I am

In light of my doubts about publicly sharing our life on the internet--it begs the question: Why even blog at all?

But I really, personally, actually, enjoy blogging.  I enjoy the writing.  I enjoy the thinking through my ideas as I get them on screen and the building of a story as I figure out the best way to tell it.  It is a form of creative expression--and I have always been a person that needs creative expression.

Jeremy and I have been talking about short-term goals lately.  (As in I/we need some.)  My long-term goals are so huge and immeasurable, like "raise my children well."  Well what does that look like today, or any other point along the way? What are any sorts of achievements or checkpoints on that path that I can note?  They don't exist.

Blogging has long offered me a way of setting goals and noting checkpoints, and at times when I have not blogged I have sometimes felt, well. . . maybe this old Supernews video about twitter--which basically applies to blogging as well--can explain how I feel:  [note: Infrequent use of mild language.]

It satires the obsessive ways of social media users, who in a moment of internet failure cry out that "If we aren't connected then we can't twitter, and if we can't twitter then we don't exist!"

Yes, pathetic.

The level-headed guy notes that "friends don't just shout out randomly into the darkness and hope someone is listening!"

It's true, and yet somehow blogging helps me feel more connected to the world, and that I am producing something of value.  And helps me feel more like "I exist"

There is something else as well.  Which actually refers back to Twitter again (what is it--140 characters length limits?"), and Facebook status updates...

Have you ever tried to have a conversation on someone's facebook wall about something that really matters? It doesn't work.  There's no room for a real conversation!

It reminds me of one of my favorite books Fahrenheit 451 and once upon a time I wanted to find a one-liner from it that I could post on Facebook to explain my feelings (and why I wanted to give up Facebook).  But, not surprisingly, the book does not give me a one-liner--the book gives me this:

[Beatty, a future day fire chief of the civil servant book-burners is explaining to Montag, a fireman, why they ever started burning books in the first place--A "dumbing-down" and shortening of good books, followed by a devaluing, followed by a self-censorship of ideas in order to not offend any minority groups, followed by an institutional removal of good books to promote "equality" by keeping them away from the bright kids (who make others feel inferior)--thus the books became the "badguys".  He begins with the dumbing-down.]

"Picture it.  Nineteenth century man with his, horses, dogs, carts, slow motion.  Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera.  Books cut shorter. Condenations.  Digests. Tabloids.  Everything boils down to the snap ending[. . .]

Classics cut to fit fifteen-minute radio shows, then cut again to fill a two-minute book column, winding up at last as a ten- or twelve-line dictionary resume.  I exaggerate, of course.  The dictionaries were for reference.  But many were those whose sole knowledge of Hamlet [. . . ] was a one-page digest in a book that claimed: now at last you can read all the classics; keep up with your neighbors.  Do you see?  Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there's your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more."

He even adds a bit in later about politics, "One column, two sentences, a headline!" Obviously this is the current national conversation on politics and everything else that matters in the world--what can I fit in a tweet, what "zinger" or clever phrase that makes me sound like I know what is going on and have meaningful thoughts about it?  Occasionally someone might write a one to two paragraph update on Facebook that no one will "click to continue" reading because that simply isn't the right format for facebook.

So honestly, the other reason I still want to blog is that I want a larger format for saying the things I feel, and not having to condense my ideas into one-liners that rhyme, or have alliteration, or end with the invisible air fist bump for what a good snappy comeback it was!

And maybe that means that no one will be interested in reading what I write.  Some people say that the age of blogging is over. And maybe it is.  But I will continue writing because writing makes me feel alive.  It reminds me--amid so much mindlessness I see and feel and sometimes experience--that I actually think.

And no matter how much it sounds like the pathetic people on the Supernews Twitter satire, it reminds me as Descartes said, that "I think--therefore I am."

Why Blogging Has Been Hard --part 1

It's NaBloPoMo so I'm blogging.  I'll write more about why later--but today is more about the "why not?"  Why haven't I been blogging?

It's a multifaceted situation.

I read an article a while ago that really hit on some of my feelings, called, "Why I Decided to Stop Writing About My Children."  Basically she writes about how it was hard for her to write about her children--particularly as they got older--and maintain their dignity and privacy.

I don't want things I write about my challenges with my children to become their internal narratives about themselves--possibly limiting them in their dreams and aspirations.  I don't want my children to look back and feel hurt or embarrassed about the things I wrote about them.

It's different with small children.  Everyone recognizes the universal--even adorable--shortcomings of small children.  But as they get older they are investing more in their choices.  They are more intentional.  They are thinking deeper and remembering more.

And thus I recognize that the commentary I make on their lives and choices (particularly in a "permanent" location)  has the real potential to impact them.  

Yet how do I write about what's real and what is meaningful to me without going in to some of these more sensitive topics?

I hit the transition and I quit.  As soon as the things I wanted to write about I had misgivings about, I didn't.

But now I'm going to try again.  To write.  But to respect my (aging) children as whole persons, and honor the trust that they don't know they have placed in me, as their mother, to protect them and nurture them.

I Was Wrong About LIFE

This is me. Sitting on a park bench with the baby. Watching the middle boys play on the playground.  As the toddler tries to keep up.  While the oldest chooses to sit alone in the van.  And Jeremy is at work.  

I had these ideas about LIFE.

LIFE was the thing we were working towards for the first ten years of our marriage.  It was a plan that we were dreaming up, a set of values and principles we were drawn to.  Our vision of a good life, and a life that was Good.

LIFE was what we were going to do together.  How we would spend our days when we had children, had a job, had a house, had cash instead of credit.

I failed to realize the manner in which real life gradually unfolds and moves along and changes and is different for each participant, and it's taken me almost two years to figure out where I went wrong. There is never going to be a point where this LIFE I had been planning for my family would "begin," and when we would all "do" or "live" it together just as I had imagined.

In reality, my oldest is about to turn eleven--his childhood is practically over-- while my baby has barely begun to interact with the world and people around him.  The way in which he is experiencing our daily events is completely different from his brothers.

I want Peter to have the type of LIFE for a young child that I dreamed of, yet now I'm realizing that Owen is "aging out" of that particular phase of LIFE.

Additionally, I failed to fully account for the proportion of Jeremy's time and effort that would provide for the LIFE we wanted.  Jeremy and I have been blessed to develop a common vision for our family over the years, and yet, I failed to realize how little he would actually participate in it.

So while I had this plan for our "LIFE as a family," I've now realized that I was wrong.  My whole underlying premise was inaccurate.  So now I'm just trying to figure out--where do I go from here?

How can I provide for Peter and Rory the childhood of my dreams, with plenty of unstructured play, outdoor time, and Wonder, while I try to honor the changing needs of his older brothers in terms of expanding social circles and developing skills and talents outside the home?  How do we include Jeremy in our days while the majority of his time and energy is spent in the consecrated activity of breadwinning (and another large portion in church service)?  How do I pursue personal development and goals (on my own or with Jeremy) in my adult life?  And finally, how do I come to act on the realization that, as the manager of our home, and nurturer of the children, most of the responsibility--to see that any of this happens--falls on me?

Here and Now

It's a little too easy with babies to get distracted from the here and now.

It seems like a lot of contemporary child-rearing "philosophy" is about getting your child quickly to the next stage.

I agree that hitting milestones is important--be is physical or social or emotional.  But what I don't agree with is the idea that we should actively push our kids to hit these milestones because "earlier is better."  

(I could go on about how this idea is seriously--and mistakenly--at play in public education right now, where my kindergartener is expected to hit many more educational milestones by the end of this year than his brother was just three years ago, and how this isn't going to solve the problem of apathetic, un-motivated, entitled American teenagers who keep scoring so much lower than their international peer-group.  But today I'm talking about babies.)

One of these milestones consistently pushed early for babies is sleep, particularly "independent" sleep!  Because what new parent doesn't like the idea of getting the baby to sleep through the night so that THEY can sleep through the night?

It's tough to be the parent of a newborn.

I remember distinctly when Owen, my first baby, hit three months old.  He was still sleeping so poorly, and I was so miserable that I had a worried conversation with Jeremy about how I was afraid that Owen would end up an only child because I could not see myself ever going through this horrible period of no sleep again.

In a similar manner, one day when Rory was just a month old, I wondered if he would be sleeping in his wind-up swing still when he was a year old, because it was the only thing he would sleep in then.

The problem with my thinking in these two memories, and the problem with the advice to push babies towards independent sleep earlier and earlier, is it's based on the faulty belief that they will never grow out of their current sleep-situation (or lack thereof) on their own. 

One day when Rory was about 4 months old I was tired of it.  Tired of the stage of sleep that he was in.  I set him in his cradle and walked away as he fussed.

"It's time for you to figure out how to sleep without being rocked to bed!" I thought.

After I took a few deep breaths in the other room, I went back to him.  I looked at him in his little cradle and asked myself why I put him to sleep in a cradle?  Was it not the knowledge handed down by our mothers, and grandmothers, and great-grandmothers that babies just sleep better while being rocked?

And I remembered a common piece of furniture I had seen in the tiny homes on our trip this spring to Nauvoo.

It was these long rocking benches, where there was room for one person to sit at one end of the bench and the length of the bench had a guard rail so the mom could place her baby to sleep on the bench and sit and rock the baby to sleep while she worked on something like sewing or reading.

GENIUS!

I need one of those.

But mostly I need to remember that babies keep growing, the keep developing, and frankly they do a lot of it without any input from me, thankyouverymuch.  I can't get my baby to crawl before he's ready or talk before he's ready, so I'm not going to bother trying to get him to sleep independently before he's ready. 

None of my other three boys still needs to be rocked to sleep, so I am confident that one day Rory too will outgrow it. 

My 6 month-old boy has lost all his luscious dark brown baby hair already, and I want to soak in each baby stage he goes through before it too is gone.   I'm going to enjoy my baby right where he is: here and now. 

Vulnerable Motherhood

Motherhood is not a hobby, it is a calling. You do not collect children because you find them cuter than stamps. It is not something to do if you can squeeze the time in. It is what God gave you time for.

I first heard this passage two years ago when Elder Neil L. Anderson quoted it in General Conference. However, recently I came across the original blog it was posted on and thoroughly enjoyed reading the whole post.  A part that stood out to me was the very next passage after the above quote.  The author writes:

Christian mothers carry their children in hostile territory. When you are in public with them, you are standing with, and defending, the objects of cultural dislike. You are publicly testifying that you value what God values, and that you refuse to value what the world values.

This really put into words some of my feelings that I have struggled to identify.  I've noticed that I feel particularly vulnerable in public when I am pregnant.  And during my current pregnancy we purposely put off telling Jeremy's PhD adviser we were expecting until about a month ago.

Within the walls of our own home we are so happy.  Sometimes when I am watching my boys play together, or listen to them talking to me, I just want to burst because of how much I love them, and how amazingly wonderful they are, and how blessed I feel that Heavenly Father has sent them to me.  And we are so, so, so excited for this new little one to join us.  It's been amazing to observe how each of our boys is different, and what they bring to our little family.  We can't wait to see what this new spirit will bring with him.

But outside the walls of our home we become "visible"--open to others' interpretation without our input.  We recognize that our children (and my pregnant state) are a statement of our values, and that other people may not value the same thing.  I  feel unstated accusations that if we'd just stop having kids, then Jeremy could be graduated by now, we could have a "real" job by now, or any number of material possessions by now.  And I take a lot of the supposed blame on myself, because I'm the one who's pregnant, and a lot of society looks down on a pregnant woman.  Like maybe I'm uneducated or unmotivated, or simply incapable of "greater" things.  And to go out with my children, particularly when they aren't being well-behaved, I feel the eyes of a million strangers saying, we told you so, what were you thinking, and why have you done it again?!

A few months ago, Jeremy sent me out of the house for a little "me" time.  I got a pedicure, and while chit chatting with the gal doing my pedicure, I let her believe I was pregnant with my third child.  I never said as much, but in the few other things we talked about we didn't make it to each of my kids.  And the truth is, I didn't want the "Wow!" or the "You're brave!" or the "I could never do that!" or whatever "polite" response she might try to offer, not to mention any impolite ones. 

But maybe it's time to change my ways.  I know how I feel in my heart and I probably need to work harder to not let others' unknown opinions make me feel any less secure.   I need to realize how important it is that I do; because in doing so I am "defending the objects of cultural dislike" and "publicly testifying that I value what God values".  In that context, it hurts to think that if I am insecure about my motherhood in front of others, then I am leaving my children undefended.  That's the last thing I would want to do.

As I make my final preparations to bring my fourth son into the world, I want to become a better mother than I have been in the past.  Particularly, I want to keep my head held high when I leave the sanctity and security of my home.  Because we love our boys, and the reason we "keep having kids" is because we want to, we choose to, we love them and we love our life with them, and also, we believe God has commanded us to bear children.  So, I will defend my values to the world--I will defend my children.  Even on their very worst days. 

Subtle Shift

I have recently been watching a subtle but fascinating shift within our home. My boys are changing--all of them.

 There are many times when I see them playing happily together--as a wonderful group of brothers.

But I've been noticing more and more often that Jonas and Wyatt are pairing off in their own little world together.

They play games, and make messes, and "read" each other stories.  They wrestle (more than I would like), and giggle, and make such a happy little pair.  

 And Owen?  He's off doing his own thing.  Reading, or working on his own little projects, generally growing towards a more independent state.

I've been amazed to watch his personal responsibility grow lately--starting to internalize some of the lessons that we've been trying to teach him (for forever it seems!).  Like, if he wants me to make some sandwich bread, then he can get started grinding the wheat; and if he's ready to have us get started making Jonas' birthday cake, then he can wash out the mixer bowl to help us get ready. 

So Jeremy and I have been discussing these shifts and developments, alongside our current life-situation, and musing that: Maybe It's Time.  Maybe it's time for Owen to venture farther from home, to express that naturally-formed independence, maybe it's time for him to leave home for his schooling.  And maybe his family is ready for that change as well. 

(Jonas' on Owen's first day of Kindergarten)

It's interesting for me to think back to our original motivation for keeping Owen home.  All other considerations aside--we simply felt it was too soon.  Too soon for him to be away from our family full time.  It felt unnatural, and even detrimental to our family unit.  But now, things are changing, it feels more like a natural transition at this point.

We've worked hard these past few years to help really establish a family identity.  To build his relationships with his brothers--to help help him recognize the worth of his family.  The world is out there attempting to tell a different story, but I wanted my son to understand and really experience the relationships within his family--and the importance of them--before he left home.

Because he actually has left home already, and I've already seen how quickly his allegiances shift to friends and his respect for authority switches to teachers.  It wasn't long before I was feeling like I'd lost him forever.  Who knows, perhaps I was being oversensitive with my first child--maybe keeping Owen home a bit longer was simply a personal emotional choice, or maybe it was guided by spiritual inspiration.  I still can't say at this point.  But I am comfortable enough with my choice now to say that I don't think it really matters which was true. We think having him home was good for him, and good for our family.

And now, we think he's ready for a new set of experiences.    

Just Me

I've been having a hard time lately, dealing again with my arch-nemesis: labeling.

It seems that everyone is so very strongly intent on labeling themselves these days.  I'm coming up against it in so many different aspects of my life right now.

my lifestyle
my educational choices
my parenting choices
my religion
my social/political ideas

People who I admire and respect through all these different areas of my interests are taking certain labels on themselves.  That's their business right?  It shouldn't effect me at all--except for the fact that as soon as people take on a label they suddenly start to talk about "them," "the others," and suddenly all the rest of the human race is put in the category of "Everyone else not carrying the label."  And suddenly everyone from the ignorant, to the conscientious objectors, to the curious, to the un-interested, to those actively fighting against the tenants of that label are mashed together in one group as "them". 

That's the part that bugs me--I don't want to be a "them".

I'm a thinking person.  I appreciate conversation and discussion.  I like to learn and talk about issues.  So I really get frustrated to hear people I respect for many of their ideas talking about "them" (me) in ways suggesting that I am unintelligent, a shallow thinker, narrow-minded, ignorant, or uninformed simply because I don't choose to go by the same label they have chosen to.  The bigger problem is that often I agree with these people on many issues--that's why we're friends, or that's why I read/listen to the things they say.  But that doesn't matter.  As soon as someone takes a label on them-self it is all or nothing.  You're either in or you're out.  It's frustrating to me to feel like people who I like and respect, and--in some cases--care about, no longer have respect for me.

I've thought often about this idea of labeling, and my hesitancy to participate.  Beyond the negative effects of its practice--which I have experienced-- it comes back to my faith.  In Mosiah 5: 7-9 King Benjamin, speaking to those who have been baptized, states:

7 And now, because of the covenant which ye have made ye shall be called the children of Christ, his sons, and his daughters; for behold, this day he hath spiritually begotten you; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters.

8 And under this head ye are made free, and there is no other head whereby ye can be made free. There is no other name given whereby salvation cometh; therefore, I would that ye should take upon you the name of Christ, all you that have entered into the covenant with God that ye should be obedient unto the end of your lives.

9 And it shall come to pass that whosoever doeth this shall be found at the right hand of God, for he shall know the name by which he is called; for he shall be called by the name of Christ. (emphasis is my own)

That's it. That's the only label I desire to take on myself. I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. (Some people use the label "Mormon" and I'm ok with that as an intermediate step to getting them to know the real name of the church I take on myself.) 

But I think the scriptures and our baptisimal covenants are pretty clear that taking upon us the name of Christ is the most-important label we should be seeking for ourselves.

I have performed numerous "checks" on myself to make sure I don't take some of my personal passions too far.  I have been careful, for example, to check my passion for real food against the revelations in the scriptures and from the prophets (his fifth point).  I have made sure to do so in concert with my reading of good books of the world on the subject because Nephi taught:

28 [. . . ] O the vainness, and the frailties, and the foolishness of men! When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, for they set it aside, supposing they know of themselves, wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not. And they shall perish.

29 But to be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God. (2 Nephi 9:28-29)

I want to be learned--I love learning new things!  But I never want my learning to make me think that I understand things of myself and no longer need to follow inspiration from God in that area of my life.  I resist taking on additional labels, because I never want one of those labels to slip into a spot of greater prominence in my life than the name of Christ.

A few years ago when I first wrote about this subject I posted our label-free family manifesto.  I feel just as good about it today as the day I posted it, so I'm going to go ahead and state it again: 

We want our family to play outdoors, to appreciate nature, to have creative minds. We want our family to appreciate the things they have, and not be wasteful. We want our family to not buy too much into consumerism, and to be actual producers of many beautiful and useful things. We want to be good stewards of the earth. We want to be healthy. We want to be active and eat good foods. We want to enjoy the food that the earth provides us--grains, fruits, vegetables-- not just food that comes in plastic packages. Most importantly we want to be free to make the choices we feel good about. Free to follow inspiration not fads. Free from labels.

Bloggy Farewell

I’ve read this kind of post before, so I know how it begins, “This post is a long time in coming. . .” And it’s true this post is a long time in coming. I’ve been blogging here for four years, and there have been a half dozen or more times in those four years when I have said, “I’m shutting down the blog tomorrow.” But recognizing that decisions made in a flash are usually regretted, I never have.

This time is serious, because it’s cumulative, it’s added up, and so I gave my 60-days notice to BlogHer two months ago, and now my time is almost up. See, I read this article a while back, asking “Is Facebook Making us Lonelier?” And though I’ve read a few critiques on the research citations of that article I know that those critiquers don’t get it—because it’s true. We all have plenty of “relationships” and "friends" these days, but not enough of the ones that matter.

My blog was a reaching out. Living in a state far away from home, attending a school and congregation where there were not a lot of people in the same life-situation as we were. What I really wanted was my mother or sister to live near by, but instead, I started blogging. I read a book about web-logging once talking about blogging’s great potential for uniting people. Over the internet like-minded people could connect together regardless of their geographical location. And that’s what I longed for—that’s what I blogged for. But, for the most part, all I got in return was silence.

Often I would put up a post and after checking for comments later, would call out to Jeremy, “No one thinks ____ is funny,” or “No one thinks ___ is interesting,” and on my worst days, “No one likes me.” That’s when Jeremy would threaten to take away my internet privileges : - )

Then we’d have a discussion about why I choose to blog, which usually involved watching this Supernews “Twouble with Twitters” for a little blogging perspective. (I’m giving it a rating of TV14 for language and gore.)


So though it’s talking about Twitter and not Blogger—many people think it’s all the same concept. “Friends don’t just randomly shout things into the darkness and hope someone is listening.”

Then there’s the most popular stereotype-- that bloggers are all addicts “reliant on constant self-affirmation.” It might be a valid argument for some, but my blog has never gotten much attention.

And the biggest problem comes with actually sharing the feeling that “If we can’t twitter we don’t exist!” Seriously that’s how I feel. It comes with being a mom, and not having my children say to me “Alright your area looks clean, you can clock out for the day,” or “Great you exceeded your monthly quota by 50%, we’ll make a note of that on your record for when raises are coming up.”

It is hard to do a job that no one cares you are doing, so blogging is a way for me to “track progress” see if my mothering “goals are being met”, appreciate a visual record of good things that I’m doing in my life. But it hasn’t all been good either. I’ve shared a lot of my insecurities as a mother and as a person in my musings on this blog. And I think that’s where the biggest problem comes in. This blog, though read by some, has not brought me any new or good friends, people that I can call when I am crying desperate for a babysitter, or someone to come try my dandelion jam, or spend the evening working on a sewing project together. I don’t have friends, blogging is a (poor) replacement for real friendships, not an avenue for them.

I love the (steamy) quote in the Facebook article, about everyone’s fantasies of “recent college graduates with perfectly articulated, Steampunk-themed, 300-square-foot apartments organizing croquet matches with their book clubs.” It’s a fantasy—I wish there was a little more of that in my life, but there’s not. And for most people—there’s not.

And so I’m leaving this space. I’m not never going to post on it again. (I still need to photograph our Steampunk bedroom makeover.) I’ve been diligently devoted to this space over the years. I love blogging. I love the medium of pictures and words. I love the feeling of a completed post. A little story told and wrapped up in a nice, neat package under a title and date. That’s why it is really hard for me to think of giving it up. So other posts might find their way here once in a while, but I’m leaving Blogher, which also means leaving the 3-post-a-week expectation.

I’ve tried to decide about whether or not I needed to quit both blogs, but I’m finding more satisfaction with my other blog right now. The Urban Pioneer Story is both more personal of a blog than this and less personal at the same time. And I’m finding an enjoyable place in the online homesteading community, but more importantly, I’m ready to move off-line. This fall I want to be a part of something real and something live. A real food cooking group, or a local food dinner club, or a homesteading skills coop, or a city cycling group or something. Something with real people. Because though I love storytelling and skill-sharing, and food-loving over the blogosphere I need actual friends as well.

A Pair of Shoes

I'm about to retire my favorite shoes in the world.

I bought them 9 years ago when I was on my internship in D.C.--they are Steve Madden's but I got them on sale.  They were worth every penny. 

I love that they are my favorite Moss Green color, trimmed with khaki and have rivets, but then they are Mary Janes, and have orange elastic straps and are lined with orange as well.  They are the perfect combination.  Grunge yet girly.  Unassuming yet punk.  When I wear these shoes I feel like I look like me. 

That's why I have worn them to death.  The rubber soles have holes in them.  The rubber that came up over the toes is cracked and falling away.  The orange lining has not been the color orange for years.  The retirement is long overdue, yet I have such a hard time getting rid of them.  Because I need a replacement.  I can't get rid of my go-to shoes without a replacement.

But it's so hard to find a pair of shoes that make me feel like I feel when I wear these shoes.  I feel genuine, I feel free.  These shoes are me.  They aren't shoes that I'm wearing because they are trendy or popular--like some shoes I own.  These aren't shoes that I'm wearing simply because they fit and were on sale--like some shoes I own. 

These shoes were comfortable and durable, attractive and empowering.  And I'm going to miss them.


* * * * * * *

Read more posts about shoes here.

Strong Women

***This is my concluding post to Divergent Week***

In Divergent by Veronica Roth, Triss joins the Dauntless faction, and goes through training to face her fears and develop bravery and strength. 

 (The author dressed up as a Dauntless faction member.)

It  had me thinking about how a lot of novels recently like Divergent, Hunger Games, and even Jeremy's steampunk Leviathan series have lead female characters who are highly independent, strong, brave, and even fighters.  

 In a review of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins I read a Christian woman noting the strong female Character, and saying basically that these types of characters are wrong for our daughters to be reading because it's teaching girls to take on the roles of men.  Particularly stating that in The Hunger Games it was a complete role-reversal since Peeta was the one who needed more protecting, and he was a cake decorator and liked pretty things, and so he was acting like a woman. 

I have two responses to this type of thinking:

First of all--don't tell my sons that they can't be cake decorators.  My boys can be whatever they want in life.  They don't need to choose interests and professions based on what traditional "manly" jobs are.

Secondly--the world is changing. 

A year and a half ago, Disney announced that there would be no more "Princess Movies"--the type which revolved around finding the man of your dreams, and then living happily ever after.  That type of story has run its course and is no longer applicable.  The ideal of the perfect man has always been false, and "happily ever after" is not a resort destination--it's a triathlon. 

So yes, the heroines of the twenty-first century are different than those of the twentieth.  They are Strong, they are independent, they are brave, and they are even fighters.  Because that's what life in today's society is and will require of women. 

It requires strength to endure hard trials when society tells you you can just run away.  It takes independence to desire freedom above a dole. It takes bravery to bear and raise children when society around you is implying you made the wrong choice. And it will take so much fighting to defend safe havens in which to raise those children.

On Geek Glasses and Tatoos

***This post contains spoilers from the book Divergent by Veronica Roth***

In Divergent people's appearances tell a lot about them.  The Abnegation faction who value selflessness wear only grey and plain hairstyles.  Many of the Erudite people who value knowledge wear glasses, which Beatrice is sure for most of them is only to look smarter.  At the choosing ceremony Beatrice leaves the faction of her youth to attempt initiation into the Dauntless--the faction that values bravery or overcoming fear.  They live underground and wear black.  They get piercings and tattoos.       

Beatrice, who changes her name to Triss as a Dauntless initiate, slowly changes her plain grey appearance to fit her faction.  Over the course of her training she gets a number of tattoos.  She gets three birds tattooed across her collar bone, one for each member of her family that she left behind.  She gets a tattoo of the symbol of her Dauntless faction, and a hidden tattoo of her old faction, which is still a part of her.  The tattoos are so symbolic and so meaningful.  Just a part of such a greater struggle--that I found myself for the first time almost wanting a tattoo.

I will never get a tattoo.  A lot of the reasons why are summed up very eloquently in a Red Vs Blue "PSA" Should you get a Tattoo?" Of which the following is an edited transcript:

Church: You know, a lot of you out there are probably considering getting a tattoo. Or, as the young people like to call it, a "tat."

Grif: Or, adding a tattoo to your already impressive collection.

Church: So today we present to you, a very special "Point/Counterpoint" edition of Red Vs. Blue.

Grif: Should you get, a tattoo?

Church: I think it's quite clear, that you should not get a tattoo. And I can sum up my points in this very elegant, but simple, bulleted list.

        Number one: tattoos, are permanent.

        Number two: you are an idiot. And I'd like to prove this mathematically if I may. Take your current age. Now subtract ten years from it. Were you smart back then? Of course you weren't. You were an idiot. Fact of the matter is, you're just as big an idiot today, it's just gonna take you ten more years to realize. Now think if you'd drawn a picture on your body ten years ago. Would you be happy with it today? Chances are, you wouldn't be.

Grif: Unless it was cool, which brings me to my main point. Tattoos, are cool, as long as you avoid the following rookie mistakes... you'll be just fine.

       The barb wire ring. Nothing says 1998 quite like a barb wire ring around your bicep. You'll look like a defensive lineman, and if you get the tattoo, you're probably about as smart as one.

       The band logo. Any band logo. Think about it. The only pop star to remain cool for more than ten years was Madonna, and you're not fooling anybody by getting a tattoo of her.

Church: Right.

Grif: Lastly, and most importantly, are the tribal designs, and the Asian character. No one gets it! Let's be honest, you don't either. Someone had to explain it to you, and you have no idea if they were even telling you the truth. So, avoid these simple pitfalls, and a tattoo can be a wonderful, and rewarding experience. ...except for the pain.

So basically this jokes about how people get tattoos because they think they are cool or meaningful, but really they are just a mistake that they regret in ten years.  (I can't say for sure because I don't have any)

I think what I was feeling more though, was the desire to be a part of something so epic and so meaningful.  Saying that feels almost sacrilegious though, because I know that I am a part of great things, but my personal part seems so small.  And I do have epic personal battles I'm fighting, but nothing that would translate well into a tattoo.

I guess something that appeals to me about this practice of the factions all having their own sort of dress code is the idea of people knowing something about you by looking at you.  I know I've talked before about not subscribing to labels, but sometimes I wish people could know more about me by looking at me.  It's out of loneliness, I suppose, and I figure that if people knew more about me they would be interested in being my friend?  (Does that sound conceited, or desperate?  Unfortunately the truth is more of the second.)

After my sister got Lasik surgery she talked about wanting to keep her super-cute pair of geek girl plastic frame glasses, and maybe even have plain glass put in them so she could still wear them sometimes.   My mom told her "No way!"  She had, of course, just spent a few thousand dollars on my sister's surgery, and referenced all the years my sister had "whined" about having to wear glasses.  So she sent them to me instead (Thanks Eve!) and I had lenses put in and wore them in college.

A few years ago I had Lasik/PRK surgery as well.  And I'll admit--I sometimes wish I could wear those glasses again.   They just made a certain "statement."

I believe in modesty in appearance.  Avoiding extremes in clothing and hairstyles.  Fashion also isn't really my thing.  I wear a lot of hand-me-downs, and a lot of "basic wardrobe" type pieces, because I don't make it to the fun things before deciding that my budget is done.  I feel like that translates into me looking boring and reserved, and thus me looking like a boring and reserved person.  I often wish that I looked more like I feel--which is in itself hard to define. . . spunky and fun, quirky, intelligent, thoughtful, hopeful.

I don't really know what the answer is.  Sometimes I wish I could make all my own clothes-- I like how Doctrine and Covenants section 42 says to let the beauty of our clothes be the beauty of the work of our own hands.  I would like to do that more as I often don't feel like clothing in the stores represents who I feel like inside.

I do regularly dye purple streaks into my hair.  It's because that feels like me. When I feel like I look like me I am happier and more self-confident.  I know that it is all external and doesn't affect who I am inside.  But God gave me my eyes, and my intelligence, so therefore my perception of external things is meaningful.  I can't help it.  So I'll keep my purple streaks (which to me is the same practice as others painting their fingernails) and no, I won't be going out and getting any tattoos soon, but I still do sometimes wish I could wear my geek girl glasses.   

My 6 Year Old Doesn't Believe in the Easter Bunny

On Easter Sunday evening Owen was in the kitchen and noticed on the counter some scraps of tissue paper left over from the papier mache eggs I made for the Easter baskets, and he looked up at me and said, "Mom, are you and Dad the Easter Bunny?  You are--aren't you?"

To preface that question, we've been a bit busy recently.  We were gone for spring break, then Jeremy was gone to a conference for a week, then he spent the last week taking his preliminary exam for his PhD.  So really, I was behind on things like--putting out Easter decorations etc.  So to tell the truth--I don't think the word "Easter Bunny" was spoken in our house one single time before Easter this year. 

I'm really not big on indoctrinating my children with worldly traditions.  Because for their first few years, they don't even get what the traditions are all about.  Then maybe for 2-3 years they "know" who Santa clause or the Easter bunny are enough to anticipate them, but then they become old enough to realize they are not real.  So I don't really feel the need to push these ideas on my children for only a year or two of actual beleif (in something that's not real).

But for sure I love the traditions themselves.  When Owen, our first, was about 22 months old, Easter Sunday was approaching.  So for the last few mornings in the week preceding Easter, I had Owen check on his little basket first thing.  It was empty, empty, empty, and then one morning it was full!  There were treats and a little wind-up chicken that laid jelly bean eggs.  What fun!  He was so excited.  But I didn't tell him it was from a magic Easter bunny.

Jeremy is studying Creativity for his PhD, and he recently read of a study where kids were show clips of a Harry Potter movie--some of them watching scenes where "magic" was being used, and some were shown "non-magic" scenes.  Then they were asked to do a creativity exercise.  The children who watched the magic scenes before the exercise showed more creativity in their responses.  So if I want creative children shouldn't I convince them that the Tooth Fairy is real? I don't think that we have to believe the magic is real in order to enjoy pretending the magic is real.  Else why would Harry Potter be so popular to adults as well as children? 

So Owen and I have talked this Easter, and last Christmas (when we read a book about Christmas traditions all over the world) about "isn't it fun?" to do this, or pretend that?  And what do you think?  Could it be, maybe?  But I am not going to insult his intelligence, once he has figured things out to say, "No I'm not the Easter bunny, the Easter bunny magically goes all over the world in one night hopping around and delivering all that candy you saw in the store last week to little baskets.

So back to his question--I answered it truthfully, because I had not been trying to convince him there was an Easter bunny in the first place.  (Though I did encourage him to let people that wanted to believe have their fun.)  My guess is that the kids were all talking about it at school--that's where he was being encouraged in the idea that there was an Easter bunny coming, and that's also where other (older?) children may have sown his seeds of of doubt that there may not be an Easter bunny.  So I just let it be.

We won't stop celebrating the tradition of surprise-filled baskets on Easter morning, because I still think that's fun.  And we don't have to believe it's real to believe it's fun.  And the other truth of the matter is, for Christmas, Easter, or any occasion when surprises "magically appear"  I find it very hard to keep it all a secret in a home where I am trying more and more every year to include more homemade among the surprises.  But will my children be deprived for receiving baskets full of unique homemade surprises and treats instead of a basket full of  the traditional (from my childhood too) supermarket treats? 

I think not.

Still Life

I've decided that my life was not meant to be recorded on film.

This goes back a long way really.  On a trip to Russia with my parents to pick up my older brother, our video camera was stolen out of our bag.  When we were engaged Jeremy and I drove to NYC to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. His video camera was lost/stolen in a parking garage.  My sister gave us their hand-me-down video camera for Christmas when we were first married.  But the first mini-cassette which we filled with videos from our early marriage and Owen's babydom has been lost somewhere during our half dozen moves since we got married. 

Since getting digital cameras we can take videos again.  But we never buy a more expensive video card with more memory (I upload my pictures and start fresh every 36 photos--just like the good old days) so we can't take more than a minute or two of video.  Last month I did the classic home video fail of only getting half of Owen's two sentence part in his school program on video. 

That's so classic right?  Starting recording in the middle, or you weren't zoomed in on the right kid, or the camera was already recording some excellent "FOOTage" as we called it, and right as the action is about to begin the cameraman lifts up the camera and presses the record button just in time for you to miss what you were supposed to be watching.

So I've just decided it's not for me--I'm not going to stress about video-recording things.  My life was not meant to be on video!

 Maybe my life is just as well captured as still life.  I love my photos.  And I love to write about my life.  I love finding the right words to paint the picture and tell the stories that I care about.

And maybe that's my problem with video.  Movies attempt to present an unbiased documentation of what occurred.  But what is life without our interpretation?  What is life without the emotions we feel through it?  I record those feelings and perspectives through writing about my life, and I like it better that way.

Mother of a Terrible Two

 My baby is almost two.  And by "baby" I mean the shortest boy at our house--all of whom are tall, skinny, full of personality and independence, and plenty of their own ideas about "the way things are."

 Wyatt is something of a little terror.  He jumps on the little piano like ten fingers just don't quite make enough noise for his purposes.

One day he removed all the spice jars from their rack and stuffed them into the toaster oven--and turned it on.  We were tipped off by the conflicting olfactory sensations of fragrant warm herbs, and melting plastic lids. 

He recently pulled a Texas Sheet Cake from on top of the stove, and found to his satisfaction that the fall caused the lid to pop off giving him full access to the sheet pan of cake.

Some days it's a bit hard to take.  So I get a really big kick out of the book "Love You Forever", by Robert Munsch--you know the one: 

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.

. . .that book that makes everyone cry because of how special the love between a parent and their child is.   Well, I like it for a different reason.  This passage is one of my favorites.

The baby grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was two years old, and he ran all around the house. He pulled all the books off the shelves. He pulled all the food out of the refrigerator and he took his mother's watch and flushed it down the toilet. Sometimes his mother would say, "this kid is driving me CRAZY!"

Those words could only have been written by a parent who has lived in the trenches, and survived to tell the tale.  If someone who at one point had children who were as "misbehaved" as mine usually are, and felt those parental feelings of frustration, could still go on to write an inter-generationally beloved book about the great love between a parent and child--then surely there is hope for me. 

Jeremy made an observation this morning.  He said that the reason we don't have girls is probably because we would be the PERFECT parents of little girls--we would do everything right.  But since the point of life is to learn and grow and develop then God has only sent us little boys, because we have the most to learn from being parents of a house of little boys right now.  It sounded like a great theory to me--so for now I'm going to accept it.

I've long tried to embrace my household of little boys, to appreciate the things that only come with little boys-- and I feel like I've done pretty well with that.  Though I'll still freely admit that sometimes my favorite interactions with my boys are the ones in which they are sleeping.  And I can allow my heart to be filled with love alone, and have those feelings deep inside to get me through the next day.

Today in my Life

Today I chronicled "a day in my life" as a part of a blog hop.  You would think it would be easy to chronicle "a day in the life" but I quickly found the hang up. Though I could have crafted a romantic look into the typical rhythm of a day in my life, I chose instead to simply capture "This Day" in my life.  And truly I think what I have captured has much more personality, shows more about me, and will be more interesting to me far in the future because I chose to do so despite the many "non-typical" things that went on today.

7:30am I woke up to the smell of oatmeal and the sound of a crying baby.  We kept the boys up a little late last night with a sitter because Jeremy and I were out at a class.  SO the baby hadn't really woken up on the right side of the port-o-crib.  Once he was seated at the table with oatmeal of an edible temperature, and a spoon in his fist he was much happier.  I, on the other hand, would rather still have been in bed. 

And yeah, we're eating out of a random selection of tupperware and pyrex bowls, because the dishes didn't get done last night.

8:00am After breakfast Owen read scripture stories to us.  We recently finished Book of Mormon Stories and have now started on Doctrine and Covenants Stories.  Last semester when we were homeschooling we would let them watch the accompanying videos, but today he needed to get dressed for school.

 8:30am Jeremy left to take Owen to school--he's been attending his local elementary school again for the last week and a half.  Jonas went along for the ride.

I sat down to post on my Urban Pioneer Story blog--a great post about our latest homesteading adventure.  And I checked on a few blogs, and Pinterest (love!).

Jeremy got back and got ready and left for campus for the day.  I got dressed and picked up the living room.

10:15am  My visiting teacher came over for a while.  Jonas and her son played trains while the moms enjoyed a nice chat. 

11:30am The boys and I drove down to Owen's school to eat a "special" hot dog families-invited lunch, celebrating "Hot dog!  We're so excited construction is complete on the new school gym." 

Then they played on the playground together until it was time for Owen to go back to class.

12:30pm I put the baby down for a nap.  (He slept for three hours he was so worn out.)

I lay in bed for a while and read a book, and tried unsuccessfully to get Jonas to entertain himself on the computer. Finally I just abandoned the book.

 

Jonas and I worked on grinding some wheat--I'll make bread tomorrow.   

 And I did a little bit of laundry.

3:55pm With the baby in tow we picked up Owen from school.  When we got home Owen did his chore of feeding the chickens.  Then the boys stayed outside for a half hour to play in the nice weather.

After heading in the boys sat down to watch Danger Mouse on Hulu (Jeremy got them into it) while I made dinner.

 5:30pm We sat down for dinner.  Mushroom and kale polenta--perfect wintery comfort food. 

After dinner I gathered supplies and Jeremy and I practiced some twostep moves.  (One day we'll look like this.)

6:30pm We left the house to go teach the two step at for Mutual (youth program) at church.

8:40pm We arrive home and put the boys to bed (late for the second night in a row--I hate that).

9:00pm I'm in bed.  A hahahaha!  No I'm on the computer, writing on my blog.  Usually I alternate days on the blogs, but today's blog hop is a special occasion.  I'll probably browse Pinterest a bit more.  Read more blog posts in my queue.  After Jeremy finishes doing dishes, we may watch something on Netflix or Hulu.  Jeremy needs to do his physical therapy.  I may take a bath or read more of my book.  Then before bed it is time for scriptures and prayers, and talking way too late into the night.

2:00am  I can probably guarantee to be asleep by then.

Today was definitely not a typical day, but I don't really think typical days happen all that often at all.  Today was a day.  We got most everything done we needed to (We missed family scripture study--we should have done it during dinner since we were going to be out late.)  A "typical" day may have seen Jonas and I at the library for story time this morning--but in the real day we preferred our visitors and our visit to school instead.  Here's to non-typical days--may our life be full of many more enjoyable ones.


Want to read more "days in the life"?  click here

Confidence

Sometimes I wish I could be like other people.

I wish I was confident that I knew what was right, that I had everything figured out, that I had no reason to second-guess myself.

But I'm not--I don't have that confidence.  I believe in learning, and expanding my mind.  I love reading and researching and becoming more.  In some areas I feel like I've accumulated enough knowledge to feel confidence.  When it comes to food--I know what I believe.  I can talk about food choices with no shame or apologies.  I am confident with my actions, knowledge, and beliefs on the subject. 

But my kids are another matter.  I have thoughts, and beliefs, and I've done tons of research-- I did, after all, receive the ridiculed "Marriage Family and Human Development" bachelors of science degree from BYU-- but it doesn't matter.  I lack confidence as a parent.  I lack confidence that the choices I make are the "right" ones.  I don't get the results I think I should from the choices that do feel right to me.  So I question myself.

It seems like everyone else has the right answer.  Everyone else has made choices--they don't question them.  I'm the only one that questions them.  But that's not enough, I question the alternatives as well.  So I'm lost in the middle of this life-test called parenting and I don't know any of the answers.  I try to figure out the problems but I don't have any way to check my work and see if I'm even on the right track. 

Owen is old enough that we talk and converse.  I'm scared by the fact that he's old enough to be forming memories that he will still remember in a few years.  It seems too soon.  I'm not ready for that--I was supposed to have things figured out by now.

But I don't. 

Resolutions

This year I will become a Maker.

Jeremy got me a gardening apron for Christmas that I have dubbed my "Maker" apron, for all the projects I want to do this year.  Gardening, cooking, soap making, stained glass creating, and a teeny bit of electrical engineering.  I will dream less and do more.


This year I will become more committed to my husband and marriage.

Jeremy made a wise choice and followed the advice I gave him to offer me a year's worth of dates instead of presents for my birthday and Christmas.  I now have a planner with one date designated for each month of the next year.  I figured I could meet his offer and take the opportunity for me to plan one date a month for us as well.  (First one is a $20 roll of quarters and the Dance Dance Revolution machine at the union arcade.)

A third week each month we will entertain guests in our home, which is something we both love doing, and a fourth week out of the month we will be invited to someone else's home for the evening.  It's a genius plan. 



This year I will show my body as much concern and respect as I show my children's bodies, by allowing myself to get as much sleep as I really need. 

I have three children who are sleeping way more at night than they were a year ago, getting up a fraction of the number of times they were, and I just might see an actual full night's sleep without waking up a single time in this year's future.  Then again I might not.  But this year I will present myself with that opportunity instead of sarcastically saying that it won't happen anyways, so why don't I just stay up a little later to finish this show?

2012.  I think this year has potential. 

Remembering

On September 11, 2001 my roommate woke me to watch the news coverage of the events unfolding back East.  In my drowsy state it was hard to comprehend what I was seeing and what was being said.  My first class scheduled that morning was a media arts seminar.  We sat together in the room and watched news coverage over the projector.  There was comfort in the companionship of others.  In the afternoon I had a German class scheduled and returned to my dorm after checking in with the instructor.  I hadn't heard from my sister yet, and I wanted to be available for the phone call when it came.

Evelyn was in Washington DC on internship that fall, and she--as we all do as survivors--feels that pull to remember, to share, and to preserve her memories of that time in our country's history--for ourselves and our children.  Here are the words she has written.  Thank you for sharing Evelyn.  

Many thoughts are in my head and yet so few I can articulate enough to share. But I feel like I should say something, I was there after all and I too will never forget. Events like these shape our character, if we let them.

There are too many points to make, too many lessons to be learned, that to share one without the other seems incomplete. I was in DC that day, I watched as a proud city turned to fear and chaos. We watched from our apartment rooftop as the Pentagon burned for days. We passed the big gaping hole of wreckage where the plane entered and there was a similar one in our hearts. We lived in the threat filled days that followed with fear and sadness, because for us our world had changed. For all of us, as fellow countrymen, our world had changed. 

As I remember that day a flood of memories come rushing back and all the emotions that accompany them, working in the Smithsonian that morning when I heard about the first plane, listening to the events unfold on the radio as they happened, not knowing what was going on, thinking at first it was some sort of an accident but then learning the terrible awful truth, hearing of the plane in PA and then in DC, not knowing how many more there were and if so where they might land in a city I called home. Not being able to get home, not living in a time of ubiquitous cell phones when you could account for all your roommates and friends, not being able to phone home and assure them you were all right, seeing people running in the streets, the fear in everyone's eyes. Finally making it home, quickly turning from the Spanish Station that was showing the jumpers, watching the towers fall, still not knowing what more was coming, not leaving the house, going to the roof, watching the Pentagon burning and waiting, waiting to see if there was more to come. 

Pushing past the sad memories, there is one of courage and hope that has stayed with me. One of the hardest things in the days after 9-11 was passing by the Pentagon Metro Station. There was a solemnness that fell like a heavy cloth on the passengers as we passed by the now dark station. It was a reminder of the loss that so many were suffering and the utter helplessness we all felt at not being able to do anything. I remember the first day the station was open again, the passengers getting off in silence, passing all the guards with all their guns. Walking back into a world that would be forever changed. Going forward with courage and a belief in their country and their cause. I wanted to personally thank each one of them. That is who I applauded then and that is who I pay tribute to today. Those that lived and faced the loss, the fear, and the unknown, those that carried on.