Observations...

This week has been an incredibly busy one for me. And for those of you who are shaking your head at me and wondering what's different from normal, it's been busier than even I am used to. However, in the almost 24/7 of craziness, I've had a few moments to reflect on some things.

On Friday, I applied for a job. I know, I don't actually NEED a job. However, this is a very special, temporary job, and I'm hoping that I get it. While on one of my many genealogical runs, I saw a sign posted that the US Census Bureau was looking for ENUMERATORS, the people who go around to houses and collect data from people who don't actually respond to the mailed census requests. While I don't have feelings either way about the actual job (I know that the data collected impacts communities for the next ten years and the number of the representatives in the house, et cetera...), it gives my heart a thrill to think of being a small part of history. For me, the enumerators of the last 150 years have provided glimpses into the lives of my ancestors. At times, I curse them, because they spell names wrong or have bad handwriting, but for the most part, they were accurate and thorough. I feel that I have TAKEN so much over the last year from the efforts of those men (yes, they were only men then), that I would like to give back to future genealogists that might be hunting for their family members in 70 years, or so.

I walked into the "basic skills test" prepared for everything. I thought they might give on-the-spot interviews, so I was dressed to the nines. I came prepared with my passport, the one ID that is accepted everywhere, along with both pencils and pens. I showed up ten minutes early too with my teeth nicely brushed, and my lip gloss carefully applied.

When I walked into the testing room, I almost felt like turning around and walking back out. It was obvious at first glance that the other test takers NEEDED the job. They were blue-class employees that either arrived late, came ill-prepared, and/or had trouble following the simple directions that were given to us. They didn't even make eye contact with the proctor (who, by the way, works for the census bureau). While I had time to double-check my work and walked out with a perfect score, these people struggled to even finish the test within the time limit.

In all honesty, I felt so sad for them. Enumerator jobs only last 5-10 weeks and are sporadic depending on the number of people in your area who don't fill out the census forms. I suspect the majority of the people had lost their jobs and were willing to take anything, and just that thought made me count my blessings.

What a privileged life I lead that I can apply for a job for a noble reason and not because I can't pay my bills. How blessed I am to have a husband who not only provides our family with everything we need, but sends our son off to a private school, and we still have enough money to live comfortably, and to travel, and to do what we want. How thankful I am that I don't live a life of desperation.

The 14 puppies that are currently taking over my life no longer seemed like a curse. The Christmas projects that I have been working on (and that have been sucking weeks off of my life) were no more a trial. In fact, how thankful I became that I can even prepare and send Christmas gifts, and raise these beautiful dogs.

What a sweet, sweet life I have.

Then, today was Stake Conference. Since John served as bishop and now serves in the stake presidency, Sundays have taken on a different meaning. No longer are they days of rest in our family. Instead, the kids and I fulfill our callings, attend meetings and go to evening activities on Sunday, hoping that we will at least SEE John on a Sunday. Our poor home teachers wait for me to tell them what Sunday they can come by, and they always come, hoping that John will be home in time. Today was no different.

As we arrived at the stake center an hour early (the kids had a choir practice), I sat on a pew and just watched John. It was amazing to see him, talking to the many people of the stake that would wait to talk to him, or would try and catch his eye, or would reach out to shake his hand. He made slow progress through the chapel, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He loves the people of the stake--he loves to hear about their lives, he loves to help them, he loves to see them again. Finally, when I saw a bag of venison jerky that a man had brought John especially passed from the man to John, and John was trying to stuff it in his suit pocket, I sent Glo over to rescue that bag of jerky (and John!) In the beginning, it was hard, giving up John on Sunday. However, for the last ten years, I have realized that I'm not the center of his life on Sunday, and it's all good.

Finally, Mark and Johannah sang in a youth choir for stake conference today. The song was fine, but nothing stellar for me. However, seeing my son up singing (yet again!) brought tears to my eyes as it always does.

For Ethan and Mark, I think growing up NOT being jocks and star athletes was tricky (correct me if I'm wrong). Believe me, we tried to make them athletes--baseball, soccer, basketball, swimming, running--you name it, we tried it. While boys are generally measured by their athletic prowess, my boys had to find other ways to develop themselves and their talents because sports weren't their forte (excuse the musical pun, Mark). They found other outlets through Scouting, church, academics, German and music.

Music is a tricky thing for boys. If you aren't really, really good, it can look kind of nerdy or wimpy to be a boy musician. My boys have practiced more hours than they would probably want to admit, playing piano, playing horn and singing. Both of the boys had stellar, unchanged voices. Seriously, they could have made it into any European boys' choir without a second thought. When their voices started changing, though, I wasn't sure how it was all going to work out.

I should never have feared. Having the amazing ranges that they do combined with their musical knowledge, they have been shoe-ins for every choir in which they have auditioned. I will never forget the first time I cried, seeing Ethan singing in Carnegie Hall. It seemed to me that that exact moment was worth more than any athletic event I could have ever attended. You have to understand, when my boys sing in choir, they do a lot more than just SING. They seem to actually BECOME the music itself. Combine that ability with the spiritual experiences they have had, singing the beautiful music that they have sung, and all those years of NOT being the star athlete seem to be worth it.

Last spring, when I attended a concert where I knew it would be the last time my two boys would sing together in high school, I was overcome with tears. It was such a bittersweet moment for me, knowing that Ethan was moving on, and feeling such gratitude that they had had time together.

Then, in May, seeing Ethan singing in "Beauty and the Beast" and remembering back to when he was 3 years old and would watch that video everyday without tiring. He's known the music for 15 years, and it all came full circle during that performance. It was hard not to imagine him singing those same songs when he was just a tiny thing. Again, the tears flowed.

Well today, the male youth sounded out of key which is no surprise. There were boys up there, no taller than Glo that can't sing below middle C, and some boys that are so tone deaf that they were singing an octave LOWER than they should have been. Through it all though, Mark stood above the rest, not only because he is taller than all the others, and not because he was wearing his beautiful pink shirt, but because I could see in his face (as I'm sure others could) that he LOVES to sing. Singing is as much a part of him as breathing.

I don't know what I did to deserve such a beautiful life, with beautiful children and a loving husband, but I'm so thankful that I have been given it.