Monday, October 31, 2011

What she doesn't know...

Her beloved sister Mele Tupou, passed away March last year.  To this day, I haven't got the heart to tell her that her sister died.  Because of her condition, I fear that any such tragic news, will no better then just push her over to her grave prematurely.   This morning we discovered that my three brothers are out there in San Francisco.  They are delivering stuff for my dear cousin Toli (Mele's only daughter).   When my mother overheard us chatting about San Francisco, her eyes lit up.  She knows that whenever someone goes to Frisco and returns, she can expect a suitcase full of goodies from her sister Mele.

My father and I looked at each others.  Tears threatens my eyes and my heart squeezed with love for my mother and for her long gone sister.  Am I doing the right thing?  At the funeral last year, we all agreed that it was best not to let her know about Mele's death.   And, if we do decide to tell her, I would be the one to do it.  I came home from the funeral contemplating numerous way I could tell her and when would be the best time to do it.  But, ALAS, when the time comes, my mouth zips up and I just couldn't bring myself to say the words to her. 

I thought time would make me stronger.  That with time I can gather the courage to say the words.  "Mami, 'oku ke 'ilo'i koaa kuo 'osi si'i mate 'a Mele Tupou."  "Mom your sister passed on" or "Mom your sister died last year but we couldn't tell you."  I still can not do it.  I don't know when I would be able to either.  She still doesn't know her sister died last March.   The sad part to all this is that, I don't know when I'll ever be able to say the words to her.  

Mom's cancer has rejected the old Famara.   For three years it seems to be doing just fine.  Now, the tumor's resisting and they are trying a new medication called "Tamoxifen".  Hopefully this will help.  Chemo is out of the question because her body is just not strong enough.  I'm just trying to do the best I can to help them but guilty to say that I still don't feel I'm doing nearly enough for them. 

Friday, October 28, 2011


"Dreamers are scary people", the Radio host informed, "Some dreams and then some chase down their dreams and beat it mercilessly to the ground."   I listened and mockingly nudged myself as I am one of those who dreams.  Not that I'm doing any wild chasing to hustle my dreams down to the ground.  It's always:
One day I'll get to it.
Someday maybe
I'll start next week
So glad there's always tomorrow
If only I had the time
Any day now I'll finish that book.  The one that's already finished but needed polishing.  It's been sitting for more then a year now.
Oh there's always time
I'll do it later
Not to-day it's too busy
Uh uh writers block!

Then he went on to clarify an already proven and ancient point,  "Dreams are so fuzzy.  It may or it may not happen.  Until you set goals, write it down and give yourself a time-frame.  It'll never happen."  And thus the story of my life.   Why not write down my goals?  Because I've already doomed myself to fail.  I am my worse enemy.  Hesitate and reluctant to write down my goals because I don't have the discipline to go through with them.   Last year's resolutions list is tucked away at my kitchen drawer.  Every time I happen to see it, I scold myself all over again.  Nothing has been accomplished. 

But don't let anyone else tell me that "I CAN'T".   That enrages me.  Empowers the dreamer in me.  "WHO SAYS I CAN'T!"    So I'm writing them down.   Getting back on the bandwagon of setting goals and I'm not waiting until this coming new year to do that.  I'm starting to-day.  Thank you very much Mr. Radio Host.  You've just made me the Dream Catcher.   

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

My Mahonrai

My football son Mahonrai appeared confused last night when I asked him to take out the trash.
"What?  Is tomorrow Wednesday already?"
I assured him, "Yup, tomorrow is Wednesday and trash day".
His mouth widened in a big smile as he grinned  and said something about how time flies.   Yes, time sure flies by.  This boy towers over me and he is only 15.  And he can't seem to stop bragging about himself.
"My coach told me yesterday that I've got the perfect arms and the perfect calves."
His dad and I looked at each others and burst out laughing.  We both know once he starts, he won't stop.
"I just need to work on the rest of my upper body now."

But I love this youngest son of mine.  He has a passion for football that can light up the sky.   That and Rugby.
As for his arms and calves, I won't deny it.  He is build for the sport and his got the biggest calves in his whole football team.  He is perfectly build,  if I may say so myself.   He's got it easy though.  As the youngest and growing up in a time my husband has retired for his concrete work, he hardly does any hard labor like his two oldest brothers, whom, at a very young age, started hard, hard labor of cement work when they were 12.

I picked his name when I was teaching Seminary and extremely heavy with pregnancy.   "MAHONRAI  is a valiant prophet in the book of Mormon.  The brother of JARED.   The fact that he was favored by God and everything he asked was given to him, because he would never have asked anything contrary to the will of God.  His middle name "TEANCUM", is a war hero and righteous man in the Book of Mormon too.   I love the names for they were heroes and were valiant, courageous and God fearing.

In honor of our parents, families and culture, we named our children after their grandparents or aunts or uncles.  We divided naming the children between my husband and I.  Four are named after his side of the family, (Leveni, Sisilia and Mele Vasiti and Beverly.  Two are named after my family (Petueli and Patiola).  Mahonrai is the only name that we both agreed on that didn't have to be after one or the other.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Manic Monday

I stood there while he vents, unleash and pours his heart out at me.  I understand his need to spill it all out.  After all, he is the one that single-handily takes care of my mother.   They live with me.  I cook all their meals everyday, do laundry, clean their room, take out the garbage and keep them company, but he, does everything else for my bedridden mother.  He's entitled to, once in a while, vent and let it all out.   His frustration is directed towards my 3 brothers and sister, who seldom, ever comes and visit, nor assist with anything else. 

Our culture, as Tongans, is different then any other culture.  We, as children, are obligated to take care of our parents and honor them until they pass on.   That's why is very rare that any Polynesian out there, ever, resolve to putting their elderly in rest homes or nursing homes.   We take care of our elderly no matter what condition they are in.   My father reprimanded me for not opening my mouth, as the eldest of the children and take responsibility in reminding my siblings that they still have a duty to perform while our mother is still alive.  I stood there and listened and absorbed everything he says.  I have always been one to never shrivel from any responsibility in my own family, refusing to overstep my boundary to that of my siblings.  But in this matter, he is right.   They need to be reminded that our mother is not yet dead.  That while she's alive, they still have obligations to fulfill. 

I love my father.  He was a great father.  Loving and completely devoted to us children.  As also my mother.   These unfortunate circumstances with their health grieves me because, my parents worked, labored and gave everything they had to provide a good life for us children.   Now, in this time of their needs, my siblings are hardly ever around and I'm guilty of not doing enough.   I'm so grateful to still have them around.  Grateful that I have a chance to show them how much I appreciate and love them.  I hope my brothers and sisters will eventually realize how blessed they are to still have parents that are still alive.  

Now the other Monday things include a sick Mele Vasiti being picked up from school.  Broken dryer.  Trunk-a-treat tonight that we have to make curry for.   New bills to be paid.  Frustration that Sisilia is still not getting it with the male-female relationship.   Antibiotics for Aunt Peta.  Cleaning the house.  Stack of dishes in the sink.  Yadda yadda yadda and it's only Monday for crying out loud.   Just another Manic Monday.   

Sunday, October 23, 2011

"Through With It"

My oldest son Leveni (we call him by his middle name) is a brilliant musician.  He writes and composes his own music.  On "youtube" he goes by Sione Toki.  Named after his father.  But he finally post up his second song on youtube and it's called "Through with it".   I love it and I am his #1 fan for life.

This is one of the many reasons why I decided to put up a blog.  Actually I didn't put it up myself for I have no clue how, but my cousin Mahana put it up for me.  She's a computer Wiz.  It wasn't all for me.  It was also for sharing my children's talents with the world.  Yes, awkward it must seem, but I am their greatest fan.  All of them sings.  They hardly sing together for they all have different kind of music they want to sing.

Sometimes when I try to have them sing together, it's almost like trying to make peace between Israel and Palestine.  Impossible.   So I let them sing on their own and in their own genre of music.  One likes Country, the other R&B, Rock and Pop.   We all love music and if you visit our house, it's the noisiest one on the block.   They all sing at the same time whether they're in the shower, in the kitchen, downstairs in their rooms or eating in the kitchen.  It baffles me to know which mouth sings and which mouth eats and talks all at the same time.     Sometimes I long for earplugs.  Just to slam my ears shut when all the music is going on in the house.   The only times its quiet is when they're asleep or when they're not home.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Lost Purse

Unaccustomed to seeing her fall apart, I nearly panicked.  And I never panic.  I've yet to witness my daughter loose all control of her senses and resolve to weeping.  Shoulders quivering and head shaking.  She has always been one determine to remain strong,  immovable and unaffected by anything.  To see her crumble and breakdown to crying like a baby stirred the motherly protectiveness in me wanting to make everything alright for her.

Words got to me while I was serenely occupying my obnoxious "Fahu" roll during my niece 'Ana Seini's wedding.   At first I didn't think anything of it.   But towards the back of the Gym I saw her walking back and forth.  Shoulders hunching with her head down.  Numerous times.  I decided to go to her.  In the bathroom her eyes were red and smeared in mascara.   She was devastated.  "Mom, someone took my purse.  It had all my rent money in it".  Feeling so sad for her, I inquired, "How much honey?"  "All my pay check mom.  $600 and it was the money I was going to give dad to help with our rent.  I worked for that money mom."  I hugged her to me and said, "Sisilia it's ok.  We'll manage.  We always have.  Let it go".  She released me and put both hands to her face and just wept bitter tears.

 I stood there feeling confused for I've never witnessed her in this sort of predicament.    To let down her guard and pride and resolve to weeping.   Worried I reached out and stroke her back and kissed her head.   "Everything will be fine honey.  You'll learn this life is full of disappointments but everything will work out."  We looked everywhere in the bathroom, locker room, asked everyone but no one has seen it.   My heart was heavy for her.   But I wanted her to know how to deal with disappointments and failure.  This girl hates failure.  She refuses to submit herself to anything that might label her a failure.   The reason for that can make a book in itself and I'm writing a book on her.   

Eventually, the evening ended in the most joyful note.  A female janitor, whom she repeatedly asked before, was carrying her purse outside towards the parking lot.  There was a phone in the purse that for some reason, Sisilia was prompted to call.  (Her little cousin Weezy's phone)  From the outside of the building and through the glass door, she saw lights blinking.  Instantly she knew it was the phone that was inside her purse. She ran inside to intercept whoever was carrying the bag just to discover it was that same janitor she had asked numerous times before if she saw her purse.   Whether or not the janitor was lying we'd never know.  But we ended up dancing and going crazy on the dance floor with her.  That beautiful laughter and smile was back in her eyes and it felt good to see her happy once again.  As mothers, what we desire most from our children is that they are truly, blessedly happy in their lives.   And to be able to cope with life's challenges, trials and  tribulations. 

Monday, October 17, 2011


I don't believe in FATE.  I believe in living the consequences of each and everyone of our choices.  Consequences are inevitable and every twist and turns of the choices we make leads us to our DESTINY or our PLACE in this life.  That every decision made, brings us here to exactly where we are in this precise moment in our lives. 

Last night, I stepped out to my front porch and was surprised that it had rained and I was totally unaware of it.   The wind was howling, rustling the leaves of the trees back and forth.  Barefoot, I dashed to my car to check the windows because we have a bad habit of always leaving it down.   My feet felt a refreshed chill as the cement was wet and cold.  It brought back cherished memories of my childhood where every time it rains, every child in the neighborhood couldn't resist the chance to go out and play. 

For hours, we'd, slip and slide, swim in the mud, run, scream, laugh and played.   Unattended, unchaperoned by parents or adults.  Out in the open field of the old high school across the street.  Until our skin were wrinkly and squeakly clean, then I'd return home, exhausted, showered then dive under the warm sheet of my bed, listen to the raindrops on our rooftops and then drift off in heavenly bliss to sleep.  Happy, unaffected, untroubled by the burdens of reality, as every child in their childhood should be.  

Now, as a mother, times and places have changed.  My beloved island, use to be home, is no longer the place I desire to be.   This is the life I've chosen and this is the life that brings me joy, happiness and completeness.  My children, my family and the gospel of Jesus Christ.  Perhaps to some, it may be limited and boring, but to me, they are my world and I wouldn't change a thing. 

FATE hath no place in my life.  Fate embraces sadness, regret, darkness and a life void of light and laughter. 
To every problem their is a solvable solution.  Every foe can be conquered and every wrong can be made right.  We choose our DESTINY.  We decide and design our own HAPPINESS through the choices and decisions that we make. 

Thursday, October 13, 2011

What about ME?

Through recent pondering and contemplation, I realize just how much I have abandoned myself.  As a person, an individual and a woman.  I'm one who always put everyone else's needs above and before my own.   In addition to my children, I take care of my beloved parents, both have had stroked and mom is bedridden.  Also, my great aunt Peta who adopted me.  All in my home.  So I am a care-giver and a nurturer and I rejoice at the opportunity to be able to do that.   However, I realize that in the process of loosing myself in their service, I have come to a total abandonment and neglegence of Me, Myself and I and it doesn't have to be that way. 

Don't these words have a selfish ring to them?   ME, MYSELF AND I.  I believe if I put my own needs above anyone else's then it does.  But that's not what I'm talking about.  I'm talking about taking care of myself and the basic needs of my body and nourishment of my mind and soul as a woman, as a mother and as an individual.  All day everyday, I run around like a headless chicken, cooking meals, delivering meals, throwing in laundry, loading the dishwasher, running errands, cleaning and more cooking,  taking care of the people I love and loving what I do but now and then my mind is screaming:  "What about me woman!  You take care of everyone else but yourself!"  Who will do this for me?  Sadly, no one else will or can do this for me but myself.   

Lately I haven't been looking myself straight in the mirror.  Honestly not contend at all with what and who I see in there.  My reflection reveals a run-down, breaking-down, falling apart image.  Not only from the lack of sleep but also from the lack of tender loving care and nourishment.  So I'm taking a step back to re-evaluate the way I treat myself.  This body is so healthy and strong and I want to say MAGNIFICENT but that would be sounding too conceited and full of myself.  LOL. But my body has been good to me and I need to reciprocate that goodness so it can continue. That way I'll be as good as new to take care of those I love.  Doggone it but here is the list of what I need to do:

Exercising (at least 4 times a week)
Eating right (I'm anti fruit and vegetable since I ate mostly that for the first half of my life)
Brush my teeth for an extra 2 minutes twice a day and don't forget to floss
Combing my hair more then once a day (sometimes I don't even have time to comb at all)
Making sure I take my daily supplements (those horse pills give me the creeps when I try to swallow)
Putting cream on my cracked, dried up heels (Utah weather is as dry as the desert itself)
Apply my anti-age nourishing cream to my face twice a day.  (When you're over 45, your skin needs extra care and attention.  To firm, lift, tightened and polished) 
Shape my uneven fingernails and toenails.  (I tend to bite them.  Fingernails that is)
Pluck and shape my bushy eyebrows and moustache.  (My husband and children never fails to remind me when they're overgrowing.  My girls: "Ewwhhh mom, your eyebrows!"  My husband:  "Honey, you're moustache is growing longer then mine").
Shave shave and more shave.  (Three places: my legs, my underarms and the top of my big toes)
Medidate:  Take time out of my busy schedule to be quiet and listen to myself.  My thoughts, my feelings for the world can clatter with so much distracting noises. 
Organize and plan:  A must because right now,  chaos follow me everywhere from the lack of organization and planning. 
Don't over-treat myself:  Yes I tend to over-indulge myself to oreos and other sweets.  I need to calm down in that area.  An emotional eater?  Well that's another post altogether. 

Me, myself and I, truly deserves these TLC moments.  That way I can honestly say:  "I LOVE MYSELF!" and not try to dodge myself in the mirror every time I look at it. 

Monday, October 10, 2011

Between a rock and hard place

What a way to start out a Monday and the beginning of a new week.  Stuck between a rock and a hard place.   There's a deadly deadline for tomorrow but there's no dismay, come what may, we will get through it.   Like we did a thousand times before.

They say that "pain" can cause people to change but somehow I seem immune to pain.  Pain is not "painful enough" and sometimes I think I'm strange in that area.  I'm always one to remain calm.  Perhaps too calm when there's  a situation that requires one to "panic".  Not me.  I don't panic unless I'm running out of time yet no one can tell I'm panicking.   And I refuse to reveal how much pain I'm in no matter how much physical pain I'm experiencing.  Totally weird.  Right?

Reminds me when I was in labor with all seven of my children.  The nurses were always amazed at fact that I sleep through my labor pains without so much of an "ouch".   While the other mothers are screaming nasty threats to their husbands with hands flailing and heads shaking.  "Don't you ever lay a hand on me again!"  "You're gonna pay for this!"  "You son of a ....Ahhhhh!" Curse word!  Curse word!  I thought that was hilarous.  When it gets to the pinnacle of pain, all I do is squeeze my husband's hands and chew aggressively on ice.  (Thinking to myself I'm never going to have another child again)  Until the pain subsides then I'm back to sleeping again.  All 7 labors were natural without the side effects of epidurals to nump the pain.  Except for the very last one of all my children, oh yes I slept, but towards the edge of my labor I grapped the nurse's hand and begged:  "Can I get some epidural now?"  She smiled apologetically and said:  "I'm sorry, it's too late for that.  The baby's head is coming out".  "Oh, ok", I muttered disappointingly. 

As to "worrying", if there's nothing I can do about a situation then it's unnecessary for me to torture my mind worrying about it.  But if there's a solution then I'm determine to get to the point of it. 

How is it that they say: "change is the only constancy in life" and yet the more I try to make changes, the more things remain the same?  I'm always starting all over again.  Again, again and then again.  From the same exact place I was before and none-the-wiser.    Talk about being stuck in a rut.

Well, we've got one more day to come up with a solution.  It was a misunderstanding and miscommunication not to mention ignorant on  our part.  I already know this day is going to fly by and I feel almost half of it is gone already.   Well, here I go to conquer the foe!!!  We will S U R V I V E!!!!!

Friday, October 7, 2011

Birth Dates

So he called me from the Doctor's office asking for all our childrens' birth dates.  Mind boggling how he was presence at their procreations and their deliveries, except one, yet forget the dates of their birthdays.  He also asked for my SSI.  I felt offended that I memorized his SSI# and the children's birthdates and he doesn't.  We've celebrated the same birthdates for all Seven children every year at the same date, yet he still fails to remember or memorize them.  All I could say to him was:  "Where have you been in all our lives?" 

Do men in general forget their childrens' birthdates?  Or when you're over 3 children you have an excuse to forget.  Too many to remember?  Wow.  I give him credit for always remembering our anniversary.   Lord help him if he forgets.  He's always excited like a mouth watering child with a lollipop tangling infront of him.   All ready to jump and grap.  Two weeks before our anniversary, he'd tell me all his plans for that special day.   It's pleasing to know that after all these years (25) he's still thrilled and willing.  However, I only hope he won't be so forgetful of these significant dates that means the world to me.  

I think the best thing to do is have a "Remember Birthdates" session with him.  We'll do multiple choices and circle the right answers exercises.  That way he can remember who's birthdate is on which date.  This will
definitely trigger his memory.  After all, he didn't hestitate planting those seeds so he definitely have a responsibility to at least remember the day they were all born.  That's absolutely fair enough.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Grap a Button

Woo hoo, it's quite thrilling to finally learn how to "Grap A Button" "Crop" and "Chop".  I've been grapping in vain  the SITSGIRLS button for the hundredth times and could not for the life of me, do it.  It took my daughter 3 seconds to show me how to do it.  I tried the Control C before but didn't know where to go from there and how to post it.  She came, did what I did with the Control button, went into Java something something, click and then paste.  There it is!  Wow.  Why couldn't it work for me before.  Just spell it out for me, why don't you. 

How do these kids catch on so fast to all these non-stop left-right clicking?  Control C,D and E.  Then to top it off all these paste, copy and  Shift, Alt and Delete.  They make it look so easy.   I totally need to take a computer class.  Really need to update my computer skills.  It's so rusty it creaks.

Now I just need to know how to upload, download and sideload music, photos, videos and all to my computer and from there to my blog.  Freak, I feel like I'm a hundred years old behind technology.   So ancient and dull.  I always feel like I'm a step behind everything.  I mean EVERYTHING except when it comes to computer skills,  I'm a thousand steps behind on that!!!  Either that or my brain is slowly rotting away. 

Tuesday, October 4, 2011


Being misinformed about her whereabouts last night, I send her a reprimanding letter.  Cleary, this was one of those moments where I'm jumping the gun.   Waited and waited last night for them but they didn't get home 'til almost 3am.  Have called and called and no answer.  Not that I worry about her.  Sisilia is an adult, I was just wondering where the heck Papi was.  She needed to come home and sleep for school. 

In the kitchen arranging the leftovers from Sunday evening for dinner, I heard them returning home from work.  I have an idea of how she will confront me.  With her eyes rolling and a:   "you're so over-dramatic mom".   Bulls eye.  Just as I was about to ask her if she received my email.   I love emails.  They get across so quickly and there's no retrieving and deleting once you press that "send" button.  She continued, "We were at Club T mom, T for TEMPLE."  Well, gag me and throw me over a river, how would I know what Club T stand for.  It's the first time I've ever heard of the Temple Square being referred to as a Club T. 

Papi ended up staying home from school.  She couldn't lift her eyelids to save her life.  Plus, she couldn't find one clean pants since our dryer is broken and she failed to hang up her wash.  I'm trying to teach them responsibility so they can hang up their own wash and all.  She told me that Sil, Ash and Brit went to a club.  Like myself, she thought Club T was a real club.

Well it was a relief to find out she didn't go to a club afterall.  Club Temple holds no threats to her moral values and all.  After all the Spiritual Feasting we did yesterday, it would be a buzzlement to me if she actually went to a nightclub.  However, I should have a had a little more faith in her and give her the benefit of a doubt. 

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Old Crow, Young Crow

Eld. Boyd K. Packer read this simple yet touching poem during General Conference.  It's the first time I've ever heard of this poem and I loved it.  Packer is my favorite member of the Twelve Apostles.

by John Ciardi

The old crow is getting slow;
the young crow is not.
Of what the young crow does not know,
the old crow knows a lot.
At knowing things,
the old crow is still the young crow’s master.
What does the old crow not know?
How to go faster.
The young crow flies above, below,
and ringsaround the slow old crow.
What does the fast young crow not know?

He read it perfectly and we (the congregation) couldn't help but laugh at how true this poem describes relationship between the Old wise ones and the Young impatience ones.   Such is my relationship with my growing children.  They think they know better then I.  In everything.  They think that I'm just an old hag who's old fashioned, fobbish and out-dated in my ways.  Little do they know that I've been down that road they're travelling many many times before.   The way is literally paved.  That I know all the tricks and traps of the way and that I can help them smooth journey through life if only they can listen and listen well.

Was I like that when I was younger?  Of course.  I thought I knew better then my parents in many ways.  However,  I still listened and obeyed most of the things that they taught me.  I only pray my children will learn their lessons but not too late. 

Saturday, October 1, 2011

"Guess What Mom?"

She burst into my room with that precise question:  "Guess What Mom?  You'll never believe who's smoking."  As I was working, I turned to her to keep it down.  She looked at me, shakes her head and said,  "I can't believe it mom.  (Name withheld) is smoking.  She is still in 6th grade mom and she's smoking".  Instantly my mind directed itself to this child's parents.  Why wouldn't she smoke?  Both her parents are heavy smokers.  Sadly, that justifies her choice to smoke.   How can she resist otherwise. 

Patiola went on to say how furious she was at this friend.  She is an old friend from the West Valley area and they were so close.  Even if they don't constantly hang out they still remain dear friends.  She's a distant cousin also.  Being Pati, of course she wanted to know where they were going during half time.  Someone mentioned to her that they were going to smoke and Patiola just couldn't believe that this good friend, so young, is smoking.  She tracked her down and straight out reprimanded her.  She asked her numerous questions in a threatening way:

Who got you started in the first place?
Ans:  "I was pressured into it by my older cousins".
When did you start smoking?
Ans:  "When I was in fifth grade

Disappointment, shock as well as concern showed on my darling daughter's face as she carries on about her friend.  I can tell that she takes this seriously because she cares about the well being of her friend.  I was so proud of the way she handles herself.  She literally made her friend promise her that she will quit smoking.  Her friend told her she's "addicted" but she'll try.  Before they returned to the football game, her friend and the other girl asked, "Do you have a gum?"  Pati, instead of answering asked back" "Why do you want a gum for?"  One of them answered, "Because we don't want our parents to smell the cigarette on our breaths".  Pati, being Pati, took out the gum she was chewing, "Here, this all I have."  She splits her already chewed gum in half and handed them to her friend and her friend's friend.  They took the gum chewed on it.  WTH. 
I can't believe they took it.

Pati's cousin Neni Girl had a fresh pack of gum and she grapped for it to give them some.  Pati shook her head at her stopping her from giving them any gums.  With eyebrows raised she said to me, "They smoke, they don't deserve a fresh pack of gums".  I could not stop laughing.  This is my Patiola Savannah at her worse.  She can be vicious sometimes but her heart is as big as the size of Texas.  After the talk, she asked me if she can get on FB and send her friend a message.  Allowed, I watched her posting something like, " (Name) you are beautiful and I care for you.  Be strong and stay strong in the church..."  I forget the rest of the things she said to her friend but it was a sweet message.  I love my Popsy.

"You can't erase me!"

My daughter Sisilia seeked my opinion on which song to sing tomorrow at the Young Adult's Musical Fireside.  Not that my opinion matters but I suggest anyways.   "How about, "He Came for Me", you sing that song beautifully?"
Not wasting any time, she protested, "Mom you always suggest that I sing that song and I hate that song".   Well, so much for my opinion
I reminded her, "Don't you remember what Bishop Manatau said to you when you sang that song at the Relief Society Program?  He said, "Sisilia, you look and sound like a star when you sang that night". 
"Bishop always says the most random things".
 She answers and continues "I want to sing "He Knew" but I don't want you to play the piano". 
"Why not?"  Baffled that she feels that way towards me I pointed out, "I've always been your pianist ever since you were in diapers!  Are you trying to erase me as your piano player?"
"Yes mom, only as my piano player.  Every time I sing, Bishop Manatau announces, (lowering her voice she mimicks) "Oh, and here is Sisilia Toki with her mother Sela who has been her piano player ever since she was in diapers!  I'm a grown up now, I need a different piano player.  I'm not a little girl anymore being treated like a child."
Her statement almost got me rolling on the floor with laughter but I kept a straight face not wanting to further wedge that needle that's poking her pride.  Her feelings are crystal clear to me.  Yet, she lacks knowledge.
"You can't just erase me as your pianist!  I'm the best pianist there is for you."  I assured her.  Not because I'm an excellent piano player.  Far from that.  The fact of the matter is, I feel when she sings.  She and I are in tune together to whatever piece of music she performs and with that she delivers all the time.  Something that she won't find with anyone else, unless she herself can instruct that player on how to play the piece for her.
Exactly how she wants to sing it.
I don't feel offended that she no longer requires my assistant in that matter.  I find it hilarious that she's so determine to be a grown up.  Little does she know that ditching me as her piano player has nothing to do with feeling grownup.  Being an independent grown up and an adult is something more then that all together.  It comes from within, not from anyone else.  If she was at all mature enough, she would accept me and be proud that I, her mother, still is able to play the piano for her.  What if I'm dead and a goner, no longer around?  I bet she'll crave my skills as a pianist and wished she had appreciated me more. 
My head aches trying to figure out the twist and turns of my daughter's mind.  She's so unpreditable and I love her for it.  Any attempt to comprehend and understand her mind though can do a number on  my self-esteem.  How dare she tries to erase me as her pianist.  So for now, I'll just try to ignore her insecurities and immaturity and be here whenever she needs me.    That's the mature thing to do.  LOL