When being a local is a bad thing…
by Features Editor Shelah Miner
I’ve had a very grumpy weekend. My husband was on call, which never does much for my mood, and I’m feeling the crunch of all the things that need to be done before school starts next week (but not the accompanying motivation to actually hit the mall and Target and Office Max). Most of all, I’ve been peevish because I know that a great party has been going on practically in my backyard, yet I’m on the other side of town, refereeing fights and going to piano recitals and folding laundry.
When we lived in Missouri and Minnesota and Texas, we’d get information about the Salt Lake Sunstone Symposium in the mail, and I’d sigh and say, “If we ever move to Utah, I’m there.” So we moved, and I came. But you probably didn’t see me (not that you were looking). Because instead of listening to speakers, attending dinners, devotionals and sing-a-longs, meeting old friends in the hallway, and singing karaoke late into the night, I got babysitters only for the two panel discussions on which I was participating, then rushed home to do the mom thing. I got enough of a glimpse of how much fun everyone else was having (through their blog posts and tweets and facebook status updates) that I’ve felt very jealous all weekend.
So next year, my husband and I have a plan. We’re going to sign up for the symposium, book a hotel downtown, find someone to keep the kids for the weekend, and tell everyone we’re going someplace sexy, like maybe Vegas or San Diego. No one will have to know that we’re only five miles away– close enough to rush home to change that exceedingly poopy diaper or drive the kids to soccer practice. Instead, we’ll be tourists in our hometown. I can’t wait.
Since I didn’t make it to much, rub it in. Tell me about all the great stuff I missed.