Raising an adult five year old

One week from today, Anna will turn 5. It's totally weird to me, the thought of being the mother of a five year old. I don't know why 5 is so different from 4, maybe it's the milestones involved and all that (kindergarten, losing teeth, etc.), but 5 seems old. I feel like someone older should be the mother of a five year old . . . even though I'm plenty old. But 5 seems like a big deal. So to celebrate, I thought I would make this "Birthday Week" and do some fun posts about Anna. I'm not committing to post every day, because who knows what will happen, but you can at least expect a couple/few/handful more between now and then.

(As a disclaimer, if I start to sound too sappy or too much like a show-off, forgive me. If I can't do it one time a week year, when can I? And I will also try to limit the number of times I say she's delightful. It will be hard, because there are few words that truly capture the Anna magic, but I will do my best.)

To start off, here's a post I started a while ago about how Anna is so adult for her age. I'm kind of used to it, because it's been 5 years of this and I don't have anything else to compare it to, but sometimes when I interact with other kids her age, I'm like, "Really? You're really going to throw a fit about that? How childish . . . " Not to say that she doesn't throw fits, but I kind of feel like she doesn't about the usual kid things sometimes.

Here are a few reasons why she seems so adult to me:

• I can totally reason with her about a lot of things. But one thing in particular is eating her vegetables. If she is hesitant to eat them, I will tell her how good they are for her, how many vitamins and nutrients are in them, and she will most often relent. And afterward she'll say things like, "I don't like them, but I can handle them." Are you kidding me? There are two foods that she flat-out refuses to eat (asparagus and avocados), but even then, she'll try them on occasion, of her own volition, to see if she likes them yet.
• Anna loves giving talks in church, be it Primary or bearing her testimony. She's not nervous at all, I hardly have to coach her, and she blows us all out of the water with her wisdom and sincerity.
• She eats salad—and not just ones smothered in ranch dressing, either. She'll eat caesar salad, ones with a vinaigrette, or whatever.
• She used to not be able to say her Rs. She would talk about my "sistuhs" and when we were going to eat "dinnuh." But then on the morning of her third birthday, I heard her practicing her Rs in her bed. "Chairrr. Chairrr. Deerrrr." And she never turned back. I just loved that it was on her birthday and that she pretty much decided to learn how to do it on her own.
• I have taken her to the ballet and a play and she can handle sitting quietly for that long and she totally enjoys the performance. (Okay, so it was The Nutcracker and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, respectively, so maybe I'll have to try her with Shakespeare before I have anything to write home about.)
• She always wants to make the phone calls to her friends' parents — by herself — to schedule a play date. I remember being scared for years of talking to adults on the phone.
• Anna told me last night that she liked her room but that she might be kind of spoiled. I asked her why and she said, "Because I have a lot of stuff." At this point, I'm starting to regret some of the birthday presents I already bought her, and then she says, "Maybe I should take some out . . ." and donate them? I think, ". . . and put them in your room so I can come play with them in the morning while you try to sleep." It wasn't the best idea, but props to her for not being such a greedy little thing.

Or she'll say things like this, which she came out with over breakfast recently: "Mom, I think we should eat less candy." (I was a little surprised, as she is a total sucker for treats. She can normally have one a day, but we let that rule slide a little around Easter.) Anyway, she continued, "Yeah, I think we should go for a while without candy." What kid says this voluntarily?

"Um, okay," I said. "Great. I'm in. Starting today?"

"Well . . . maybe tomorrow. That way we can have extra today," she said.

So she IS still a child some of the time, which is a good thing. But she was serious about this and something I will wholly support. When she puts her mind to it, she's totally better at policing sugar than I am. Maybe I should put her in charge of my writing deadlines . . .

Thoughts from the concert

I'm still in the middle of my concert hangover/reverie, so I thought I would post, in no particular order, a few thoughts I had last night.

• After The Fray performed, they played some random music before U2 came out. Then on came David Bowie's "Space Oddity" (okay, so I didn't know it by that name either—you know, "ground control to major tom"?), and after the words "commencing countdown . . . engines on," the band appeared on stage. Clever timing, yes, but I also can't hear those words without seeing Chandler Bing sing them.
• As much as you love listening to the music at home or wherever, there is nothing that beats being there live with 50,000 other people, singing the same words you're singing. Kind of amazing. And the visual spectacle, of course, was a wonder.
• A very important part of the concert experience is people watching, I think. There was a HUGE range of ages there last night. Young kids, some seriously young kids (people everywhere, don't bring your 3 year old to hear U2), middle somethings, and some much older folks, white haired and all. I was kind of surprised at this. I guess it makes sense, since U2 has been around for like 30 years, but still. I sat near this lady who was late 50s or early 60s and wearing a total grandma pink shirt, and she was rocking out all night, singing along and everything. I guess I shouldn't judge, and I guess U2 is no respecter of persons.
• I actually think that may be part of their appeal. Their fans ARE young and old, and the band has maintained its coolness since the beginning. Not many bands can claim as much.
• Bono is a great performer. I love his voice and he made the show fun. But my new crush? The Edge. He's kind of hot and, if this amateur critic can say so, kind of a guitar virtuoso.
• There are also few things better than hearing the opening of "Where the Streets Have No Name" played live. It was The Edge, I tell you! He's a magical wizard.
• With all that talk about seeing a live concert, a rebellious part of myself wondered if people might not feel the same way if we all just met in the stadium, blasted greatest hits CDs over the sound system, and sang along to our hearts' content. We could even flash a few spotlights now and then. Sure, it was fun when Bono talked to the audience and made it a little more personal, but I think "listening parties" might almost be just as good.
• But I still loved it and didn't want it to end.

U2 tomorrow, and an embarassing story

Yep, I'm going to the U2 concert tomorrow. I'm supermega excited. I'm no groupie, but I have always liked them and the last concert of theirs I went to when I was in college was incredibly fun. Just the whole atmosphere was fun—hearing the music, watching the band perform, seeing the spectacle. It was well worth the ticket price.

The memory from yesteryear is magical, but it also calls to mind a pretty embarrassing story. A couple days before the concert, I was even more excited than I am for this one—giddily excited. We had been blasting U2 as much as we could in my apartment and Bono was on my mind. I was at the grocery store with my sister, in the midst of all the U2 fever, and I saw a man that looked quite a bit like Mr. U2 himself.

I looked a little closer, following him from aisle to aisle, and the more I looked, the more convinced I became: It was Bono. And Bono was at Smith's in Provo. I dragged my sister over to look at him and confirm my suspicions. She was skeptical, wondering what in the world he would be doing there ("Seeing how the locals live . . . or just seeing if he could get away with it," I rationalized). Despite her skepticism, I still could not quell my girlish fancy.

I walked past him and checked out the contents of his cart. I remember noting some sandwich makings, specifically, and it seemed like everything else in there was totally suitable for someone on the road.

I don't know if I REALLY thought it was him or if it was the fear that maybe I would later hear that Bono had been sighted in Provo and I hadn't done anything about it that was driving my fascination with this man. But after making such a big fuss about it and stalking him for several aisles, my sister finally made me go talk to him. I made her come with me, as backup.

I think I started out by asking his name. He said "Gary" in such a way that I was sure he was hiding an accent. His voice sounded weird. (I'm really so ashamed of myself. It seems so silly and juvenile now.) Anyway, I chatted with "Gary" for a few minutes, and then it became apparent that middle-aged "Gary" was a little too flattered by the attention of two 20-year-old girls, so we high-tailed it out of there, giggling all the way.

So I can safely say that it was NOT Bono that day at Smith's. Embarrassed as I am about it now, I'm glad I checked so that I could put my doubts to rest. And who knows, maybe I'll run into him today or even tomorrow and maybe this time at Albertson's.

Annacdotes 16

These pictures are brought to you by our trip to the Thanksgiving Point gardens. (And this one was totally self-posed. Just fyi. My job is simply to capture the magic she innately provides.)

1. In a recent prayer, Anna asked for help in reminding me to let her take a karate class. That was the first I heard of it, and she hasn't mentioned it since. Must have been one of those extremely intense, prayer-necessitating, passing phases.


2. Anna came upstairs to inform me that the movie she was watching was done. (It was The Care Bears, by the way, which she absolutely loves.) As I was turning everything off, she said thoughtfully, "But one thing, Mom . . .  how do I look inside my heart?" Don't you just love the Care Bears? (And Anna?)

3. Anna was grabbing someone else's book on the kitchen table when she was supposed to be eating her breakfast. Here is the ensuing conversation.

Me: Hey, maybe put that down while you're eating so you don't get your breakfast hands on it.

Anna: (cowering) Please don't make that my new nickname!

Me: (laughing) What, 'Breakfast Hands'?

Anna: Yeah. I wouldn't like it at all. [Then in a mocking voice] 'Hey Breakfast Hands, it's time for dinner!'

Her hypothetical scenario came so quickly that it caught me by surprise. And the whole breakfast-dinner thing just got me. Such genius comedic timing.

4. Potty talk alert: (It's still funny to me, though, because it's so Anna.) Anyway, of her own volition, Anna has started calling #1 "peep," as in "I have to go peep." Because #2 is poop, right? Makes perfect sense. She uses it as a verb too. She recently brought up the time the monarch butterfly we hatched last summer "peeped" on her hand when it flew out of the jar. I kind of love it. Am I that far gone?

5. A frequent topic of my discussions with Anna is what words mean. She's very curious when she hears a new word and always wants to know what it means. I find myself having conversations like this about words several times a day. I also think it's an art to define things in a simple yet accurate way that a child can understand. (I'm totally pro, by now, at explaining things to her like she's a 5 year old.) Just recently, for instance, I had to define the words "benefit," "combination," "culture," and "virgin." (That last word means a young woman who has never been married, by the way. In case you were wondering.)

6. In a recent prayer, Anna said these two gems:

"We're grateful for all the blessings we've given you."

and

"Please destroy all the wickedness on this land."

That last one sounded so sincere and sweet coming from her.

7. After I took Anna to see the movie Rio (which gets a big 'meh' from me but probably 4 stars from Anna), we were discussing the show as we got in the car. Anna said, "You know, they should really have a place where you can eat breakfast and lunch, or something, called Cafe Rio."

I just don't know what to do with this girl. She's sometimes almost too much delight all at once.

I was going for "windblown and disheveled" here and I think I totally pulled it off.

Happy Mother's Day

Ah, Mother's Day. What a good day. It's holidays like this that make me rethink my occasional opinion that the world is going down the tubes. People are good for something. We make a special day to honor some of the world's most amazing people. Like my mother.

Thanks, Mom, for being the mother of this:

A thousand words

Or six.

Winter meets spring . . . in my backyard.

My golden birthday present

I'd like to make a public announcement. This November, I will have my golden birthday. And I decided that, for my golden birthday, I am going to give myself a present. A golden present. (Just kidding. I promise not to say 'golden' anymore in this post.) I am going to write a book before I turn 30. As April 30th just passed, I now have seven months to do this. I think I can do it. In fact, I can totally do it.

Sounds pretty bold, right? I know. But I'm also excited—as in, really.

I'm also simultaneously scared out of my mind. Of course I'm riddled with self-doubt. Like I can write a book! Okay, so I've written a lot. I even do it professionally, but I've never written fiction. Long fiction, anyway. I don't know anything about pacing, character development, arcs, writing dialogue . . . And who in the world is going to read it, besides my seven blog readers and my parents? [p.s. I love you, blog readers. You're not chopped liver.]

And for another thing, I so hate the bandwagon thing. (It took me a while to read Harry Potter, for heaven's sake, just because everybody else was already doing it.) But it seems like everyone is writing a book. And I don't want to be one of those people. I can just imagine the conversation now: "Hey Ashley, what are you up to these days?" "I'm writing a book, actually." CRINGE. That's only cool to say if you're good at it. (And see how bad I am at dialogue???)

So what the heck am I doing? I ask myself this constantly. I guess I'm saying to heck with all of that and throwing caution to the wolves (yep, I just did that) and saying I'll learn along the way. And, like the lesson I learned from Harry, many people doing something isn't a good reason for me to not do it too. (Does that even make sense?) So I'm doing it.

Because the fact of the matter is this: This said idea has been weighing heavily on my mind (and gaining weight as we speak) for months now and I. Just. Can't. Shake it. It needs to be reckoned with.

Here's how it all came down. Writing a book has been a goal of mine for years and years (probably 15). This was back before I even knew I liked to write; I just thought it would be cool to write a book. But I specifically remember writing it down as one of my goals during a Relief Society lesson in college, and that was probably 10 years ago. Anyway, I've always loved to read, but some time after that lesson, I decided on majoring in English, took up editing, and have been a lover of the written word ever since. And the more I edited and the more I wrote, the more my brain started to think about writing and shaping phrases and translating thoughts and life into words—and doing it the way I liked to do it. I think about it a lot.

And then I got a story idea. Just a tiny seed of an idea. It grew slowly at first, taking years to add anything significant to it, and then this last year it seemed to take off. And now the more I think about it, the more my brain kicks in to overdrive and I make lists and lists of ideas. And they just keep coming.

I have the first line, maybe even the last one, and the first couple of chapters pretty much planned out. But I don't know what's going to happen from there. So my self-doubt was successfully keeping any progress at bay—until this last week when it was all just too much.

First I saw another post from a friend who is feverishly writing and networking and trying to get published someday. (Props to you, Julia.) Another knock on the door from the book in my brain.

And then I read again this quote by Joe Konrath that she has on her blog: "There's a word for a writer who never gives up . . . published." Argh. Another prod. But Self-Doubt was still totally winning.

I also saw a link on Julia's blog for the book Supernaturally, the sequel to Paranormalcy, the best-selling book written by a girl I went to school with. I read the first book. It was fun. And I'm so excited for her—but I'm so completely jealous of her success. So I think, "If she can do it, why can't I?" One more prod. Self-Doubt was starting to get worried.

And then I remembered this Maya Angelou quote I read a while ago that has long since rankled me: "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." Argh! I know! Or at least I'm beginning to understand.

Then I read this post from another friend, about how it is her dream to be an author. So many things resonated with me from her post, but it wasn't until I thought about it and the book and my dream for a few days and then finally made a decision (and a public comment—gasp!) on her blog, saying that I was really going to do it this year, that Self-Doubt took a huge beating.

It's still there, to be sure, but it's quieter. And kind of hiding in a corner, probably lurking until the next time my defenses are down. I've told half a dozen people or so about my plan and the more I talk about it, the more real and achievable it seems. (Although I will say that telling people about my extremely private story idea has made me feel incredibly vulnerable, but I think that if I want people to read and buy my books, I'm going to have to get used to the idea of them eventually finding out what the story is about. I'll work on it. So stay back, Self-Doubt!)

But I'm excited to have a plan and to just finally do what I've always wanted to do. Who cares if it sucks? I will have achieved my goal and I can move on from there, hopefully writing something less sucky the next time around.

So I'm aiming for somewhere between Thoreau and Total Crap. I'd like my book to be thoughtful, a little fun, and interesting to read. I think those are modest goals, but I still really don't have a clue about how I'm going to bring them to fruition. But like I said, caution to the wolves.

So here I am, climbing up the ladder to take a seat on the big author bandwagon. But I'm doing it consciously and with good reason, not just to fit in. That makes a difference, doesn't it?

Here goes everything.