Momville

Judge Not...

2010-01-06T21:23:00.002-07:00

My former babysitter was working the cash register at a local craft store. I spotted her and got in her line. We chatted about her up coming baby shower and she explained that the shower would be small because there were people that she wasn't inviting because their children were judging her.

My friend, let's call her Ellen, is coming up on 20 and in Utah, her being married and pregnant isn't really that big of a surprise. Except she's only been out of high school for 6 months, only been married for 4 months and she's 8 months pregnant.

I nodded empathetically as we talked. They have no business judging. People should mind their own business more.

Yet as I left, for the first time, really, my mind went to my high school days and the things I felt and said about girls in her situation.

***********

In junior high I over heard a classmate talking about spending an afternoon at her boyfriend's house. She said the most scandalous things and when my ears quit burning I prophesied that this girl, let's call her Sarah, would get pregnant before we graduated from high school.

At the start of my senior year I heard the news: Sarah was pregnant. And all the details: she didn't want to marry the father, she was going to give the baby up for adoption and, perhaps the most surprising of all, that she was going to continue going to our high school.

It was a hard road for her. She went to date dances with gay guys because no straight guy would date her. She was cast as Brigitta in the school play of The Sound of Music. By the end of the run it was pretty obvious that Captain Von Trapp's 8-year-old daughter was pregnant which seemed beyond silly to me. And as she grew into her third trimester, I watched her squirm in the choir seats leaning this way and that trying fruitlessly to get comfortable.

That may have been the only time I felt compassion for her.

One of my friends, a fellow cast member of Sarah's in the school play, was saying something about her like what a though situation to be in or something like that and I couldn't stand for it.

She had it coming. Years of risky behavior and foolish decisions led her to where she was.

There wasn't an ounce of compassion in me. My friend was shocked and we never spoke about it again.

Then there was seminary graduation, where Sarah, post-pregnancy, stood and bore her testimony about the things she'd been through in that year. When she had decided to attend the regular high school, while pregnant, her mom cautioned her that she would find out who her friends really were.

And I did, she said. But I know more than who my friends are. I know more about my Savior and His Atoning sacrifice and I know that I can still meet my prince charming and be sealed to him forever.

I remember feeling rebuked. And guilty. Why had I been so...unbending? So...critical?

************

At 22 I was serving in the Relief Society presidency of my BYU young married ward. As we waited for the president to begin a presidency meeting, we, the counselors, talked about who had been married the longest in the ward of newlyweds. When the president arrived, I announced that Pres and her hubby took the prize for the longest married.

Oh no, she said, Spencer and I have only been married five years.

I blinked. Her oldest child was going to be baptized soon. My brain literally could not do the math.

She explained matter-of-factly, that she had been a single mom for almost 2 years before she and her husband had been married in the temple. And although they had changed her oldest son's last name, her husband wasn't his father.

Later still, I learned more. She had been molested growing up. As had a couple of her sisters. Her reaction to the violation was actually pretty typical. She felt like she had nothing to lose. In her own words she admitted to being very promiscuous in her late teens and early 20's. She was 22 when she learned that her self-desctructive life-style had led to a pregnancy.

That's when she began to turn things around.

This woman, my former RS President is one of my heros. She is the kind of spiritual giant I always hoped I would be, but I can't quite attain. She is on a different level. Perhaps because she's been through hell already. But she, among others in that ward, taught me compassion. And to judge not.

*************

As I left the craft store I felt compassion. Compassion for Ellen, sure. But also compassion for other girls in the ward. The "judging" girls.

You see, anyone who judges like that is simply displaying a spiritual immaturity. They haven't lived long enough or had enough troubles of their own. One day, they will grow up and they will understand what the Savior said when he said, "my bowels are full of mercy for them."

And they too, will judge not.

Keepin' It Real

2010-01-02T14:27:00.003-07:00

Studies (that I haven't read nor can I properly attribute) say that if you make your goals public you're more likely to achieve them. We all know this isn't true. I mean in two days you're not even going to remember that you read this blog post let alone what I said. And even if you do remember you're not going to follow up with me. I know this because I'm may be reading your goals and I'm not about to follow up with you.

Still, it can't hurt and it might help so here goes. My goals for 2010 include the following:

1. Finish reading the Book of Mormon (again).

2. Read 8 novels to the kids. (I stole this goal from my friend Suzanne. Last year 4 of the books I read were books I read to the kids during the summer. So, surely I can double what I did last year, right? Plus Suzanne is going to read her kids 6 books and as long as I'm going to steal the idea I'd better beat it too. Cuz I'm like that. Real competitive.)

3. Go to the temple 10 times.

4. Obviously, I have weight loss goals, but this one I'm not sharing.

5. Work on my presentations to have 2-one hour workshops ready.

6. Finish Beck's baby book.

7. Organize the living room and my bedroom.

8. Keep up the good work with the exercise!

Just because I enjoyed it so much last year, I'm going to track three of these goals on my side bar.

Goal Met

2009-12-30T09:57:00.006-07:00

There were moments when I thought my 20 book goal as too easy. Yet as December rolled around and I'd only cleared 18 books, I was worried that I wouldn't make it. So I scoured my Goodreads list of books to-read and checked them out. And don't you know it? I read 5 this month bringing my total for the year to 23 books.

I'm proud as punch!

I did fall down on the job of providing any sort of a review of the books, so let me recap my favorites from this year.

1. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle--this makes my list of the best books I've ever read!

2. Autobiography of a Face--this story is a work of art crafted by a young author who had jaw cancer as a kid. Despite the obviously sad theme, I found this book surprisingly uplifting.

3. The Safe Keeper's Secret--I have long been a fan of Sharon Shinn.

4. Outliers: A Story of Success--I loved this book. Even though it's non-fiction, it read like a novel and I have found myself quoting it more than any other book I've read this year. I really think every teacher and principal ought to read it.

5. For One More Day--I'm a huge fan of all of Mitch Albom's non-sports books.

6. Finding Your Own North Star--this is written by Martha Beck, who is the late Hugh Nibley's apostate daughter. Knowing this going in can make this book a more enjoyable read for an LDS reader. Still, I loved it. She doesn't say anything disparaging about the LDS church and, in fact, uses many examples in her book from years that she was a member.

If you're looking for a good read and not necessarily a literary masterpiece, I'd also recommend The Year of Magical Thinking, Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World and The Wednesday Letters.

I thought Running Out of Time and Ella Enchanted were very well written children's books.

Just so you know, some of these books I hated.

1. The Secret--way, way too new-agey and weird.

2. Cinderella (as if you didn't already know the story)--this maybe the lamest book I've ever read. It's even too lame for children.

3. Trolley Car Family--my children forced me to keep reading this one aloud but it was terrible.

4. Life by Design--the beginning of this book isn't bad, so that fooled me into thinking that if I could just get through the slow middle that it would redeem itself in the end. No such luck. The ending was worse than the middle. The authors, I kid you not, spout entire paragraphs of cliches. Seriously. They might say: Let's talk about time, then spend 3 paragraphs quoting every single dopey saying about time ever said. AHHHHH! It was torture, but I finished it.

5. The Joy Diet--also a book of Martha Beck's but in this one, she lambasts the church more than once. But I also thought the whole premise of the Joy Diet was weak.

Also I wouldn't recommend Rich Dad, Poor Dad or Letter to My Daughter, although to say that I hated them would be a stretch.

Now to find another achievable goal for 2010...

Update: On Dec 31st I finished one more, Have a Little Faith by Mitch Albom. Fabulous book, hard to put down and my total book count for 2009 was 24!

Sunday Synopsis

2009-12-27T22:26:00.002-07:00

It's difficult to sum up half a month and I keep swearing (and by swearing I mean promising because I don't swear in real life) that I am going to catch up on my blogging, so here is my attempt sans pictures.

Baby Beck turned 2 on Nov 29 and has, thereby, lost his babyhood. However, since he still sleeps in a crib and wears a diaper I will continue to call him Baby Beck.

Wendell turned 34 on Dec 3rd. It was a lame birthday, as usual, because he never gives me good gift ideas and as I sit here I can't even remember what I bought him. I do remember that he was bummed that he got no iTunes gift cards.

Baby Beck split his head open on a Tuesday. This stinks because I haven't taken his 2 year pictures yet. So now they will have a giant red scar right in the middle of his forehead. Only the scar is getting better rapidly, so I continue to put off his 2 year pictures. Perhaps when he's 2 and a half...

On a Wednesday, Wendell and I were called to school because Nathan was misbehaving. Badly. He had left the school building and refused to come back in. Now I am emailing Nate's teacher on a regular basis. She recapped one week for me on a Friday and her email was 21 paragraphs long. Or so it seemed. Apparently, there is long list of stuff Nathan does wrong. I have the distinct feeling that she's going to hammer him on his ALL application.

I finished my Christmas shopping Christmas Eve. At 9:00 pm I realized I was one present short for Anson. Wendell and I scrambled and found a video game that Wendell had bought last year that we saved for another occasion. On Christmas morning I realized that we were one present short for Nathan, but luckily we had one gift labeled "To the Wood Children" and Nate got to open it and all was well.

Here is my cheer of Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all my friends and other people who read my blog.

The Sweetest Thing...

2009-12-10T13:49:00.003-07:00

Emma had a Ballroom dance assembly on Tuesday, so we got her all gussied up including putting her hair in a bun. At breakfast, Nathan (7) looked Emma up and down and said, "Emma, you're SO beautiful."

And then I laughed so hard...

2009-12-04T20:07:00.002-07:00

On Thursday, Wendell was outside in the freezing cold assessing his lights and debating how to hang them.

"There's a person in our backyard," Annika informed me.

"Who is it?"

"It's DADDY!!" she squealed.

"What's he doin' out there?" I asked her.

She didn't know and the curiosity was killing her. She put her coat on the slipped on some Sunday shoes, then marched outside. It was only a few minutes before they were back in the house.

"Don't worry, Mom," Annika said as she came in red-faced, "he's just freezin' his tail pipe."

Fear and Following the Spirit

2009-12-01T13:32:00.004-07:00

In the 2009 Nov Ensign, Elder Scott declares that you can not feel the direction of the Holy Spirit while simultaneously feeling anger, hate, fear, or pride. He described it the same as trying to eat a grape and a jalapeno pepper together while attempting to discern both flavors.

The anger, hate and pride part make perfect sense to me. But fear? In the "scary" world in which we live today many of us, yours truly included, do a lot of things based on fear. For example, I drive Anson to scouts every Wednesday even though it's only 2 blocks from my house because going to scouts would require that he cross a relatively busy street at dusk.

As an avid consumer of news I can tell you that studies show that dusk and dawn are the two times of day in which pedestrian/auto accidents are most common. I can also tell you that one of the leading causes of death to 8-11-year-olds is accidents involving cars. So, once a week, I drive Anson to cub scouts out of fear.

But I think it is possible for many good Christian people to get fear and revelation mixed up. We think, I'm afraid to move, or I'm afraid to travel and we misinterpret that as inspiration. It comes out as--oh, God doesn't want me to (move, go on the trip, etc.) so he is making me feel fear.

But fear and faith can not exist in the same space. I remember reading an article where the author, illustrated this point with a story. A very nice and loving couple were parents of a daughter who was an alcoholic. She desperately needed intervention, but would be angry when those who loved her most defied her wishes to save her life. Because of the fear of that anger, this family froze and for a long time did nothing. Finally, with counseling, the parents realized that they must act out of love rather than wait out of fear.

My grandma illustrated this point perfectly in her monthly email to the family. She wrote that she was nervous about a trip my uncle had planned in the Alaskan wilderness. For a week he would be away from all contact to the outside world, flown in by "bush pilots" in a little plane.

He left on the trip and Grandma continued to panic and worry. She worried that the plane would crash and she worried it would snow and they would be stuck. She fussed and she worried. She spent some time on the phone with her sister, who had lived in Alaska for 15 years, and she worked to calm Grandma and reassure her that everything would be alright. At the appointed time, my uncle emerged from the wilderness safe and happy. He had had the trip of his life and all Grandma's worrying was for naught.

After the whole ordeal was over Grandma wrote us to say that she learned "to feel the peace the Savior can send you when you are worried." But perhaps the greatest revelation of all is in her next sentence. "Each day as I prayed I did feel comfort and peace, but you know how Satan can put thoughts into your mind to make you worry."

Grandma hit the nail on the head. It is Satan who makes us worry and the Spirit who makes us feel peace. If Satan can but sidetrack us with worry so that we can not function--read our scriptures, do our callings, be a happy and pleasant member of the family--then he's winning. And we can not feel the whispering of the Spirit when our heart is gripped with fear.

10 Things I've Learned from FB

2009-11-30T20:57:00.005-07:00

1. If you don't know what FB is then you are probably over 50, or very, very out of it.

2. Some of my "friends" are very funny.

3. Some of my "friends" can't string together an intelligible update to save their lives. They write things like, "Whoa. Yoko Ono is had hot babe 10 years yesterday." That leave you saying, "What does that EVEN MEAN!!!"

4. There are some people who don't go on Facebook very much.

5. When those people go on FB, say every 6 months, they are only on there to say appalling things like, "My wife (husband) is smokin' hot." And their spouse responds in kind with things like, "Oooo, you are THE hotty pants." And it leaves us knowing that they just had a whale of a night and we would rather not have known that. (If you EVER see a post like this from my hubby, it's cuz he's messing with me. He's knows how strongly I feel about that.)

6. There are FB people who are, always, 100% of the time positive. Their updates are filled with uplifting quotes and constant statements of how rosy life is. I have an unexplained desire to hit these people.

7. There are people who profess constant and undying love for spouse and children on FB. I'm with Elder Bednar on this one, there is a better way to show your family you love them. Like buying a journal.

8. People talk a lot about food, sleep deprivation and lack of motivation. I suppose this is what binds us together, but honestly can we be even a little original? (Naturally, I'm guilty of all of these things, so here's to conceding that I lack originality, too.)

9. On FB you learn quickly who can spell and who can't. Sadly, I've been found with some frequency in the latter camp.

10. FB is an incredibly fun way to settle arguments with the Mr. What, you don't think women would enjoy their job as a homemaker better if they got paid for it? Well, I have 13 friends that say you're wrong. Ha. Take that.

Presents

2009-11-29T20:24:00.003-07:00

Wendell's birthday is coming up. This is a high stress time for me since he buys himself whatever he wants. He goes on particular purchasing sprees in the 3 weeks before Father's Day, his birthday and constantly through the entire month of December.

This insures that whatever I buy him, he will buy for himself just days before I give him the gift, usually leaving me scrambling to return what I bought him and get him something else, which is inevitably crappier than what he just bought himself.

So I've learned to be more upfront with him. And he with me. So the other day he calls me while I'm at Wal-mart shopping for Beck's birthday. He asks me if I can buy something for him, while I'm there. I say sure, but since it's a special-ish item, I'm going to save it for his birthday, only six days away.

Fine he says. I purchase and hide the gift. Guess what I found today. I'm not even kidding. He couldn't wait six days. Sheesh.

If I had...

2009-11-24T15:00:00.002-07:00

Sometimes I have a dream about the money truck coming and dumping money at my house and suddenly, I could have or do whatever I want with what the money can buy. I'm not saying that it's not a shallow dream, cuz it is, but it is still fun to dream.

So if I had a sudden influx in money I would...

Remodel the kitchen

Put recessed lighting in the living room

Hire a professional organizer

Hire a regular house keeper

Throw parties on a regular basis

Buy my parents a $675 painting that I'm sure they'd love

Go to Disneyland

Buy a new minivan with automatic sliding doors

So what would you do with a sudden influx of money...don't say "pay tithing" that's a given?

Christmas Cards

2009-11-23T10:18:00.004-07:00

Dear Friends,

I will not be sending out a Christmas letter this year. This is not so unusual since I didn't send Christmas letters last year or the year before...or the year before that. It's not because I didn't write them, I did. I wrote you all letters. I got family pictures and I even gathered your addresses. I just never mailed the letters. For three years.

I've got the family pictures again and I'll gather up addresses. Some of you have given up on me and have stopped sending me Christmas cards and letters. I'm really sorry that I've been so flaky. However, I have decided that since I keep this blog and I'm now on Facebook, that I no longer need Christmas letters.

I mean, if you follow the blog, you've heard about Wendell's promotion, funny things the kids have said and my work to become a motivational speaker. Do you really want to hear about it again? I didn't think so.

And if you're my Facebook friend, then you hear everything from what I'm making for dinner to how creepy I find men in dress slacks and naked ankles. (Shudder.) So, really, you're up to date.

The only thing I don't do well is post pictures. So I'll send you pictures that say "Happy Holidays" on them and have a picture of our family. Maybe I'll even include my blog address, if you'd like to hear me rant. But probably not since that will take too much effort.

If you want a pic, feel free to email me your address (jennakwood@gmail.com).

Sincerely,

Your Lame Friend

The Earliest

2009-11-17T20:58:00.004-07:00

The earliest memory I have is at church. I was in a small room with a few other children my age and a couple of young grown ups who were pretty/handsome and smelled good. I remember the woman talking to us in a high voice, like we were babies, telling us to color pictures. I picked up a paper and crayons and with no particular idea in mind, I scribbled on the paper.

The woman came over to me after a while and crouched down next to me and asked, in that bothersome baby voice, what I was drawing. I told her, hesitantly, that I was only scribbling. She told me it was beautiful and I remember thinking she was an idiot. (I know, kinda jaded for 3.)

Eventually, we children we gathered together and told there was exciting news. We would be going somewhere today and it would really fun. I became excited and nervous as this young couple marched us down a hallway and into a big room full of children.

We had to stand around a bit while they set up a row of chairs at the very front and I remember feeling self-conscious as all the big kids stared at us while we waited for seats. Once we were seated a beautiful lady with a beautiful voice began a music time. I was in heaven. The music was lovely, and I wanted desperately to sing along, but I'd never heard the songs before. So I sat and listened, in paradoxical joy and distress.

My mom joined the LDS church right around her 18th birthday. Since she didn't grow up in the church, she didn't know any of the Primary songs for children. We were raised on camp songs from Camp Hantasa. I could see Wohelo and the Donkey with the Mournful Eye with the best of them, but I'd never heard "Jesus wants me for a Sunbeam" or "I Am a Child of God."

So I sat, aching and determined to learn these beautiful songs so that soon, I too could sing along.

My Own Birth

2009-11-13T16:16:00.005-07:00

At a funeral I attended a few weeks ago, the deceased was eulogized, in large part, from his own writings. One of his 9 children explained that one of their most treasured possessions was a 300+ page personal history, their dad had written. The story that amused me most was the story this man wrote about his own birth.

It is one thing, as a parent, to write about the birth of a child, but quite another to write about your own birth. Not that you weren't there, obviously, you were. And you're the hero of the story, which is always a bonus. But the fact of the matter is, you are oblivious enough of your surroundings, or your memory fuzzy, as yet unformed, that the story relies entirely on the hearsay of your parents. Basically, this gives you as a writer, license to say whatever the heck you want, which, of course, is the part I like the best.

Thus inspired, I will share with you the story of my birth.

My older sister was born in the middle of the night, so when I learned that I was born at 7:20AM on May 16th (1976 if you're nosy enough to want to know), I was pleased as punch.

"Ha!" I remember saying to my sister. "I was the nice daughter who let Mom sleep during the night. Then when she woke up, she had me at a reasonable time."

My mother looked at me a bit sadly, no, no that wasn't true. "I was in labor all night with you and you finally came in the morning."

So my story begins the evening of May 15th as my mom went into labor. My parents were watching a TV show. I don't know what show it was, except for the fact that I can tell you unequivocally, that it was not Dallas as Dallas had not aired yet, nor would it for years to come. And even when it aired, my parents would never watch it because they were not the type of people who watched shows like Dallas. (Apparently there was a character on Dallas named "Jenna" and for years people asked me if I was named for the show Dallas and my parents would like you all to know that I wasn't.)

Dad was pretty antsy about the whole having-a-baby thing and kept telling my mom that it was time to go to the hospital. Mom was determined to finish the show. Mom lost. She never saw the end of the show and was shuttled to the hospital before Dad died of a heart attack caused by impatience.

I'm sure there are a lot of gory details about the night, but let it be said that when I was born, I was humongous. The doctor thought he broke my collar bone during delivery and was delighted to see me unbroken upon further inspection. I weighed 10 lbs 7 oz (told you--humongous) and was in all ways healthy... and intelligent.

Not to brag, but when I was born, I was wrapped up and handed to my mom, who loved me up and was happy that I was out and she could finally breathe. Then she handed me to my dad and .. (drumroll please) I smiled. That's right. Me, right out of the womb with my almost broken collar bone, smiling. Not a gassy smile. No, a real smile. I looked right at my dad and smiled.

As a kid I never doubted this story and retold it as well as my mom. But grown-ups never bought this. No, they'd say shaking their heads, your parents were mistaken. So I'd continue. Dad wasn't the only person I smiled at during my hospital stay. The day after my birth, I smiled at the cleaning lady, who, appropriately freaked out, since it is a known fact that babies can't look at you and smile until they are at least 3 months old.

The cleaning lady hollered for her friend, Gladys or Martha or some such, and once Gladys-Martha appeared at my bedside I smiled at her too. In fact, I lifted my head and smiled at her.

In the wisdom of the day, babies were laid to sleep on their tummies. This was to prevent aspirating on spit-up and thereby reduce SIDS. So, I proved some kind of super-human strength to lift my head and smile. My mom always believed that my early smiling skill was a sign of superior intelligence. Not that I want to deny that, but it was really that I think I was just being congenial. I just love to meet new people!

Once I became a parent with my own little toad, I began to question the smiling story. I mean really. And I began to wonder along side the doubting grown-ups that I had ever really had such a remarkable skill. Then one of my friends had a baby and at a shower her baby smiled at me. He was only a couple of weeks old. It was remarkable. Yes, my friend Zoila confirmed, he'd been smiling since he was only a few days old. At that moment I knew it was true. I was a happy outlier in my own way.

The only other thing I know about the time that surrounded my birth was that when my parents brought me to the car my not quite two-year-old older sister was waiting for me. She'd heard a lot about the new baby and was eager to see me. When I was held down for her to behold all of my baby loveliness, she reportedly took one look at me and said, "What's that?"

Lost Art of the Compliment Part 2

2009-11-03T13:46:00.003-07:00

"You look great!" may be the weakest compliment ever given. Sometimes it's not even designed for the receiver, but for the giver.

When I lost 70 lbs after having Nathan, I felt great all the time. It seemed like the weight was melting off without any effort at all. When I would run into people, I would search for ways to compliment them about their looks, so that, in return, they would compliment me. In addition to "you look great" I would compliment people's clothes, shoes, hair, makeup, glasses--anything that might result in a counter compliment. Like author, Tom Chiarella, I was cranking out shallow compliments at a mile a minute, always in hopes of a return on the favor.

When I regained the weight, partly from my own relapse in eating habits, and partly from having two more babies in short succession, I realized how selfish I had been.

Why was I, of all people, so focused on appearances?

*****************************

I have known Emma since the 9th grade. We are both 5 ft 8 inches tall. When Emma got married, she weighed 120 lbs. I probably weighed 120 in the 4th grade. She has beautiful flowing hair, great skin, and tiny hands and feet. She is the smartest woman I know, with a beautiful singing voice and to top it all off, she is an amazing pianist and cellist.

Over the years, she has watched my weight go up and down. When I'm losing weight, she supportive and complimentary. When I am gaining weight, she is never critical. When I see her after long absences, she says, "It's so good to see you!" Even when I'm losing weight, it's never the first comment that she makes.

"Thank you," I said after one visit, "for always being supportive of me and not commenting on my weight." I couldn't quote her accurately, I'm sure, but the look on her face was, "Of course I don't comment on your weight! You are my dear friend and I love you just the way you are. If you are losing weight, I'm happy for you, but we have so many more things to talk about than your weight. It would be ridiculous to spend any serious time on something so unimportant."

Lost Art of the Compliment Part I

2009-11-01T22:47:00.003-07:00

In this fascinating article MSN writer, Tom Chiarella flushes out the difference between a true compliment and a "salesman's trick."

This is something that interests and haunts me. The compliment. In 2001, I had had a rough year. Wendell had lost his job, then lost his next job and the next. He was selling cars, a desperate move designed to tide us over until he got a "real" job. Our relationship was a wreck. There was yelling and hurt feelings once I even threw something at him.

We were in marriage therapy and I was deeply depressed. That year, everything that could go wrong had. After I had Anson, Mom took me shopping and bought me a few clothes to fit my new bulgy figure. She talked me into buying a shirt that was black with large flowers on it. She gave me a "shell" to wear beneath in it and raved about how great I looked in it.

Every time I saw it, I thought of my grandma. Although I love my grandma dearly, I didn't want to copy style ideas from someone more that 50 years my senior. But Wendell loved the shirt, too. He raved about it and pretended that I was sexy when I wore it.

My weight climbed 13 lbs after Anson was born, so that by the time he turned one, I had ballooned to my all time highest weight.

My memory is a bit fuzzy on the details, but it was around then that I was invited to a baby shower of a woman I really cared about. And she had everything that I didn't. After several years of marriage and work, she was expecting her first baby, while I already had two. She had a beautiful roomy house with a view, money in the bank, and a tiny figure. Even pregnant, she was gorgeous.

I nervously stood on her front porch wearing my grandma style black shirt. I had a reused gift bag with a cheap outfit that had cost only $5 and I'd still had to use my credit card to get it. We were so far in the hole at that point, what difference did $5 make?

When my friend opened the door, she greeted me heartily, inviting me into her beautiful home. With the slightest look of disgust crossing her face so briefly that I was surely the only one who saw it, she looked me up and down and declared, "You look great!"

Should Be

2009-10-31T20:03:00.002-06:00

There are things I should be doing. Like the dishes. Or picking up the living room from the remnants of yesterday's birthday party. I should be sorting through a mountain of papers that Wendell removed from the computer desk, which is now some sort of cleansed shrine to the brand spanking new iMac.

But I'm not. It's Halloween and Beck had had all the fun he could handle, so I'm at home to hand out candy to the handful of trick-or-treaters who are coming by, while Beck watches the umpteenth episode of "Dora Boots" after eating some "nacks" from his trick-or-treat bucket.

Really, I'm playing on the iMac and learning that I need to press the space bar much harder than I did on my PC, if I want to create somewhat intelligible sentences and not have itlooklikethis. I am also disappointed to discover that pressing the "end" button no longer takes my curser to the end of the line.

So, there are adjustments in honeymoon phase. But let me tell you, I'm in love. The mouse, oh my, the mouse is awesome. So sleek and sexy. And fast. It's hard to describe, but it's beautiful.

Beck says...

2009-10-26T11:00:00.002-06:00

I love all the funny things that Beck (22 months) says. For example, "naken" is naked. And he counts like this, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, Nate, nine, ten."

Review: The Year of Magical Thinking

2009-10-25T10:02:00.002-06:00

"Ooooo," my little sister said, "I've got a great book for you."

"Nothing sad," I insisted.

"Oh, well, um... not sad books..."

"OK," I said. "What's the book?"

"It's called The Year of Magical Thinking. It's all about this woman and how her husband dies, suddenly and how she gets through the first year after his death."

So I loaded up the kiddos and went to the library, where the computer system was down. "I'm looking for Autobiography of a Face and The Year of Magical Thinking. Where do I find them?"

The librarian shot me a look somewhere between what's-wrong-with-you and you-must-have-a-hard-life. "Both good books," she said. I nodded.

"Love Joan Didion, " she informed, "she's a really great writer. But the book is sad." I nodded again, since I'd already heard.

There are times in our lives when we go through Job-like trials, where it seems like the world is caving in around us and we can't possibly get more bad news, only to get more bad news. Summed up, this book is how Joan Didion survived, arguably, the worst year of her life. And her husband's sudden death is only the half of it.

Her frank reflections on grief, mourning and moving-on are refreshing. Although I found myself feeling sorry for her about things that only a devout Christian reader would. For example, she doesn't believe in resurrection or really in any kind of life after death. This torments her as she questions where her husband went and the overwhelming sadness of believing that she'll never see him again.

In today's world, a lack of belief in the hereafter is viewed and sophisticated, scientific, and intelligent. I found myself aching to sit down with her and explain about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the fall and the Resurrection. But even with all of the knowledge and faith that I have, I am not sure that that negates grief.

I was left thus ruminating when I learned that a woman I visit taught and love, had just lost her husband and was now a widow. Having read this book, I felt that I had a sudden insight into her personal tragedy. Although she was a "cool customer" at the funeral, not shedding a single tear while looking intently in the face of every speaker and singer, I felt her loss and I worry about how she will move through the year.

Review: Autobiography of a Face

2009-10-17T10:34:00.003-06:00

Autobiography of a Face is more than a memoir, it is a master piece. The story is Lucy Grealy's own, about cancer, family, bravery, survival and beauty. It begins with her diagnosis of Ewing sarcoma, which required the removal of half of her jaw, followed with two and half years of chemo and radiation.

Grealy gives an insiders view to the world of hospitals and sickness. She writes candidly and poetically about what it is to be brave, ugly, and alone. Despite the subject, or perhaps because of it, the book is movingly uplifting, while making you reassess definitions of beauty and struggle.

Twice a Year...

2009-10-04T23:15:00.003-06:00

General Conference was fantastic, as usual. Elder Holland gave a power testimony of the divinity of Book of Mormon, Elder Bednar asked us to be consistent in family practices of Family Home Evening, scripture study and church attendance.

The three main overarching themes I heard this time were: 1) Listen to the Holy Ghost and you will receive the guidance that you need to help your family through difficult times. 2) Beware the ways and the logic of the world. The "natural man" is not able to discern spiritual things. Being vigilant in spiritual "basics" leads to spiritual strength and success. 3) If you or a loved one have wandered from the fold, come back. There is ample love and ample forgiveness to overcome any wrong doing.

A year ago, my sister's father-in-law passed away the day before General Conference. In that session I heard mostly of hope and being strengthened in trials. I recognize that what we hear is a lot because of who we are and what we need to work on.

So what did you hear this conference?

And the Wheels Turn Slowly

2009-09-18T11:03:00.004-06:00

Some people are slow. They think slowly, they talk slowly, they move slowly. I am not one of those people. Some people are fast. They get everything done that they need to in a day and more and still have left over energy to make long phone calls while doing household chores and work out.

I am not one of those people either. But, while I admire and even envy "fast" people, I really despise the slow ones. Sometimes I want to shake people and say mean things like, "spit it out!" "Move over" and "decide already!"

So I am sitting in a bit of discomfort both with myself and others for moving too slowly.

First, after a long and obnoxious struggle, I finally have approval from the principal and the SCC and everybody and their monkey's uncle is on board and I can start my reading program. I have funding, I have sponsors, yet, I can't print my list because every single teacher at Cherry Hill must be coddled, stroked and visited with about the program before I can make photocopies.

The thing is, these teachers are smart and plugged in. I suspect they sit somewhere between I-don't-care and Sounds-great-hope-I-don't-have-to-do-anything-for-this. So all the talking is just slowing us down to slow us down.

Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I'm frustrated with myself. My weight loss has been stalled for a couple months now. I'm journaling, I'm tracking, I'm counting, I'm praying, I'm working out and I can't get the freakin' scale to budge.

Obviously, this is my fault. But why, WHY does weight loss have to be so, so hard?

What I need is way to speed things up. Make for speedy weight loss and speedy decision making. Come on! Let's just step on it.

Fill In the Blank

2009-09-14T20:23:00.002-06:00

Annika (3) sitting at the table. "This says write your own word here."

As I peer over the counter, I see she is drawing "A's" and circles on the line of the title page of a cook book. Excellent. I always wondered what those dots were for...

Lend an Ear

2009-09-13T10:33:00.005-06:00

I need someone to talk to. Not that I need therapy, or maybe I do--in so much as we all do--it's more that I just want to tell someone my thoughts. You know the I'm-frustrated-about-this or I'm-happy-about-that kinda stuff.

I want to vent to someone about the SCC at Cherry Hill. I want to tell someone about my conflicted thoughts about a neighbor's 19-year-old daughter who's pregnant. I want to explain why my house is always a wreck and what I've been doing today that the house is no better, but I'm still exhausted.

I just want to visit.

But my usual outlets have dried up. The people I usually talk to, vent to, chat with are all too busy or too annoyed to visit. I think it's time I arrange a play date with some girls...

Deep Thoughts for Today

2009-09-07T19:53:00.004-06:00

1. When I make dinner, and my children don't like it, but I do like it, I glut myself on it. It's almost like a certain amount of food must be eaten in a given meal and if no one else eats it, then I'm obligated to.

2. At this time of year, when the kids come in from outside, they smell like rotten fruit. I'm cursing the Lee family and their Chinese restaurant and homemade plum sauce. I hate plums. It's time to chop the trees down.

3. Getting stuff translated into Spanish takes a long time and is going to put a serious kink into my carnival plans.

Not the Usual First Day...

2009-08-25T19:03:00.002-06:00

Showered with hugs and kisses
I sent them out the door
like many other times,
but today was the first.

Do you have butterflies?
I asked Nathan.
Emma had already confessed
that she had them.

Like I'm nervous?
he answered.
Yeah, like you're nervous.
Nope, he replied, just happy.

But his school was the same.
Friends, lunch, recess
all the same.
Just a new teacher.

But for Emma and Anson
it was different.
All new. All hard.
New friends, new school, new recess...

So I paced
on the sidewalk outside the school.
The sun beat
and I worried.

Then, they were here
with hugs and happiness--
skipping, hopping, jumping.
It was the best first day ever!