Accelerated Character Building

Today’s post is entirely serious with no humor whatsoever. None…at all…

I shall post about adversity, being grateful in all circumstances, and in the great joy that comes through experiences that build character…building…building…

Last week dishwasher gave up the ghost. Its heart – the pump – stopped pumping and it groaned and gasped and finally died. I am so grateful for the opportunity to again wash dishes by hand. I grew up hand washing dishes, I had no dishwasher until I had three little kids, and recently spent 18 months in my sister’s basement washing dishes so this will be …like …a …stroll …down …memory …lane. Happy…happy…

The fact that the dishwasher is only a freakin’ three years old is totally beside the point.

Slight grrrr.

Three days ago the air conditioner went out. The fan still works, but it blows no cool air, which sucks (in the %& way, not the actual “intake of breath” way).

You notice that I DID NOT SWEAR. Blog swearing involves FOUR little whatsits from the top row of the keyboard and I only wrote two, so think of a word like “crud” or “blast” or “shoot” (or for you of ancient years, “egad” or “zounds”). *

With no air conditioner I am SO GRATEFUL AND HAPPY for the opportunity to have my own personal sauna in my house. I don’t even need to go to the gym to work up a sweat. 94^ (why don’t keyboards have a degree symbol key – the $% stupids) is a nice, exciting temperature!!! I CAN TOTALLY LIVE WITH THIS AND IT WILL BE A FUN AND GROWING EXPERIENCE. Joy! Joy!

Bigger GRRRRRR.

And finally, giving all homage to Mr. Murphy and his law, my garage door opener broke yesterday. Yup – that door ain’t going nowhere unless I move it myself. My personal motto:
HOORAY - THE PLAN IS WORKING
comes to mind. I AM SO GRATEFUL MY GARAGE DOOR IS BROKEN…BECAUSE…BECAUSE…the inside of my garage is so cute? Nope, doesn’t work. How about…a garage door at half mast adds interest to the house? Don’t like that either. I know – now I can get more exercise by jumping out of the car to open and close it? We will go with it. I AM SOOOOOO HAPPY!

MAJOR GRRRRRRR !!!!!

*This reminds me of a story I heard about a Fast & Testimony meeting (for those of you not familiar with this – it’s a monthly Mormon church meeting where members of the congregation can come to the podium and share their spiritual experiences and feelings). A youngster told how he was so glad his family no longer used the “S” and “F” words in their home. The second he finished, the Bishop jumped up, in front of the people waiting their turn, and said he needed to clarify what his son had just said. In their home, the “S” word is “Shutup” and the “F” word is “Fart”.

That Tricky, Tricky TRAX

My 15-year old makes big noises that she is all grown up and Mature (with a capital M). She keeps track of how many people think she is 17, tries on cocktail dresses, wants me to go before the governor to allow her to get a driver’s license before she is 16 and thinks I have no idea what it is like to be 27 in a 15-year old body. Life is sooooo unfair.

One thing she has been begging for is the chance to prove her great Maturity by taking TRAX downtown all by herself. She had a girlfriend who moved to the Gateway and was sure it would be no big deal to ride TRAX. “No Tasha, you can’t take TRAX by yourself and go downtown.” When I was immovable on that point she started begging to take TRAX to the U so she could visit a friend (of the 17 year old boy variety) all alone, at night. I mean, if she couldn’t go in the day to visit a girlfriend, surely I would let her royal Matureness go visit a boy at night….right? Wrong!

Last week my big kids decided to take the grandbabies to the zoo. I drove T & T (Tasha and Thomas) to the zoo to join the fam (I had appointments and couldn’t stay) with the understanding that they would come home with their big sister. But everyone decided to go to my son’s house for dinner and T & T had had enough nieces and nephews for one day. “Here is Tasha’s big chance”, I thought. “They can come home on TRAX”. So Steph drove them to the station with explicit directions, cash in their pockets, and smiles on their faces.

The ride takes about 50 to 60 minutes, so I duly showed up at the last station on the line to pick them up. But - - - no kids. ½ hour later - - - still no kids. Another ½ hour….. At this point I called UDOT to see if there was a problem with the line or if two children, one who was exceptionally Mature, had been found, wounded and bleeding. Nothing. Another 15 minutes. It has now been 2 hours and 15 minutes since they got on the train. No kids. I wasn’t particularly worried, or angry, just frustrated, hot, bored, peeved that I had missed an appointment and I had to go to the bathroom really, really badly.

A phone call…finally. It's a hysterical Tasha. “I lost Thomas, I lost Thomas. I got off the train, he was right behind me, but the doors closed and he’s gone.” Great! So now I have histrionics (of the Mature kind), a missing child and Tasha doesn’t even know which way the train with said missing child was going. “Where are you?”, I asked. “2nd East and 4th South!” Yes, 'tis true. 2 hours and 15 minutes on TRAX and she has come 8 blocks. Awesome!!!

Tasha, the seriously Mature, had been on 4 different trains. “People kept telling us the wrong train to get on. Even the conductor told us the wrong train! It said ‘Sandy’ but was going the opposite direction.”

“Tasha, which way is south?”

"What does that have to do with anything?"

So I called my son, who lives 2 minutes from the zoo to try and locate the lone 12 year old, and I headed downtown to get the Mature one. Thomas had enough presence of mind to pull his shirt over his head and start to cry. This spurred a saintly lady to ask what the problem was and explain how he should get off at the next stop and head back in the correct direction. He did and when he hopped off the train a crying Tasha grabbed him and the two stood on the platform hugging like long lost lovers.

By the time Jevan arrived, they were together again and I picked them up shortly afterwards. It was surprising that I arrived in one piece because belly laughter is not conducive to freeway driving. Tasha opened the car door to climb in, gathering the tatters of her Maturity around her, and said, “Don’t say a word”. I didn’t, but couldn’t stop laughing for 20 minutes. Since then she hasn’t asked once about getting her license early. Aren’t life lessons grand?