Jacob has been squinting for about a year. At his computer, at his books, at the TV. I finally took him to the eye doctor. His school tests had always come back borderline, with no recommendation for glasses, but the squinting was becoming really noticeable.
Turns out his left eye is 'short'. He's far-sighted. So he was fitted for glasses, and told it would be about ten days. 18 days later (I know because on the tenth day he asked if his glasses were ready, and then again every day after that) we picked up his new pair of OP glasses with blue wire frames.
Smiles. Smiles and smiles, grins all the way home.
"Whoa, I can see everything." He turned around in his chair at the dinner table, looking out the back slider doors. "I can see fingerprints!"
"That's great!" I said, as I pulled out the Windex from under the kitchen sink.
Really quick, before she sees...
Yesterday, Chelsea came in the door from school, smiling, (which is good, you never know with an almost 17 year-old) wearing this:
She said, "Look!"
I looked, then my eyes got big and I asked, "Is that Matt's jersey?"
And she grinned and nodded.
"Very cool," I said, suppressing the urge to jump up and do the little excited giggly mom dance she has asked me not to do. Ever.
"Yeah, it's a tradition. A tradition I never really thought I would be a part of."
"And now you are."
Her smile got big. And we both giggled.
Then I ruined it. "Wait, what is he wearing for the game?"
She rolled her eyes. "Um, his home jersey, mom." She turned and left the room.
The other day, my friend, Rochelle, and I were in Reindeer Ranch, a fun shop on the strip. I love their quirky Halloween decorations and hadn't been in to see them yet this season. We perused the Halloween stuff and moved on, and I saw a plate. I cracked up and said, "That is the story of my life." We laughed, browsed a little more, then went our separate ways.
About fifteen minutes ago, I was kissing my husband hello as he got home from work. One of the kids came in, giggled, and said, "Mom, there's a surprise for you on your car."
What? I looked at Brandon who wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I thought, "Hm, Husband Hero at work?"
I opened the garage door, and sure enough, there sat a gift box (not a Walmart bag) gift wrapped with paper and a lovely bow. And... a card? With swirly hand-writing.
Wait a minute, did he have the store write the card for him, too?
I took the card and the gift and opened the envelope as I walked back into the house.
This gift wasn't from my husband! I grinned.
It was from my friend, Rochelle! She gives good things!
Husband Hero forgotten, I tore open the wrapping and opened the box as my B and the kids gathered around.
I visited Segullah this morning, a blog I frequent written by LDS women, for LDS women. I find most of the posts intelligent, edgy, thought-provoking... yes, it is a Mormon site. For the most part, it strengthens my beliefs that LDS women are a power in this world, despite the world's ignorance of that. That isn't why we are here, to be sung about. Sometimes I am saddened by what I read, but I think for the rest of the day on the subject, and find my own convictions.
This morning, I read this article: To thine own self be true (but you might be less happy)
I left this comment:
I think a lot of women expect to be happy because of the choices they make, they are doing the “perfect” things, whether it’s impressing their friends, the people at church, or at work, or they are really juggling that family act, watching the clock, sacrificing all for the kids and the husband. Then life hits hard, or they aren’t quite as happy as they think they should be, or they’re not getting near as much as they are giving, and spiral slowly, or abruptly, into depression, self-doubt, dissappointment, resentment. And, heaven forbid, they compare themselves to all the other women who seem to have it all together, who are fulfilled.
I am a mommy-blogger, sort of. My blog is about positive thinking and sometimes I wish it wasn’t… but I find when I am honest about the imperfections, even assigning a positive spin at the end of the post, those posts get the most comments, the most “I get this” vibes. We as women need to find happiness in the “trying”, in the “small” blessings that will stay with us for eternity, in the joy of improving ourselves in alignment to our Heavenly Father’s view of us… not our neighbor’s.
1 Samuel 16:7 “for the Lord seeth not as a man seeth; for the man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.”
I think of several women I know are happy. I know they struggle, that they work hard, that they cry, that they make mistakes. But they embrace who they are to Heavenly Father, they hope they are on their way to finding that potential, and they joy in that humble journey. And then we, “man”, we see the result. This kind of happiness is a personal, inside thing. It can be really difficult to find. But when the outside stuff hits, those women who have found it are steady, are strong, no matter the heartbreak.
“Happiness is not in things. It is in us.”
I just felt it belonged here on Glass Half Full. Thanks for reading my silly thoughts and words and raves. I'm just trying to find that inside happiness and sharing the bits as I go along. Best wishes to you on your journey.
My sister-in-law loves her job, and it shows. Erica is a lively waitress at the Trapper Creek Lodge & Supper Club in Shell, Wyoming. For my Father-in-law's 65th birthday (Happy Birthday, Dad) we made the drive to the foot of the Big Horn Mountains (and one of the lovelier areas of this part of the state) to make our reservation and to meet Chef Robb Howe. Erica has been working for Robb for several years, beginning at Robb's restaurant, the Wagon Wheel, which sadly burned down a few years ago. Robb now cooks at Trapper Creek, and I was so happy to see (and taste) that his recipes made the move with him. So much so, that I only took a picture of the appetizers, and forgot the camera for the rest of the meal. As it probably should be. I also had my camera on action setting from Jacob's game, so the pics are a little blurry. Maybe we should have moved around more.
We were so full. We shared these mouth-watering Sirloin Tips on Toast with Horseradish Cream, and herbed Boursin cream cheese on "Crackers", toasted thin slices of garlic baguette, practically soaked in butter. YUM. Our salads were all topped with Robb's famous Roasted Red Pepper Ranch. He roasts and purees all those peppers by himself. The dressing is mellow and smoky and zingy. Then our orders came. I had the pork tenderloin pasta with garlic cream sauce and mushrooms... heaven. The popular choice was chicken fried steak, but Mom had the citrus grilled chicken pasta, Dad had the prime rib (1 1/2" thick) and Erica had the sun-dried tomato chicken. Somewhere along the lines, we were getting pretty silly, as is the Jensen family tradition, and Doug mentioned "Dust in the Wind" and John Denver... which struck me as a little off, and I laughed... wait, John Denver doesn't sing Dust in the Wind... who was it? The Eagles or somebody... Brandon said (of course he knew... he's a walking jukebox... or itunes... or whatever) it was Kansas. Kansas, of course. And I couldn't stop giggling because I was picturing John Denver playing his guitar on the side of a mountain singing the forlorn "All we are is dust in the wind..." with a bowl of Grapenuts, surrounded by Muppets. Okay, I'm giggling again. But back to the meal... We topped it off with a cool mug (literally) of whipped-cream-topped chocolate mousse. A few of us had the Kahlua Cheesecake. Brandon's dad is also a Bishop, and after he ordered the cheesecake, announced. "Wait a minute... isn't that rum?" then proceeded to demolish his dessert faster than any of us. It was his birthday after all, and it wasn't really rum. Right? Becca gave up half-way through hers, and Josh graciously finished it for her. Doug and Erica were smart and shared. Brandon and I savored the mousse, barely finishing our mugs, and Mom sent hers around for any interested crazy people with absolutely no more room for dessert.
We thanked Chef Robb, and he wondered why we didn't order the seared scallops, which are a favorite of mine. I didn't order them because capers are not a favorite of mine. I didn't tell him that.
It was a wonderful meal in a beautiful setting, with great, happy people who can make me laugh really hard... the kind you feel in your stomach muscles.
On the way home, Brandon plugged his itouch into the stereo and pulled up... you guessed it... Dust in the Wind, by Kansas.
Chelsea wants to go to Trapper Creek for her birthday next month. Fine by me. Maybe I'll try the scallops.