Last night I went to a fireside. The one and only Chieko Okazaki was the speaker, and I was thrilled at the chance to hear her speak. I have loved her since my college days when she was in the general Relief Society presidency. I think she is so cheerful and uplifting and full of hope. So, I called up a friend from the ward, and while her husband and kids had a "daddy date" with my husband and kids, we trotted off to the stake center to be spiritually uplifted and edified.
All was going fine as we sat there in our chairs 20 minutes before the meeting was to begin (I wanted to get good seats). I excitedly pointed out Sister Okazaki sitting on the stand. So my friend and I are sitting there chatting, and suddenly I stop mid-sentence and exclaim "There's no prelude music! Where's the pianist? There should be prelude music!" My friend was like "Huh? Didn't even notice."
Now, I should let you in on a little secret. Some of you may already know this about me, but I am a bit of a church music snob. I guess it comes from years and years of serving in music callings in the church. I am kind of strict about the "rules" of appropriateness as far as what's OK to do for a musical number, the tempo of certain hymns ("Too fast! Let us catch our breath! Too sloooooow. This is going to take 20 minutes to sing."), and how long the acccompanist should be playing prelude music before the meeting begins.
So I notice there's no prelude music, and I have this inner dilemma. Should I go up and volunteer to play some prelude music? After all, it really sets the tone for the meeting and helps people feelt the spirit and prepare themselves for the meeting ahead. I don't want to step on anyone's toes, but Sister Okazaki is practically a general authority, for heaven's sake! Ultimately, I stayed put and breathed a sigh of relief when the pianist FINALLY breezed in at five minutes till. Crisis averted.
But then, the music just went downhill from there. The opening hymn was "Let Us All Press On" and I'm pretty sure the pianist was trying to win a race for Quickest Hymn Ever. I seriously was barely able to catch my breath. Then came the special musical number.
Let me just intercept here for a minute and explain that this fireside was sponsored by the singles ward. And not to say anything bad about singles wards, but things seemed just a tad--uh--disorganized, shall we say? Perhaps less than appropriate? This was your warning. Read on at your own risk.
So anyway, this girl gets up to sing the musical number and it's a song I've never heard of. It's nice, it's about hope, but it's waaaay too pop-y. Think American Idol here, folks. The girl--who I must admit had a very pretty voice--was seriously about to pull the microphone out of the pulpit and start walking around with it. Add this to the fact that she was quite--er,
well-endowed--and her shirt was a tad snug and low-cut. Let's just say, I was a bit uncomfortable with the whole thing. I studied my hands for most of the duration of the song.
Then came time for Sister Okazaki to speak. It was wonderful, she is wonderful, and I took lots of good notes. She told great stories, shared scriptures, made us laugh, and helped us feel the spirit. Not bad for a woman of almost 83 years. She was absolutely lovely.
Then came time for the SECOND musical number. I held my breath as they introduced the violinist. She is from Japan but is living in Germany and plays in an orchestra there. Sounds like she has great credentials, but I'm not sure she speaks English and am fairly certain she's not Mormon, so the potential for confusion is pretty high. Turns out she is here on vacation, and apparently the family she's staying with is LDS said "So, you wanna do a special musical number at a fireside?"
So she gets up to play and starts adjusting the music stand which is between the piano and organ, you know where the chorister stands? As she's trying one-handed to get it adjusted (it's stuck in the all-the-way-down position so it's super short), someone from the congregation stands up and calls "Can she move it up to the front?" I assume so everyone can see her better. OK, that's a little embarrassing. Don't hear someone calling out from the audience every day (unless you're in the Alma branch, right Maren?). But she moves it, they put the music stand on the step they use for the little kids to reach the pulpit, and she spends the next 7 minutes turning things this way and that, trying to work it so she is close enough to the music to see it, but it's higher up so the music is tall enough. She finally ends up standing somewhat precariously on the little step of the stepstool while her music stand sits atop the stepstool, and her back is to the audience. She is facing Sister Okazaki, so at least she got a front-row seat.
FINALLY after all that hullaballoo, the music begins. She plays "Abide With Me" and it's absolutely gorgeous. The arrangement is beautiful, the pianist is talented, and the violinist is clearly a master. It's the perfect way to end the meeting. So she finishes the song, the guy walks up to the pulpit to say the closing prayer, and the violinist...starts tuning her violin again. The pianist leaves the piano and sits down for the prayer. She whispers and points to the violinist "Sit down!" But she stays put. They have an earnest whispered conversation, then the pianist blushes, returns to the piano, and starts playing a second song. This one is upbeat and classical--jig-like, if you will. The prayer guy sits down, and we all sit and listen. It's a very nice song, but just seems completely out of place at this point in time. It's all very strange. Oh, and during this song she starts to lose her balance on that teeny tiny first step and the stake presidency member jumps up to catch her. She keeps playing without missing a beat--the consummate professional. So she finishes with a flourish and a satisfied grin, bows, and everyone starts clapping! It was so weird!!!
Finally, when the applause dies down, the closing prayer is said. The second it's over I turn to my friend and say "Let's get out of here!" So we book it out of there to the sound of--you guessed it--NO postlude music. So that gets me started all over again. "There's no postlude! You need postlude music after the meeting's over! She's practically a general authority, for heaven's sake..."
It was, without a doubt, the strangest musical experience I've ever had at an LDS meeting. But at least it makes for a good story!
Because I have a seven-year-0ld, I think I look pretty big for eight here. Not sure if the photo was mislabeled (not likely, given my mother's organized ways), so I guess I really was just always tall. I think this was at a Young Artist's Festival--remember those? It was like a talent show for all the kids in the ward. My sisters and I were regular participants. I have no idea what I played, but I'm looking pretty snazzy in the green quilted jumper, knee-high socks, and blouse who's sleeves are too short for my monkey arms.
The next, he is shorn like a sheep on a hot summer's day.
The problem isn't that his hair is shorter. I'm not attached to the hair, per say. I guess I'm just attached to the babyhood that it represents. You see, once you cut a boy's hair, their look completely changes. They pass from baby to toddler in about 3.2 seconds. And I'm not sure I'm ready for him to start growing up.
I'm not exactly sure why I'm having such a meltdown about a simple haircut. After all, this IS my third kid. It's not like I'm unaware of the millions of milestones he has ahead of him: words he will say, physical feats he will achieve, tantrums he will throw, sports he will play. And hey, a haircut is pretty minor when compared to walking (he STILL won't do it!), uttering coherent, recognizable words, pooping in the potty (I was reading a child development book recently and it was actually talking about starting to potty train! I was like "Uh, OK, maybe we'll start thinking about that a couple of years from now.").
I guess to me, the haircut represents a major break away from babyhood and into boyhood--stinky, sloppy, dirty boyhood.
It makes me want to hold on to him and scream "You're growing up too fast! Slow down!" Not that I haven't enjoyed his babyhood. I have. I've tried to savor every moment, every smile and giggle and thigh roll (his, not mine). For I know that before too long, he will be too big to comfortably cuddle on my shoulder or rock to sleep in my arms.
I pulled out his t-shirts after a winter of long-sleeved weather. As I pulled and tugged the now-too-small shirt over his large-to-begin-with noggin, Caleb began to cry. "Mommy," he wailed, "my head is very big, you know?" 
