CHAPTER 14 - Surviving the Holidays
“Laura and
Mary each had a pan, and Pa and Ma showed us how to pour the dark syrup in
little streams onto the snow.”
Laura
Ingalls Wilder
Right
after Noah died Andy and I decided to go to Disneyland. We were so naive.
In
our defense, we wanted to go to a happy place. Disneyland is Andy’s happy place
any day of the year. I can’t imagine a bigger mistake for me. We had just
buried Noah a few days before. We were still carrying that raw, open wound
around with us. I was wide-eyed like a kind of carrion bird looking for food.
Every child I saw was Noah. Every stroller and there were thousands, contained
a baby named Noah. We ate our sorrow in corn dogs, turkey legs, churros, Monte
Cristo sandwiches, bread bowls full of steaming chowder, fried chicken at
Carnation Plaza...all the reasons to go to Disneyland - we ate them. I
staggered around as if I was drunk on sadness and Dole Whip.
We
were grasping at anything that would take our minds off the recent past.
Then
that night the famous Disney parade happened while we were standing in line to
go through the ride It’s A Small World. The magic of the evening lights
and the music...then Mickey entered and Andy finally lost it.
We
stepped out of the line so as not to scare all the little kids standing around
a 6’4” man having a sobbing breakdown in front of Mickey Mouse.
“Why
can’t we have Noah here with us?” he cried.
“I
don’t know.”
“I
just want to be able to bring him to Disneyland and introduce him to Mickey and
all this.”
“I
know.”
“It’s
just not fair that everybody gets to do it but us.”
He
cried and cried. He had been putting on such a strong face for me through the
entire delivery and subsequent burial, that I thought it didn’t really affect
him. I thought he was going to be okay.
Clearly, he was not.
I
wondered if Christmas was ever going to be the same for us.
It
has not.
For
teachers, Christmas vacation is great because it gives us a much-needed break
from the drama, haha, and the classroom. The drama classrooms. So we need it -
but we’ve been groomed from birth to do things at Christmas that involve large
groups of people, parties, and pleasantries. Would we ever feel “pleasant”
again?
The
holidays present such a conundrum for our groups of waiters. There’s Christmas,
Mother’s and Father’s Day, and the horrible Valentine’s Day to get through.
Those are just the big ones. We often create other sentimental “holidays,” or
they are thrust upon us. For example, I can often forget my own wedding
anniversary but the anniversary of the death of my child is an earthquake that shakes
me for a full 24 hours year after year…after year.
Long-suffering
through a holiday is sheer torture. We’ve been groomed to believe that if we
had a companion or kids, the holidays would be so much better because of the matching pajamas and trips to
Disneyland.
When
I was in eighth grade I was absolutely addicted to the Little House on the
Prairie series written by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I guess I’ve always been
fascinated by survival (I love camping!) and the theme of those books is
definitely how the Ingalls family survived and thrived on the prairie in the
1800’s. In the first book Little House in
the Big Woods, Laura and Mary learn how to make “Snow Candy.” The recipe is literally molasses and brown
sugar boiled to the hard crack stage and then dropped into the snow in “circles,
and curlicues and squiggledy things,”[1] until it
hardened up and became candy. I think I attempted to make snow candy every
February of my life when, in Utah, we had a lot of snow. I can see my mom rolling
her eyes right now at the number of attempts I made and the sheer bottles of
molasses I went through learning what the “hard crack” stage looked like and
how not to burn myself. Candy making is not for sissies.
I
outgrew the Little House series (in my 30’s!) Though I still own the book set
my parents gave me when I was in 7th Grade. I intend on reading them again when
I retire, first thing. They were a huge influence on me.
Because
I also love any excuse to cook, I have found a way to survive one of America’s
worst excuses for a holiday - Valentine's Day. No, my survival strategy isn’t
eating myself through Kneaders Bakery. That doesn’t make me feel better just
bloated and guilty. No, I don’t cook for a multitude of singles and cry over
“She’s Got Mail” for the three thousandth time. I don’t call it “Single
Awareness Day” and I don’t have a pity party by myself with a gallon of Ben and
Jerry’s. But if you do -I’m all for you doing you! If any of those things make
you feel better about the giant microscope that terrorizes all single
American’s every February 14th - by all means, you do you.
Let
me preface my big plan with some history.
In 2002, I took a group of 40 students and chaperones to Scotland to perform at
the International Fringe Festival. We were part of the American High School
Theatre Festival there and it cost us about $4000 per student for the
experience. It was life-changing and in the end I’m glad we did it. But
preceding the trip we organized and executed 31 fundraisers to get enough money
to take every talented kid, and not just the ones that could afford it. That
part was a nightmare.
But
I digress.
One
of those fundraisers was making suckers, er...lollipops. Not sure what to call
them for this book. I’ll say suckers. Mostly because the term sucker was also a
metaphor for how I felt about the entire trip. Anyway - these suckers were
homemade. There was no Amazon.com or Alibaba at the time to simply order 3000
from China and call it good. Enter the skills I had learned from Laura Ingalls
Wilder. Hard crack stage baby!
Because
I was SNK (Single No Kids) I made the initial investment (as I usually do) and
purchased 300 sucker molds in different shapes from our local craft store (I
still own them if you need to borrow them). I also purchased sticks, flavorings, and sugar. So much sugar. Then nearly every Friday night for a year I gathered
whoever was going to Scotland and we turned my little kitchen into a sucker
factory. Literally. Some stirred, some wrapped, some labeled. I measured,
poured, and watched those candy bubbles slow down to their hard crack stage. The
kids got to choose the flavors and colors. We learned what sold and what did
not. It was a noisy, messy, happy time and I would not have given it up for
anything.
We
tried to make between three to five hundred suckers each time we would drag out
all the supplies. It was exhausting. But we figured out that we could make each
sucker for less than a nickel and sell them for 50 cents each. They were pink
bubblegum, blue raspberry, Pioneer Grape (our school color was purple) and
there were times when it got so hectic in that little kitchen and we were
trying so hard to work fast that I would burn a batch and by mistake, we found
out that we could call that batch “Campfire Marshmallow” and it was a quick
selling favorite. It made my kitchen smell like death but...worth it? Oh yes.
See,
despite a sugar-covered kitchen, in the end, we had the time of our lives! We
laughed, we listened to Broadway tunes, of course, talked about and planned the
current show (or the next fundraiser).
During
school lunch and at the play concessions we had permission to sell suckers.
Drama kids are exceptional hawkers! It wasn’t long before we had regular
customers that were addicted to their favorite flavors. After a solid year of
sucker making and selling, we had earned thousands of dollars, but the most
important thing was the camaraderie that built the team. It was tedious work
and everyone had to participate, but in the end we estimated that we earned
someone’s entire trip just from those wild nights of pouring and wrapping sugar
that was the temperature of liquid magma.
The whole point of this...and I do have one...is that one night after a school
performance of a play I saw one of my students, a kid that I knew was having
difficulty at home. She was slumped over in the hall, probably waiting for a
ride home. She was a new Sophomore that was not going with us to Scotland but
was heavily involved in our technical theatre program. She wore a severe hairstyle and painted her nails black back when that was a statement of emotional
context. She had an army green jacket that had a great patch on it - I’ll never
forget it - it said: “these are my church clothes.” At first glance, you might
stereotype her to a dark category with one raised eyebrow and a mental “oh
boy!” But once you got to know her you would find out that her family
situation, which was completely out of her 15-year-old control, was something
you could not imagine. I’m not at liberty to tell you what trials this sweet
kid endured at the hands of adults but she was a little bit untouchable because
of it; She was like a little broken bird that doesn’t trust anyone. As I
approached her she put up a quick wall of “I’m okay!” But she was not.
There
was no one left in the halls of the school that night except us and the
custodians. I was not in the mood, nor did I have time to give a single student
my undivided attention. See, I don’t want to give you the idea that I am that
teacher that searches out and finds weeping kids and makes it all okay. But
Heavenly Father has given me tests in these dark and quiet moments where He
checks my true intentions now and then. I knew this was one of those moments
and I shook my head a little and kept walking toward her with a “Why tonight
Heavenly Father? I’m so tired I just want to lock up and go hooooome!” whine. I
took a deep breath and slid down the wall next to her with my huge box of
left-over concessions still in my lap. (I wondered if I was going to be able to
get up again.)
Jan:
Are you waiting for your
ride?
Techie:
I guess.
Jan:
Do you have a ride
coming?
Techie:
I don’t know. I called my
sister but that was an hour ago.
This
was back in the time when you used the school telephone outside of the office
and called landlines and hoped someone was home.
At
that point she started to cry. I sat my box to the side of me on the floor and
I put my arm around her. Side hug. She cried louder. I didn’t move. Her cries
turned into “mighty yawps”[2] and
I feared she would pass out she was breathing so quickly. In my head I was
panicking, saying “Heavenly Father tell me what to do, tell me what to do…” I
felt that I should do nothing. So I changed the prayer to “Heavenly Father tell
me what to say, TELL ME WHAT TO SAY!!!” I felt I should say nothing. So I
changed the prayer one more time to “Heavenly Father help [my student] calm
down. Please send comfort and peace. Please, please, send peace.” After a few
minutes of utter despair, my sobbing student took several deep gasps at that very
moment and was finally able to catch her breath. She was hugging me so hard
that I knew at that moment all she needed was someone to hold onto her. I’ll be
honest it was awkward for me. I am not her parent and we teachers are
admonished not to get so physically close to our students especially when no
one else is around. But I did not let go of her. I felt The Spirit take over
through me. I felt her body relax and I felt the absolute holiness of this
precious daughter of God while HE dealt with her wracking pain.
She
was able to stop crying.
I
wish I could say that we had this big conversation about her life and I was
able to help her see some fabulous new options she could take, etc… Ha! But it
occurred to me that she didn’t want to talk. She wasn’t going to talk about
what was bothering her. I sure didn’t want her to start crying again. So I got
into my big cardboard box of concessions treats and pulled out a red hot
cinnamon sucker in the shape of a heart and gave it to her.
She
actually smiled! “I love cinnamon!” she said and I told her it was by far the
most popular flavor. She said she couldn’t afford to buy the “drama suckers”
but after popping it into her mouth she knew why they were so popular. I gave
her a couple more “for her pocket,” I said.
I
actually stayed with her until her sister came and got her. My backside was
completely numb from sitting on the hard high school tile for over an hour! We
didn’t talk about anything but the show that was going on and the shows coming
up. Mostly we just slurped on suckers and waited. If I had a video of her
trying to help me up from the hard floor it would go viral for sure.
So
here’s my big idea. I want to create a holiday revolution. Instead of waiting
for someone to meet our cultural expectations, let's overthrow the economic
monsters, make our own cinnamon suckers and distribute them as a powerful
message of love to someone that might need to know that we genuinely care.
Valentines
(or Christmas) is the perfect day for this to happen. The paradigm of giving is
already set up. But this way we turn the attention to others and get it away
from ourselves. We don’t have to book a fancy restaurant or worry about finding
expensive roses. We only have to find someone that needs a cinnamon sucker. I’m
telling you, the power of a cinnamon sucker is extraordinary.
I
know you are saying - how is this different from sending a card, an actual
Valentine? DUH - you can’t eat a card! Ok...send the card...whatever. But I
swear to you that after selling thousands of sugary sweet suckers over the
years, NOBODY turns one down, and EVERYBODY smiles when they get one. No need to
attach a message - it’s intrinsically
there as both a homemade gift and the symbol of giving away your heart.
I’ve
heard of people that hate the entire month of February because it pierces their
insecurities and detonates emotions that they are trying to bury. Seriously
though, we can mope around and make the day all about our singularity or we can
make it all about finding people that need our love, our time or just a
connection. Be the Valentine you wish someone was for you. (And then - like me
all those years, go out and buy yourself something you’ve always wanted, or just
eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s all by yourself. Nothing has calories if you are
single on Valentine's day.)
Mother’s
and Father’s Day are the same for me too. I've never thought of
myself as a dangerously jealous person. I don't plot the kidnapping of some
baby in Walmart. Our friends have some amazing babies right now and I stalk
them all on Facebook but that's a close as I go. I'm truly happy for everyone
that has been able to add kid stuff to their home and more chairs around the
dinner table. Our dinner table is the
drop off for bags, keys, mail...We never eat at the table because there is a
pervading feeling that people are missing.
That...bitterness.
There it is. Bitterness is a pool in my heart that I sometimes swim around in.
Yes - I have considered drowning myself in it a few times, but I have a
prescription that just reaches out and rescues me from those moments. Generally
speaking, I wish everyone on earth a full and happy family. There is nothing
more important to the fabric of society than the family.
Mother's Day, however, is one of the
days I suit up for the pool. It is, without a doubt, my least favorite holiday.
I focus on my own mother, who is a saint, and the good teachers and neighbors
that helped raise me. But my bitterness only lasts a few weeks, from the first
FTD floral ad on TV to the last.
It's inevitable. It happens once a
year whether I like it or not. The great and horrible Mother’s Day. That is the
one day of the year that, ironically, I remain in the fetal position most of
the day.
I acknowledge my ridiculousness.
The second Sunday in May is the
annual grand pity party. I don't do anything on that day. N.O.T ...A ...T.H.I.N.G. I don't even shower.
I prep for the day, just as if I was buying groceries for a Fourth of July
block party. I eat anything I want, I watch violent action or horror movies and
I skip church like a delinquent. I haven't been to church on Mother's Day since
1988, when I first noticed the biological clock start it's evil countdown. It
used to seem that, as the years passed, the clock was louder at church, where
EVERYONE is pregnant. At least, the ticking clock had hope back then, though
quieter and quieter each year, at least it was still whimpering out its
relentless call right until the end. Now the silence is deafening. The silence
of my body in response to every flowering pregnant woman cackles at me in
stereo, gives me a big, wet raspberry as they pass by me, sit by me, say hello
to me. PLUHPHPHPHPHP!
Those women don't even know how much
their very presence makes my ears ring. Maybe I shouldn't tell them so
publicly. I don't want them to feel bad...I just need to get my feelings OUT of
my system and into a book where they can stay.
I don't go to church on Mother's Day
because the meetings are always dedicated to the grand role of motherhood.
Which is indeed, GRAND. And should be celebrated! Your mother gave you life!
The role of creator is akin to the role of being God. That's holiday-worthy.
It's the fact that in the LDS wards, the younger kids hand out flowers to all
of the moms. Every single mom gets a little potted plant, or a booklet, or
something on that day... At least that's what they do around here.
Back when I still went to church on
Mother's Day, years ago, I would watch the little 12 year-olds, go up and down
the pews, flower pot in hand, look at me in confusion, "flower or no
flower?" Then they would look at the people around me, no kids...
right...no flower. Some time ago, they changed the rules. I'm told they have
the older men hand out the flowers now. EVERY female over 18 gets a flower, mom
or not. As if to say, today is female day. Today we are celebrating the fact
that you have ovaries whether you use them...or not.
But if you aren't there, Sunday
after church, someone will bring it by your house and they KNOW you aren't in
church because every year, I STILL GET the dang flower. It's as if they are
saying "we know you weren't in church today because you have issues with
your singularity... or your infertility. They don't acknowledge the fact that I
might not have been there because I just don't like to be reminded of it so
thoroughly all day long. Then you have that flower in your house, all week long
until it dies. Because I let it die.
I KNOW they mean it in the kindest
way. I know it!!! I really do! I do not deny them the opportunity - nay the
responsibility - of honoring the women in their lives. So I just take myself
away from it, instead of adding my negativity to it. But that little innocent
flower with all that it represents and all that I have hatefully eschewed it
with...makes me want to throw it against the nearest wall. I could plant it. I
could water the little thing and let it fulfill the measure of its true creation. But that would mean
that I would be giving my bitterness away...and on this one day a year, my
bitterness blanket comforts me. As does the entire pan full of mac 'n cheese
that I will be eating while I watch "The Grudge."
I could try to see that it isn't
about my inabilities, but it's about my mother and her infinite abilities - she
is the world's greatest mom. Then I formally request, that they send her my
flower. She will allow it to fulfill the measure of its creation because that
is one of her gifts. There isn't anything that won't grow in her presence.
There are a few things the average
person can know about how to approach a couple that doesn't have children, or
how to deal with a couple that would rather be parents than anything else, but
haven't been given that opportunity on this earth.
First of all, you don't have to know
WHY they don't have children. Maybe they don't want kids. Maybe they are gay.
Maybe they are waiting for better times. Maybe they are infertile...all issues
that are none of your business. Why do people always want to know? Many times
people have said, for lack of something better to talk about, "how many
kids do you have? or to compound, it, "have you tried having
children?" Answering either of those questions is a hotbed of coals for
me. What I really want to say is "We heard that you have to have sex to
get children and that's just weird to me, I'll have nothing to do with that
craziness." Then I'll sit back and watch what happens.
Secondly, if you are a leader in the
church, remember that it's tough for people that are single, divorced or
infertile, to give lessons on the subject of raising children, improving your
marriage, or to speak in church on Mother's Day. Most of those people have
tender feelings about that issue or simply feel like failures in that area. No
need to draw attention to it. Just pre-empt that if you can with a lesson about
faith. They know a lot about faith.
Thirdly, if you notice that there
are certain people that aren't in church on certain holidays, abstain from
calling them and asking if they are okay. They are. Or at least they will be
tomorrow.
Number next, if you are a blessed
mom with children, when you are around those that can't have children try not
to complain about your new baby, or your kids. It may seem like you are telling
us how lucky we are to be getting all of our sleep or how lucky we are that we
aren't changing diapers, but we would KILL to change a diaper if that little
bum belonged to us. I always want to "one-up" people like that and
say, "my child is back in heaven where he will never look at porn, cheat
in school or be addicted to anything...my child is perfect.” (Because he is.)
But some people would think that was weird. However, it calms my heartache
sometimes.
Finally - I have some advice for us
waiters...in fact, I'll shoot this advice directly at myself:
1. Quit taking offense. People don't
know that you can't have your own children. So when they say how many kids do
you have, just say "We don't have children yet." And when people that
DO know your struggle say "but you are a teacher, you are a mother to so
many," don't be offended. Buck up. BE a mother to sooooooo many. Some of
them need you to be their mom. Don't think of that job as the consolation
prize. Don't be offended when you get called to teach other people's kids. The
Lord isn't asking us to do something difficult, he's asking us to help out. Dry
your tears and get back to work.
2. And while you're at it, give away
your bitterness. (I'll work on that.)
3. Look outside yourself. Realize
that others are suffering too. They may have been given children as their
personal test. They are sleep deprived and covered in kid juices most of the
time. They are constantly teaching too and sometimes they just need someone to
talk to someone that has a vocabulary of more than 37 words...just like you do.
4. Celebrate your own mom. This is
her day. She probably put her life on the line, and her formal education on hold to
raise you. Her outside shell is like titanium armor. Take a lesson. You turned
out! What can you do to make her life easier in return? I feel like Abraham
Lincoln when he said "All that I am or hope to be, I owe to my angel
mother."
When I look at it this way, there
have been so many HUGE gifts to me on Mother's Day. I will adjust my grip
today. I will "press forward with a steadfastness in Christ having a
perfect brightness of hope."[3]
Recipe for Chapter 15 - Surviving the
Holidays
LOVEly Cinnamon Suckers
4 cups granulated
sugar
1 1/3 cup light corn
syrup
1 1/2 cup water
1 teaspoon cinnamon
oil flavoring (or any flavor)
Liquid food coloring
or gel food coloring (as desired)
Heart-shaped sucker
molds
Sucker sticks
Sucker bags (optional)
Twist ties or ribbon
(optional)
Boil the first three ingredients together in a heavy, tall pot
with a candy thermometer. I stir it only once at the beginning and then walk
away - but don’t go far! While it is boiling we put the mold and sticks
together on cookie trays that have been sprayed with non-stick spray. You can
also lightly spray the molds but be careful not to get non-stick spray onto the
paper stick. Messy.
When the temperature on the thermometer reads 280 degrees add
flavoring and food coloring. Don’t stir! The bubbles will distribute color and
flavor evenly. When the candy reaches 300 degrees, take it off the heat and
pour it CAREFULLY into the hard candy molds.
Cool completely before you take them out of the molds! We
usually just take them outside and lay the trays on top of the snow! When cool,
place in a sucker bag and tie with a ribbon! Don’t refrigerate!
Homework for Chapter 14
- Obviously
- take the suckers out and distribute them. You don’t even need to explain why you are doing it. Just as a gift of love serves both giver and receiver - it will soon become apparent to you how important it is that you look for other people that need a gift of love on this day (or any day). YOU can be that person!
- You
might have some leftovers. Keep them in a place where you can “give yourself some love” when you need to. Think of it as a symbolic hug from me. Ha!
- This Valentine/Mother’s/Father’s Day/Christmas - give yourself a gift just for getting through it. Record your gift here: (Stay
accountable to yourself!) Give yourself something you have always wanted EVERY HOLIDAY. Save up for it and reward yourself just for getting through it.
[1] Little House in the Big Woods, Laura Ingalls Wilder,
1932
