And then there's Santa

How do I not like Santa? Let me count the ways.

1- He's a myth, and yet the American public try as hard as thy can to convince our children that he's real. Movies and books and newspaper articles are dedicated to proving the truth of Santa Claus. Any one who doesn't "believe" is treated as a pariah, or at least a spoil-sport. But despite all the effort and rhetoric, guess what? He's not real. Why on earth would we lie to our children and pretend that he is? I think it undermines our children's faith in us when we spend a significant portion of our time trying to deceive them. "Yes, sweetheart, the tooth fairy will leave money under your pillow while you sleep. Yes, dear, the Easter Bunny will hide treats around the house for you to gather up. Of course Santa is real, honey, and if you're good he'll come down the chimney and leave you presents, and do the same for all the children in the world. Yes, my love, Jesus and God are real and love you very much. What? You've discovered the tooth fairy isn't real? Not the Easter Bunny, either? Nor Santa Claus? Well, Jesus and God are still real. Why don't you believe me?"

2- Santa bears little resemblance to the original inspiration of the story, unfortunately. The legend of Santa Claus probably has some noble origins, St. Basil of Caesarea and St. Nicolas of Myra. So tell you kids the story of the Bishop of Caesarea, who was born wealthy but gave all his possessions to the poor, or the Bishop of Myra who was noted for his generous donations to the poor, and especially for putting gold coins in the shoes of children. Tell the children how these man of God sacrificed to help those in need and serve the greater good. These are examples to emulate, and examples of Christ-like charity are rare enough in the world. But Santa as he is represented today bears little resemblance to those bishops of old. This Wikipedia article on Santa Claus provides some interesting reading on how the Santa we know today got to be who he is, and a great deal of the influences are not particularly uplifting at all. In a celebration that should be about Christ and his birth, Santa seems to me a very awkward and incongruous participant.

3- Santa provides a poor role model for giving. I've been told that Santa represents the spirit if giving, but if so, I don't think it's a very good representation. How do children learn to give from Santa's example? First of all, Santa is magic and never has to sacrifice to do his giving, so children do not learn the truth that giving requires some sacrifice, whether it be time, labor, or money. Secondly, their relationship with Santa is not a reciprocal relationship. They do not give to Santa to show their love for him, they just learn to ask and expect. You may say that kids are supposed to be good or else they'll get coal, but honestly, when was the last time you heard of a kid who didn't get presents because they didn't behave? In a gift exchange with family or friends, children learn to reciprocate the giving. With Santa, they only have to consider what they want, what they are going to receive. I think, in this sense, Santa simply represents the spirit of getting. Parents are the ones who actually do all the careful consideration of each child's wants and needs, the buying and storing, the wrapping and arranging, and so perhaps Santa represents the spirit of giving to them. I believe the spirit of giving is far better represented in a simple gift exchange within the family. That way children share in the entire process and learn how to give.

My proposal (and personal practice) is to eliminate Santa from the gift giving portion of Christmas. Let him be a mythical representation of giving that we visit occasionally during the Christmas season, not unlike "A Christmas Carol" or "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas." And then let us focus on the more certain example of giving that we should celebrate during the season - Christ.

Christmas according to Jennifer

At the risk of offending everyone I know, I'm going to take a couple of blog entries to explain how I feel about certain Christmas traditions, and why. My point of view on this issue is really ever evolving. I don't feel the way I did 15 years ago, and I'll probably feel even differently in another 15 years. And I want to state up front here that I feel this way for me, not for you. You can do whatever makes your family strong and healthy and helps you please God and raise righteous children. After all is said and done, that's the ultimate goal, right? So, let the offending begin.

I love Christmas. It is a fabulous time of the year, an opportunity to get in touch with emotions and events we have a hard time accessing throughout the year just because life is so busy. I think having a celebration of Christ's birth is perfectly appropriate. I am glad for the chance to spend a little more time focusing on the events surrounding the Nativity, to look in earnest for opportunities for charity that I may miss in the hustle and bustle of daily life, to be able to show love in a little more abundance by giving gifts and remembrances to those I care about. I think it's a blessed time. However, I also think that many of the traditions we indulge in this time of year actually serve to pull us farther from Christ rather than bring us closer. Extensive gift giving is one of these practices, which I blogged about last year. This year, I'm focusing on other traditions.

When the Catholic Church was spreading Christianity across the whole of Europe, certain concessions were made, perhaps out of necessity. Groups of people, entire countries even, were converted, often by force. In an effort to keep those peoples compliant, Catholic leaders tried to allow for some of their traditions to remain. Pope Gregory I told his missionaries "not to stop such ancient pagan festivities, but to adapt then to the rites of the Church, only changing the reason for them from a heathen to a Christian impulse." (Arthur Weigall, Paganism in our Christianity, Kessinger Pub., 1928) Thus we have traditions that have endured: the Christmas tree, which is actually a remnant of tree worship; the hanging of holly and evergreens, descended from the ancient Roman custom of hanging holly to adorn the temples during Saturnalia (a midwinter festival celebrating Saturn, the god of agriculture); and mistletoe, which the druids of Britain believed held magical powers and protected against demons and spells. And of course there is the Santa Clause myth, loosely based on a fourth-century bishop in Turkey. (I'll share my view of Santa in my next blog entry. Won't that be fun?) These traditional trappings of Christmas, especially the tree and Santa, make up the majority of our focus during the Christmas season here in America. And yet, their origins are not Christian at all, and have nothing whatsoever to do with Christ. They existed before their practitioners ever heard of Christ, and only continue to exist as sort of a pap for people who couldn't let go of their old traditions because they were forced to become Christian and not because they experienced a true, heartfelt conversion.

Those of us who profess to be followers of Christ today are not in the same position as these ancient Europeans. If we truly believe in the Christ of the Bible, then we have undergone a heart change that compels us to follow the teachings of Christ because we have faith in him, because we truly believe in him, and not because we will be jailed if we don't. We should seek for truth wherever it exists, both inside and outside our respective religions. (And believe me, the LDS faith has not got the corner on truth in this world. Even if you believe we do have the true priesthood and the true ordinances, there are many people in the world, both past and present, who truly follow Christ, emulate him and strive for a truth-filled life, who are not LDS. Conversely, there are many latter-day saints who merely parrot the "truth" they see around them without ever trying to ascertain it veracity, and even those who go through the motions of conformity all the while embracing deception and sin in their hearts.) I believe when we seek for the truth, we can and should lay aside the traditions of our fathers that do not serve the truth and search for those traditions that truly allow the light of Christ to shine through them.

There are many holiday traditions that are based on Christ and the Nativity. The candy cane was invented purely as a tribute to Jesus Christ. Gifts were given by the wise men to the young Jesus and his family. A star shone in the sky to lead the wise men to Bethlehem. Christ himself is the light that leads our way. Our family tries to decorate with those symbols I can directly tie to Christ, and not those descended from other traditions. We decorate with nativities, with stars and candles and candy canes. We hang Christmas lights in the windows. We give gifts to each other, and to those we hold dear. As a family we try to find worthy causes to support with some of our family resources. These traditions are ones I can feel good about. I feel like they are pure, scripture-based, and not distorted by being drawn from other beginnings and then twisted to fit Christian precepts.

People have pointed out to me that modern prophets have not quibbled with these symbols, that Joseph Smith embraced the tradition of the Christmas tree, and that Temple Square is filled with these symbols throughout the holiday season. All true. And I would never presume to say that any of them are wrong. I would say, however, that prophets are not perfect, meaning that just because a prophet engages in an activity, that does not necessarily mean it is needful for our personal good, nor even that it is a perfectly good activity. I am certain that Christmas as it was celebrated in Joseph Smith's time differed strikingly from the month long hoopla-filled celebration we engage in today. And Temple Square is a missionary tool, bringing together LDS and non-LDS to celebrate. I will admit that these traditional symbols bring some people closer to the true meaning of Christmas. But I will add that I think they are not needed to achieve those ends, that we can (maybe should) find more direct ways to relate the reality of Christ and his miraculous birth, his eternal nature,and his admonitions of charity to our holiday celebrations.

So, in a nutshell, I'm searching for Christmas traditions to use in my family that allow for a clear view of Christ and his gospel. And I think that paring away the traditions that are not based directly in the scriptures will allow me to bring my family closer to Christ without compromising the beauty and joy of the Christmas season.

(Post-script - As I read this I realize it may sound a little bombastic, which I did not intend. I don't believe that Christmas traditions are salvation busters. I don't believe having a Christmas tree will keep you out of heaven, or that decorating with holly means you don't believe in Christ. I'm just expressing my view on how to live life a little closer to God. That's all.)

Pies. Yum.

I had some friends over today to learn how to make pies. Somehow, over the years, I went from being a novice who looked to my peers for guidance on things domestic, to being the older, wiser, more experienced person in my circle of friends, the one who could feasibly lead a tutorial. At least as it pertains to pie crust. I don't mind at all. It was fun.
Here are the recipes I shared, my family's Pie Crust recipe, and my Grandma Beth's Cream
Pie recipe. Super good, the both of them.

Pie Crust

1 t. salt
3 c. flour
1 c. lard
Mix with pastry cutter or with hands. In separate bowl
combine...
1 t. vinegar
5 T. water
1 beaten egg
Mix well, then add all at once to dry ingredients. Mix with hands just until moist. Roll out into 2 pie shells or a bottom and top crust. For fruit or pumpkin pie, fill immediately and bake. For pre-baked crust (i.e. cream pies), place rolled dough in pie tin, prick well with fork, weight with pie weights or beans, and bake at 425 degrees for 10-12 minutes. Cool before filling.

Grandma Beth’s Cream Pie

3 c. milk
2 c. sugar
1/4 t. salt Boil. Add, premixed...


6 eggs - beaten
2 T. cornstarch dissolved in 3 T. milk
Cook until thick. Add...

2T. Knox gelatin dissolved in 8 T. milk (dissolve well).
Refrigerate overnight.

Whip 1 pt. whipping cream (unsweetened). Whip pie mix until smooth, then beat cream and pie mix together.

Banana Cream Pie - Layer pie mix and sliced bananas in pie
shell. Refrigerate until served. Top with sweetened
whipped cream.

Coconut Cream Pie - Mix with coconut and spoon into pie
shell. Refrigerate until served. Top with toasted coconut.

Baby boy.

11 year-old Son: Mom, does my voice seem deeper?
Older (wiser?) Me: Not really, son.
11 year-old Son: Oh. Darn.

Youth is always in such a hurry to grow up. I remember the feeling. Now I wish for the opposite. One of these days (soon, too soon) his voice WILL be deeper. Then I'll wish I could turn back time for a little while, hug that sweet little boy again. I'd better hug him a lot now, right?

A thanksgiving.

I just listened to our new neighbor talking to his cousin on the phone. I was leaving the house Russ has been working on next door, and in the darkness by the back door I heard the neighbor's voice clearly carrying through the side yard. I admit it, I eavesdropped. I do that kind of thing sometimes. I wouldn't go out of my way to listen (or peek, or snoop) but if it's right there in front of my eyes, so to speak, I gonna look. So, anyway, translating the words into socially acceptable parlance, the cousin has apparently has been begging to have his attitude adjusted but is just too timid to come around and have it done. My neighbor clearly invited his dear family member to come on up and have this wish fulfilled, along with his wife, who apparently bears some resemblance to a dog and should be leashed (yes, he actually said the leash part.) Mrs. Neighbor kept chiming in about how unfortunate it was that the relatives' maturity levels were needing some growth (in her humble opinion.) Ultimately, the cousin was informed that the house full of girls (plus Neighbor) could easily teach the lessons needing to be taught. At this point I left, having discovered that there really wasn't anything to be gained from this eavesdropping session. But it got me thinking about my own family and Thanksgiving.
A magazine I subscribe to, Real Simple, carries a column about social etiquette called Modern Manners. This month's issue addressed the following question, "How do you deal with hosting family members who aren't on speaking terms?" The answer was mostly the obvious and appropriate "speak to warring parties in advance" and "don't seat differing factions next to one another" types of advice, and concluded with the following,

And take some comfort in this: Someday, in a year or two or 20 from now, even the worst blowup will morph into a "wacky family" story. "Remember that time cousin Helen tossed the mixed nuts at Aunt Vina's head?"

So I started wracking my brain. Do I remember a time when cousin Whomever threw some dish at Aunt Whatshername? Nope. Can't say as I do. How about the time when Grandpa came to the family party drunk and got into a shouting match with Uncle Elmo? Again, nope. In fact, I don't even remember any time when we all had to walk on eggshells because someone wasn't speaking to somebody else. No "wacky family stories" about hate and violence. It seems that in my family everyone went out of their way to get along. Disagreements were short-lived or weren't brought to family gatherings. My family always seemed to be happy to see each other, to get along, to share warmth and love at the holiday parties and celebrations (wedding receptions, etc.) I literally cannot remember a time when anyone left in anger or refused to attend because they couldn't get along with the others. I also don't remember ever being in a situation where I threatened a cousin I would be happy to kick their butt. (Help me out here, Marisa. Do you remember any such situations? Do you, Amanda?) In fact, I have very fond memories of family get-togethers and parties. Sledding down the steep hill, a cliff really, behind Grandma Beth's house one Christmas when the snow was unusually deep. Singing carols in Aunt Alma's basement, which had the coolest bar, like a real bar. Cousin Susan, after a radical mastectomy, passing her breast forms around the group of women and joking about "boobs du jour." Uncle Wally and the big boys wrestling on the floor (Wally always seemed to win.) Kliener and shortbread and warm apple wassail. Good times.

As I listen to people talk about how they're going to "manage" their family at the holiday parties and dinners, I wonder how common my experience is. Probably not very. And I am so thankful. Thankful for a family that learned to get along despite differences (and I know there were some serious differences in religious and lifestyle choices.) Thankful for parents that kept us kids protected from family members that might engage in hurtful and destructive behavior. Thankful for aunts and uncles and cousins that loved all of us and were fun to be around. Thankful to have married into a family that seems to have the same traits. I truly have been blessed.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Just a couple more.

I read 2 books this week, both juvenile/young adult selections, which explains the speed with which I got through them. I started the Old Kingdom series by Garth Nix with the book Sabriel. It was a very intriguing book, but very full of magic, both good and dark. Sabriel, the title character, is the last line of defense between the world of the dead (or more accurately, the undead) and the world of the living. She's young and ill-prepared, but has both a strong heart and great courage. Some very good lessons here, but a rather dark world in which the story takes place, full of evil, violence and fear. Because of the dark tone, I'm not sure whether I would want my kids reading this quite yet, but I was glued to the book for most of the day. Second book on request at the library, so we'll see if the series continues to intrigue.

The second book, although still involving magic, is quite a fun retelling an old fairy tale. The Thirteenth Princess, by Diane Zahler, is the story of the twelve dancing princesses, with a twist. Very fun, and a good read even for the younger independent readers, provided they enjoy action, adventure, and beautiful princesses. My favorite part of the book came when the heroine, Zeta, is trying to read her sisters to sleep.

"'You've been reading too much,' I scolded her. 'I'll read to you tonight for a change.' I took up the nearest book and began reading the story of the Goose Girl, who held conversations with the head of her dead horse. It was a gruesome tale, but it's nastiness wasn't enough to keep my sisters awake. Before long, their gentle snores make me look up from a gilt-edged illustration of a horse's head, mounted on a wall, and I saw that all twelve of them were asleep."

How fun to have one children's book reference another relatively new children's book. I loved it. A very enjoyable read.

Funny Kids

I was shopping with Sarah today and she pipes up and asks, "If I was sick, what parts of me do you have medicine for?" (I think she asked because I've told the kids in the past that there are some things I don't have medicine for, like upset tummies. Some stuff you just have to suffer through.) I laughed and told her I thought that perhaps that wasn't the best way to do things, finding out what medicine was available and then choosing your illness. She thought about this for a minute and then told me, "I think my hips are sick." Funny.

My mother, my self.

Years ago I swore I would never, EVER have a leftovers container collection like my mom had. The bottom shelf of her cupboard was filled with assorted yogurt, sour cream, cottage cheese, and various and sundry other containers. They did not nest well, and therefor the entire cupboard was a little chaotic. The lids were almost as bad, although they were contained in a larger bowl. Finding a lid could be a challenge, because sometimes lids from different brands didn't fit the container you were trying to use. In that case you either had to just accept it (but loose lid = big mess when someone bumps it in the jostle of looking for something to eat) or find another container that fit the lid you found, in which case you had to transfer the food into the second container and re-wash the first. I eventually learned to find the lid before filling the container, but it still irritated me to no end. And can we just talk about finding something in the fridge? A dozen assorted cottage cheese/yogurt/sour cream containers, any of which might contain the leftover funeral potatoes you want (leftover gold at my house.) They might also contain the leftover creamed spinach experiment from last month, slimy and fungus-ridden. No way to tell. How much would it cost to have a nice, matching set of containers from some lovely name brand company like Tupperware or Rubbermaid? Containers that would all nest neatly, stack nicely, look neat and organized in the fridge as well as in the cupboard. Containers that actually allowed you to see the contents at a glance. They are not that expensive. Really. "This will not happen at my house," I swore to myself a million times, eying my mother's messy cupboard with a jaundiced eye. "Never."

So I grew up and moved out of my mother's house. For many years I didn't have a household, so no issues. In college I used roommates dishes and contributed some of my own. Plastic containers were indeed plentiful and cheap. The few I had matched. In NYC, I had no kitchen whatsoever, so no problem. When I moved to St. George, I used the Tupperware my grandmother had in the trailer. I rarely had leftovers anyway, so I don't remember it being an issue. When I got married we were given some rather nice sets and we have used those for many years. But they are slowly falling apart and going by the wayside. The time had come to put my money where my mouth was, lo those many years ago. But I've learned a thing or two in the intervening years. One: There are many places for the money to go each month. Worthy places, like soccer, and Barbies, and food. It's hard to turn down a free source of containers so that I can spend money on containers that nest. Two: We are a society drowning in plastic refuse. Our landfills are full of it, and will be for thousands of years to come. Our oceans contain vast swaths of plastic, floating lifeless islands of the stuff. I cannot in good conscience throw plastic containers in the trash while going to Target and purchasing plastic containers that match. I will not contribute to the destruction of my budget nor my earth by demanding the production of more plastic to satisfy my vanity. Surprisingly, it is way too expensive. Really. I have invested some money into a couple of sets of nice glass containers for things I know I will be warming up in the microwave, but for the most part, I have a leftovers container collection worthy of my mother. Yogurt and sour cream containers fight for space alongside the various and sundry others that have come my way, some brand name, some not, but almost all second-hand one way or another. And I feel great about it. I find myself a little frustrated at times, that little OCD corner of my brain rearing it's ugly head, but I wait until it passes. It always does.

Just another thing about which my mother was right. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.

What I've been reading...for a long time.

All right, it's about time. I keep thinking I need to blog all the books I've been reading, but I've been too busy reading to blog about reading. I've decided that's not a bad thing after all. Except for the part where I want to share these books with you and it takes me a very long blog full of very short reviews. So here goes.

I took a couple of books on vacation to CA with me. At a suggestion of my cousin, Michelle, I read A Map of the World by Jane Hamilton. I had dreamt of a child drowning, and she mentioned this book, which is about the aftermath of an accidental drowning of a child in the protagonist's care. The book was poignant and upsetting, yet to me, vaguely unfulfilling. I was given a glimpse into the psyche of the protagonist and her husband, very ordinary people in extra-ordinary circumstances. I never really felt connected to the main characters, so I sympathized with them (especially in regards to the horrible emotions associated with the drowning) but I never really empathized with them. I felt like I was reading their story looking through a distorted window. I could see the actions and emotional journey of the characters, but I never felt I had a clear picture of them. They always felt fuzzy and indistinct. I think the writing was so full of description that the prose distracted from the continuity rather than clarifying.

The other book I took on my vacation was far more fun for me. Bitten: True Medical Stories of Bites and Stings, by Pamela Nagami, is more my cup of tea. This book is sort of a compendium of all the creatures that can kill you with a bite (usually through envenomation, although there are a few chapters about bites that can kill by becoming infected.) I found it fascinating. For example, I didn't know that cone snails were extremely venomous, nor that tick bites can be harmful beyond Lyme disease and Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. True stories, medical sleuthing, animal information... I love this stuff.

The next book I began turned out to be one of a rare breed for me - that is, a book I intend to purchase after having read it. It's called The Story of Stuff, by Annie Leonard. If you are familiar with Ms. Leonard's Internet film, The Story of Stuff, then you already know what this is about. The subtitle of the book tells it all, "How our obsession with stuff is trashing the planet, our communities, and our health - and a vision for change." As I said at the top, no long reviews here. I'll just say please read this book. I think everyone should. When my copy finally comes in the mail, I will be reading it to my husband. He doesn't read very often (too busy) but he loves to listen to me read to him. I get to choose the books, and I will choose this one. It's that important.

The final installment of The Hunger Games series, Mockingjay, came out. I read it. I loved it. My friend gave an excellent review here, and I will defer to her. I would recommend The Hunger Games series to you, if you are an adult. If you have kids that want to read it, you may want to review it to decide when they are old enough. The books contain violence and some mature themes regarding government, war, revolution and sacrifice. A little parental discretion may be advised.

On the recommendation of the same friend whose review I linked above, I began a series she liked with the book The Thief, by Megan Whelan Turner. Then I had to go straight to the library and get the other three in the series, The Queen of Attolia, The King of Attolia, and A Conspiracy of Kings. Very enjoyable. In the young adult section when you go looking for them, and I highly recommend you do. My current literary crush is Eugenides. (I made the picture big because I loved these books so much. I may have to buy them as well.)

Moving down the list, I recently finished Burn, by Nevada Barr. Ms. Barr is my favorite action murder mystery writer. I have loved her series about heroine Anna Pigeon. Anna is a real person, and I mean real in that although she doesn't exist, she could. And you would never notice her. She's like an actual person whom you might meet on the street (or in the National Parks, as it were.) She's not Hollywood young, nor movie star good-looking; not rich, impressively witty nor savant-gifted in any way. She's just smart and perceptive and cautious. I like her. And I love the books. The latest one, Burn, is a mystery that involves child prostitution, though, and that made me incredibly sad as I read it. It's the only unlikeable thing about a great book. If you want to read this series (currently of 16), start at the beginning with The Track of the Cat. They can each stand alone, but you're going to want to read them all anyway, so why not start at the beginning? My personal favorites - Firestorm and Blind Descent.

Now to tell you what I am reading and enjoying now:

The Fallen Sky: An Intimate History of Shooting Stars, by Christopher Cokinos. The author (who, according to his jacket, lives along Blacksmith Fork River in Cache Valley. Hello!! I probably drive by his house every summer when I go up to the old stomping grounds! Anyway...) weaves a very interesting book out of scientific meteorite information and historical accounts of meteorite hunters/discoverers, with a little bit of Mr. Cokinos personal journey thrown in for flavor. I'm reading this one a little bit slowly, but savoring as I go.



The Secret Life of the Grown-up Brain: The Surprising Talents of the Middle-Aged Mind, by Barbara Strouch. Thank you, Barbara, for writing this book. I blogged recently about losing my mind. This book tells me I am, in fact, NOT losing my mind. I am just learning to think differently. Although it is true that the middle aged mind loses speed and agility with recall (as in names and facts), it is also true that as you age, the brain becomes far better at gathering information and them making correct choices based upon that information and years of experience. That's right, kids. You can remember people's names better than I can, but I am showing forth wisdom. Hear that? Wisdom. Over all, I will make better choices than I did 15 years ago. Thank you very much.

Spider Bones, by Kathy Reichs. The latest in her Temperence Brennan series. Tempe (as her friends call her - of which I am one, of course) is a forensic anthropologist who splits her time between Quebec, Canada, and her home state of North Carolina. Just like the author. Which I find truly amazing. This fascinating character is based upon a real life person who has the same skills, abilities, and experiences (except probably the death threats, etc. that follow the literary character as she figures out the mysteries. But the real life character is a New York Times best-selling author, so you get to pick which is cooler.) The books are very interesting and engaging, but you know that I love all things forensic. At least on paper.

In the bull pen: The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains, by Nicholas Carr.

So there's an accounting of many hours of my life. Hours that could (perhaps should) have been spent cleaning the house, balancing the checkbook, organizing the bedroom closet, or even landscaping the yard. Jobs that needed doing, and worthy causes all. I read instead. And I'm not sorry. Well, not very.

On the brighter side -

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."
Albert Einstein


FROM A WRITER OF PLEASANT THINGS

You must forgive
This tendency of mine
To believe
The world holds
Something good,
Something fine.

The habit
Has troubled me
From childhood -
When I even
Preferred to
Build a snowman
Than to take
A romp through
The garbage can.

--Carol Lynn Pearson

And now for something completely different...

Check out my guest blog over at Big Mama's place.

For Meg

"True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked."

--- Erich Segal

The eternal condition

Today is the first day of preschool for my youngest. I am emotionally divided between excitement and guilt. The excitement is pretty easy to account for. I love to see my kids grow, venture out and explore, achieve milestones. I also admit to a great deal of pleasure at the prospect of a few hours a week to myself. On the other hand, this is my baby. The youngest. I have some trepidation about how well she will handle things, and it's hard to put my baby into the hands of others (stay-at-home-mom syndrome?) Mostly, though (and here's where the guilt comes in), I worry that my excitement is misplaced, and that soon I will realize that childhood has disappeared and I can never get it back. You know all the conventional wisdom about how much you will miss the little hand prints on the walls and being woken in the night to give hugs after a bad dream. What if it's true, and I should even now be filled with sorrow and regret? In essence, I feel guilty now because I might feel guilty later. Crazy. The thing is, all these emotions don't change the fact that I think this is the best thing for my little one, and so I'm going forward with it anyway. So wish us luck. First day of school!! (Sigh.)

Vacation photos - finally!

Here are a few photos from our group family vacation to Redwood National Park in northern coastal California. After an eternal drive (18 hours - whew!) we made it to our campground and then headed out to see the ocean, and the big trees. The weather was damp and chilly with little sun for the weekend we were there, but everyone had plenty of fun.



The beach was fun, even on the grey day. My kids had never seen the ocean, and they were sufficiently impressed.

We made fun of the ubiquitous tsunami warning signs.


In the big, BIG trees.At the local zoo.
At the campground, excuse me, kampground. The mini golf was a big hit, and it kept the kids occupied for great lengths of time while the adults cooked, cleaned, etc.



Lastly, no camping trip is complete without a bevy of songs sung around a roaring campfire.
All in all, in spite of the long drive to and from, and an unfortunate trip to the instacare for a scalp laceration, it was a fun and very enjoyable trip. We are looking forward to our next family group vacation 2 years hence.

Epiphany

I remember the day distinctly. I was 18, living away from home for the first time. A group of young singles from my ward in San Diego had gone to L.A. for a temple trip and we were staying at Michael Ericson's parents' house. As we all drifted in for breakfast from various couches and floors around the house, a discussion erupted comparing the virtues of butter versus cream cheese as the fat of choice on bagels. Most advocated for cream cheese, while an ardent few championed butter at the most delightful choice. I mostly just listened, as my frugal Utah upbringing occasioned very few bagels, not enough to really have an opinion. (I leaned toward cream cheese, though. To me, it seemed more exotic.) And then it happened. A moment to change a life. Someone (I don't even remember who) said, "Why not have both? They're really good that way."

What? Did I hear right? Both? An idea, a concept that was foreign to me, yet just waiting to be discovered. The aforementioned frugal Utah upbringing had taught me that I had to choose. Cream cheese or butter, chocolate or vanilla, ice water or punch, soup or salad, paper or plastic. Life is about choices, but in that moment I learned that as an adult, I didn't have to choose between. I could have both. Or neither, if I so desired. I was in control. The choice was up to me. And you know what? To this day I like to have butter AND cream cheese on my bagels. (And sometimes strawberry jam.)

Hanging Out

I always wanted a hammock in my yard. It seems like such a nice thing, to be able to lay in the hammock, slowly swinging while reading a fluffy novel and listening to the laughter of my children at play. (Now that I am more experienced at life, I recognize that I would in actuality be tuning out the sound of children squabbling while swinging and reading away, but this realization diminishes the dream only a little.) This dream was so strong that when my sister, who served her mission in Paraguay, asked me what I wanted her to bring home to me, I told her to bring me a hammock. Not a stiff, K-Mart affair on a metal stand, but a colorful, hand-woven item just begging to be slung between 2 trees in the yard. And she came through, bringing me a blue and white hammock with "Paraguay" woven into the fringe. It's a pretty thing. I was very grateful and pleased. Next, I just needed 2 trees. She returned from her mission when JR was 3, so I've had the hammock in my possession, in an Argentinian grocery bag, for about 8 years now. We moved into our current home about 3 years ago, and I finally had my 2 trees. The only thing lacking then was gumption, which I finally found today. Fairly simple set-up, and a quick trial, and guess what? It's all I hoped it would be. It's comfortable, relaxing, and authentic. I love it! The kids love it, too. If you are ever in need of a place to rest, to read out of doors in the dappled sunlight while slowly swaying in the breeze (children's laughter NOT guaranteed), please feel free to come on over and borrow my little piece of heaven.

What was I talking about?

Over the last few weeks, I've come to the realization that I'm losing my mind. Truly. As I've dealt with long summer vacation, getting the kids back to school, planning preschool for Sarah, and generally being very busy and scheduled, it has become apparent that I do not have the mental capacity that I used to, and it's scary. Now, I'm not losing my mind in the going mad, talking to myself and answering back sort of way. The TV does not transmit secret messages from the CIA, and there is no one out to get me. I think the one reality I have to deal with is plenty. And I'm not even referring to the swiss-cheese memory that shows up after the hormonal onslaught that is child-bearing (although I really do hate that.) No, the losing my mind that I'm referring to, the one I'm in the midst of is more of a "can't be relied on to remember a damn thing" kind of losing my mind.
I have always accepted that there is a certain amount of information that the human brain "loses" in a given day. I accept that. Very few of us humans can remember all the little details of the incredibly busy life that goes on around of. We cannot know as events occur which little pieces of information will be important later, so we use our experience to cull out what we judge to be the most important, and we discard the rest. Sometime our brains are wrong, and we forget something important. It happens to everybody. I really do accept that, and am the first to say don't be too hard on yourself. But this level of forgetting is a level at which I have never found myself before. It's very frustrating to me. I've always been one who could rely on her mental abilities to achieve pretty much anything I wanted. In my college days I could manage an hours-long, complicated stage production with relatively little trouble. But now, I can't remember something from one minute to the next.
Last Friday, for example, Elizabeth's Activity Day leader called to remind me that Liz had an activity that afternoon. 3 hours later, I sat in the family room and played board games with the girls and did not remember the activity until after dinner. Liz cried. I felt terrible.
The Primary leaders are writing the Primary program for sacrament meeting and wanted some responses from the children. We parents were gives a question to ask each child and requested to return the responses by the 15th. Did I remember? No. But even worse, when the counselor called to remind me last Sunday, I told her I'd get it to her that afternoon. Great day to do it, Sunday. I forgot until Tuesday.
And phone messages. Don't even get me started. If you tell me something to pass along to Russ or one of the children, you'd better hand me a paper and pencil at the same time, because I won't remember for at least a week, if then. There are post-it notepads all over the house for me to write notes to myself and others. After the note is written, I then have to find a prominent place to stick it. Bathroom mirror usually works the best.
I have used my iCalendar in the past, but really just in a casual way. I like to make lists to help me organize my thoughts. I've never really relied on either the calendar or the lists to get things done. I think writing the event down used to be enough to cement it in my mind. I like to feel organized, to be organized on paper, but then be free to follow or not follow my plans. I guess this is all about to change. I guess I will need to actually enter things into my calendar and then actually LOOK AT IT. Every day.
So I will apologize in advance to anybody that I will make an appointment with. Visiting teachers and teachees, doctors and dentists, playgroup moms and exercise partners. Please forgive me. I apologize to my fellow preschool-in-the-round moms, because I WILL forget to drop Sarah off, and worse yet, to pick her up - at least once. Again, please forgive me. It's nothing personal. I'm just too distracted ... looking for my mind.

Watch this space...

So the background I formerly had was discontinued by the provider and I had to find another. This background is called "Calm Breezes." It doesn't look like it should be called "Calm Breezes" but I liked the look. I really liked the name, too. I haven't blogged in a month, what with having 5 kids home from school, building a wall around one of our properties, planning and executing a several thousand mile vacation to California, and generally being a mom.

But...

....all that is about to change. The winds of change are blowing, or should I say the "Calm Breezes" of change are blowing. School starts in less than a week, and I will have my life back. My organized, orderly life (which, although not the epitome of organization by any means, is far more organized than my summer life, which is the epitome of undisciplined.) Hallelujah!! And as I said on facebook a couple of days ago, if this joy, this giddiness, makes me a bad mom, so be it. I look forward to seeing you all again, to having time to put thoughts into words, and just to generally sharing whatever I feel like sharing. And to school being back in session. (Did I mention the kids are going back to school? Yes? Well, good.)

Love and Marriage (thoughts on a Thursday morning.)

Marriage is about love like school is about knowledge. On the surface it seems obvious that it IS, but upon further reflection you realize that it really isn't at all. You can gain all the knowledge you are willing to work for (and some that just gets thrown in your face) outside of school. Some of the most intelligent people I know didn't go to very much school at all. School is about formality, about society, about showing you can play by the rules and having proof that you are indeed committed to a course of action and an outcome. School can be important, even vital, and I respect those who go to school to get a degree. They show a great deal of respect for self, for others, and for the rules that hold society together. Love and marriage seem the same to me. Love exists before, outside of, after, even during (if you're lucky) marriage. The heart can be extremely devoted without any outside institution granting "permission." Love might be the single biggest impetus for a marriage, but by no means should it be the only one. Marriage is about commitment, and ceremony, and living in a society. It's about legalities, and power of attorney, and asking the world to honor your commitment. Love can exist, even thrive without the formal institution of marriage, and good marriages can exist devoid of love (but they probably don't very often.) Yes, I think love and marriage (like knowledge and school) do not automatically involve each other at all. But with love and marriage, when you get the synergy of heartfelt devotion combined with social duty and responsibility, it can truly be an exquisite thing. Something to be striven for, in my opinion.

A fish story.

Apparently I'd rather read than blog. Apparently I'd rather read than...anything.

So I have a stack of books from the library I'm very interested in reading, plus all this regular work I have to do, like nourish and nurture the children and maintain an efficient, peaceful, organized home, right? I walk by the bookshelf last week and notice the set of four (yes, 4) books I picked up at a yard sale a few weeks ago. These are books I have read several times before, and I think to myself, "I'll just pick up this first one and revisit the first couple of chapters, just to reminisce about how much I love these books." Yeah, right. 3 books and 1762 pages later, my library books are still untouched, the Netflix movie I've had a week is still sitting there, and I'm fighting to stay awake during the day because I'm staying up too late reading. Ah well. Only one more book to go. I hope I'll revisit the real world in time to do the shopping and the laundry this week. But if I were you, I wouldn't hold my breath.
(I love these books, but I do not recommend them to everyone as there are some pretty graphic love scenes. If that sort of thing is easy for you to skip over, and if you like books with a great amount of detail, these may be the books for you. I still need to find the fifth installment in paperback.)

Who's the real idiot?

I hate it when people in books act like idiots. And I don't mean making a mistake, or acting according to character flaws, etc. I mean when the author writes people acting like I don't think actual adults would really act. I especially hate it when it comes out of the blue, unexpected and extremely irritating. As a reader, what am I supposed to do? I can't talk to them and tell them to grow up. I can't quit reading the book, because that would be self-defeating. I have to just suck it up and keep reading, hoping that either there is some purpose or some motivation that I have missed, or that the idiocy will turn out to be only a minor flaw in the entirety of the story. And I was really liking this book, too. Stupid people. Stupid author. Ugh.

Simplicity.