quite wealthy (which is why I have 1 nice antique dresser). I also gather that Helen and Harry were very close. Now here's where it gets a little sketchy. Harry's father died sometime when he was young, so his mother remarried and had 5 more children. One of those children was John Robert Zimmerman, Harry's 16 years younger half-brother.


Quite a handsome bugger, don't you think? He played football for USC and was in the Navy for an unknown amount of time. Well, the family decided he and Helen needed to marry. Um, why? As best as I can get out of my grandmother, it was "pressure by Gertrude to marry after grandpa died". Reason enough to marry your daughter off to her half-uncle (well, by adoption). So, they betrothed Helen to Robert, and all was a go for their wedding in summer 1924.

Tragically, on the way to Helen's graduation from Berkeley on May 24, Harry was killed in a car accident. According to newspaper clippings, they decided to scale back the lavish wedding they'd planned and instead, Helen and Robert were married quietly in the family's beautiful garden in July.

So, her beloved father is gone, she's married to his brother, but there's still plenty to celebrate, right? Well, as it turns out, maybe forcing people to marry isn't the best plan. According to my grandma, Robert was a drinker who also "messed around", and after he took over the family's business, kind of ran it into the ground. They had 2 children, my grandma Janene, and her brother Harry. She remembers lots of fighting, and the 2 finally divorced in 1943. Robert died in 1962 and Helen (after remarrying) in 1985.

See? Our ancestors lived lives just as real as our very own. They aren't simply names and faded pictures. They are worth finding as much about them as possible and passing their stories on to our children. Fascinating! (Well, at least to me.)

Ah, Utah. Land of Promise?

Is it un-Mormon of me to hate Utah? Well, not hate, exactly. More like harbor intense feelings of resentment for it.

Why do I feel this? Is it because it is touted by all who live/lived/grew up there as the pinnacle of everything? Because, of course, their temples are the most beautiful, their wards are "functional", their healthcare system is perfect, their educational system is brave and defiant, their unemployment is low, their cost of living is better, and any other reason one could think of for living there instead of here.

So, yes, I really am just mad at Utah for taking all the great people who have dared to live here in the soulless state of Oregon and sucking them back into paradise. Well, what about the rest of us? We still stick it out here, trying to raise our families in this den of iniquity. How many friends do we have to say good-bye to, to wish well, as they go off to better, more beautiful lives in the "Promised Land"?

Or am I just mad because I'm jealous and there's no way we could move there. Hmm.....
All the same, I really want to stop the exodus of all our great people. Please, Utah, leave us a few.


And no, I won't retract this rant.

Happy Birthday, Ronan!

So our puppy is 1 year old now. Here are a few highlights of our first year together:

• Parvo - please never again!
• Months of pooping
• Barrel racing in the backyard
• Eating/destroying: boots, googles, stuffed animals, sandals, floaties, your beds....
• Snow!!
• Running on the beach
• Playing with Daddy
• Snuggling with the kids

Who would have thought this little black ball of fluff would turn into a 50 lb. silvery giant? But we wouldn't want it any other way. Happy Birthday, Rony-Roo!

Minutae

As I go through the day-to-dayness of my life, I know I too often get caught up in the little things that don't matter: messy rooms, imperfections, things "I" want to accomplish. And when it comes down to it, it won't matter.

As a child, I could work myself into an hysterical, sobbing mess just thinking of my parents dying. Luckily, now that I have the gospel, those thoughts no longer have the same power over me. What terrifies me now? (Well, aside from actually losing one of my kids.) My kids growing up.

I'm scared of the days to come when they no longer want to hang out with their parents; when they don't want kisses, hugs, and cuddles; when they develop serious attitudes; when they feel like they hate us when they go on missions, away to college, or just out on their own; when they decide they need to move far away to fulfill their dreams; when they marry and have children and don't relish the idea of Mom being a daily part of their lives; when they're too busy with their lives to call their Mom.

I mean, my children are my life. (I know mothers throughout time have said this and felt this way, but right now, it's all about me.) Everything I do every day revolves around them. Feeding, dressing, cleaning up after, planning for, shopping for, playing games with, disciplining, worrying about - it's all the kids. What the heck am I going to do when they don't need me anymore? I know my life will go on, I'm not that naive. And I actually want them to have their own lives and become their own people, not live in my basement until they're 35. But I really don't look forward to losing them in any capacity. And I don't want to be excluded from their lives.

I've decided that's why teenagers are such turds. So that by the time they're 18, their parents no longer have this compelling need to keep them close. They just want them and their attitudes gone! But then, I don't look forward to that either.

But I'm the Mom and that's what I do: worry endlessly about things I can neither control nor predict. Nobody ever mentioned this part of being a mother.

Mace is 5......Finally

I don't believe I have ever seen a child more excited for a birthday. Truly.

For some reason, ever since he turned 4, Mace has wanted to be 5. We don't know if he expected something amazing to happen, if it was just because Orson was 5, or if it's because it's his favorite number, but he has been waiting for this day all year.

For the last 2 weeks, every day he would ask, "Am I 5 yet?" "How many days til I'm 5?" And so at midnight last night, we went into his room and told him, "You're 5!"

All day, whenever the number 5 would come up, he'd say, "That's me! I'm 5!"

So often, I feel we (well...I) focus on the negatives of Mace: how difficult he can be; the crying; the perfectionism; the falling apart & fits.

And so, in honor of 5 years of Mace, I thought I'd relate a few of the things that make living with him wonderful - a few Mace-isms:

• "Yessssss!" (Whispered/hissed with glee in response to something good happening to him.)
• "Awwww!" (Complete with full-body slump in dejection when something doesn't go his way.)
• "Eggnog is my favorite milk." (Mine too, Mace. Mine too.)
• "Rrrrrr....This is a long prayer!" ('Nuff said.)
• The Mace-Mace dance. (Can't believe we never captured this on video - picture the Snoopy dance, but with head down, knees turned in, looking at the floor from side to side.)
• How he will only sleep on top of his covers because he passionately hates having to make his bed.
• Shoving little wads of Kleenex up his nose because he was tired of me making him "Blow" during his cold. That'll fix it!
• His love of Potty Talk. Just say "butt" and listen to him giggle.
• His future plans: He's Speed Racer and Emma is Trixie. And so it will be.
• Whatever he happens to love at the time, he does so passionately, with all his being.

So Happy Birthday, my Mace Mace. May you always find joy in the little things around you; may you always be thrilled to get Dollar Tree toys.
We know you will change your world. We are honored to be witnesses to all that is you.
Love, Mommy and Daddy

Rant

As I sit here, whiling away valuable time from my day, reading other fabulous moms' blogs, I can't help but wonder, what the heck is wrong with me?

So many of these moms post daily, with self-deprecating wit and poignant prose, complete with pictures depicting their beautiful families in their beautiful, new, fabulously decorated (complete with hand-made decor) homes, that are always mostly clean, well-lit and obviously taken with a great camera. They post of their children's antics, the crafts they've made, the profound things they and their children think and say - all of which implies they haven't wasted countless hours composing and writing this post and taking, downloading and uploading the accompanying pictures.

So I wonder: where did I go wrong? My house (while I am so very grateful for it - truly I am) is no showpiece. It's far from new, we don't have a speck of granite anywhere, I cannot afford fabulously trendy decor or furniture, "shabby chic" is no longer a euphemism for "catch-all" decor, if I post here, it means I have squandered valuable time with my children and household, we rarely do crafts, my children do not wear the "cutest" most fashionable clothes, fight and play a lot, and my pictures pretty much suck.

So please, what step did I miss in accomplishing this life so many others apparently have? Because I just don't understand..........


Note to self:
Do not blog when in a......mood. Ever.
Note:
Why don't I delete this post? Because I need a reminder of how stupid and selfish I can be sometimes.

Mace Mace

I wonder what it's going to be like, raising a child who will likely be smarter than I am by the time he's, oh, 10. What do you do with a child whose intelligence zooms right past his emotional/social progression? Already, I just pray that he'll always find people who can - if not understand - at least appreciate him. People who won't make him feel there's something wrong with him, that he's somehow inferior or just plain weird.

A couple of weeks ago, he found a packing box (probably from Amazon) and became obsessed with it. Had to sleep in it at night (which resulted in much crying when it broke apart many times in the night) and play in it during the day. We finally realized he was being like Wall-E. We think. Or he just really loved it. Will we ever know?