Binging and Purging

No, I don't have an eating disorder.  At least not this kind.  I can't even imagine.

I'm talking about a reading binge.  Oh, it has been delightful.  I finished reading Les Miserables a week ago, which had taken me almost five weeks to read (an eternity for my reading tastes).  Needing a fast, almost mindless book to recharge my batteries, I went to the library and checked out an Anita Shreve book.  The boys were gone for a fathers and sons camp-out on Friday night and I stayed up late and finished that disastrous novel.

The next day, I found myself downtown and inside my favorite little bookstore.  Minutes later, I walked out with two new books.  I started one, Kate Morton's The Forgotten Garden, that day and finished it the next.  Then, before starting my other new book, I remembered I had checked out The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks from the library almost a month ago before we moved, and it was hidden somewhere in one of my many moving messes.  Once found, I started and finished it after taking the boys to school.  Mmmmmmm.  Absolutely delectable.

I currently have eight....eight books I have read over the last three months that are still unreviewed.  Oh, I know none of them need to be reviewed, but that's what I do.  I read something and review it, and until I do it doesn't feel completed.  Rather than shuffle these four books to the bottom of the review pile, I scandalously reviewed them first.  Writing about them was almost as enjoyable as reading them.  I definitely prefer writing a review when the book is still fresh in my mind.

It's nice to be reminded that I like to read and write.  This month has been so stressful and although ignoring all my other responsibilities to read these books and write about them goes a little beyond indulgence, I honestly think I needed to do it.  I feel like me again, not just some dirty, pony-tailed mover.

Now, I need to get back to unpacking and organizing, not to mention all the other day-to-day work.  And I need to get back on the classics diet.  My year's deadline is only three months away.  It's good for me, right? :)

Book Review - Classic #11 - Les Miserables

With almost fifteen hundred pages at Victor Hugo's disposal, I expected to discover a lot more insight and depth into the lives of Jean Valjean, Javert, Fantine, Cosette, Marius, Eponine and the Thenardiers, whose heroics, misery, greed, goodness and determination make up the complex story of France in transition after Napoleon's empire fell than what is allowed in the much beloved three and a half-hour musical production.

Of course, this is the case, but I was surprised by how well the musical captures the essence of this amazing book.  Unlike a lot of screen adaptations, most of the essential elements of the book remain intact for the play.   Because I was already so familiar with the plot (I have seen the musical at least a half dozen times), I felt my attention gravitate towards the familiar parts of the story and, in turn, felt almost impatient when the narration turned towards the unfamiliar.  As a result, I can't decide if I'm glad I knew the story as well as I did, for I felt my spirits rise each time I recognized a favorite scene and could sing along in my head (and sometimes out loud), or if my repeated exposure to the musical hampered my ability to fully enjoy the added dimensions of Hugo's complete masterpiece.

I had been warned and was therefore prepared for the famous tangents concerning Waterloo, the description of the streets of Paris and the essay on the benefits and drawbacks of modern sewage systems.  Perhaps because I was anticipating these sections, they seemed... separate, somehow from the rest of the novel.  It's not just these three sections, but I felt Hugo used two styles and two different voices to write Les Miserables. There were the character sections of the books, where conversation, description and conflict moved the plot along and then there were the essay sections when the author seems to say, "Hold up, I want to explain something first before moving on." And then he would. For pages and pages and pages. He explained what he thought about capitalism and socialism, crime and punishment, religion, monasteries, war, forgiveness, mercy, death and more. I think i could turn to any page in the book and immediately tell if Hugo was in explanation mode or story-telling mode. In my eyes, they didn't blend. Both were interesting, although I admit to preferring the storyline, but I didn't always feel like I was reading one complete story.

It took me a month to finish reading and I can't say, like my husband and many others, that this is the best book I have ever read. Without a doubt, it is one of the best stories about morality, justice and mercy ever conceived and written. But I don't feel like I got more of what makes Les Miserables so great, with all of the extra stuff. More information, more depth, more characters, more background, even more story - yes. But more feeling? I don't think so. At least I didn't feel it. But, that may be the result of a long month talking.

It feels weird to write as if the book disappointed me. It didn't. I loved it. I just don't love it anymore than I already did, and I suppose that may be considered a disappointment.  If only all of life's disappointments were this good.

Book Review - The Last Time We Met

This had a solid spot on my mediocre-books-I'll-never-remember shelf until I read the last two pages where an appallingly bad ending forced me to violently throw it into the books-so-bad-they-make-me-angry trash.**

While still fuming about one of the lamest and most manipulative endings ever written, I had to remind myself that I believe there is a purpose to occasionally reading a bad book. As a reading hobbyist, my main motivation to read is for joy. For the euphoria that comes when I immerse myself in a really spectacular story, essay, fable or parable for a few hours or days and come away a better informed, more empathic person for reading it.

In order to recognize the good stuff, I believe you have to have some experience with the bad. It's the law of opposition for literature. Now, I'm not advocating anyone seek out the tawdry or the trashy. I'm not even sure that kind of stuff counts as literature. But, the more I read, the more comfortable I am with my opinions. If I say or write, "That was incredible." or, "Meh." or even "I hated it!" I'm using all the books I've read before as a sort of gauge. Of course, preference about style, genre or prose is so subjective that it would be impossible to universally call anything "Good" or "Bad" but throughout your own experience as a reader, your own tastes become clear.

This, an attempt to dramatize one of life's great questions - what if? - is bad, in my opinion, because it seems Anita Shreve couldn't pass up a chance to write a book full of gimmicks over one whose plot could stand on its own two feet. From it's reverse chronology format to it's pointless foreshadowing of things that never happened, The Last Time They Met only serves to remind me that there are better books out there.

** no books were actually harmed in the writing of this review

Curse the Magic Broom!

Last night, in an attempt to avoid another round of the water game for Family Home Evening (although why someone wouldn't like the water game is beyond me. I love it), Jay put himself in charge of the game and went to the closet and brought out a broom. He told the rest of us to stand in a circle and then he started to chant something like, "Broom, broom, magic broom, who will you choose within this room." Those aren't the exact words, but I think they sound nice.

He then proceeded to touch our feet with the broom and then touch objects around the room, followed by another touch of our feet. After touching several people, he'd ask who the magic broom chose. At first, the boys were completely bewildered about what he was doing and it was me who was trying to convince them that if they were just patient and observant, they'd figure it out.

Over and over again, the broom touched things like the couch, the fireplace, the computer, a folded pair of jeans on the floor, the laundry basket and occasionally, the boys would guess right. As soon as they claimed to have figured the riddle out, Jay would give them a turn with the magic broom, only to discover that their guess was wrong.

The game only lasted maybe fifteen minutes, but those fifteen minutes gave me plenty of time to get grumpy. I hate not being able to figure things out! I sat there, feeling juvenile and inferior as Jay gave clue after clue to the boys (I feigned disinterest) and I still don't know what the secret is. I think it has something to do with the color of whatever he's touching and somehow that becomes code for a person in the room, but I don't know how! Or why!

They boys are still working on figuring out the answer, commendable, I suppose, but children are also much more accustomed to waiting than this impatient thirty-four year-old. I just want to flip to the back of the book to the answer section but there is none!

Tell me, do you know the key to solving the magic broom? Have you played this before? Am I the only grown up that can't figure out an obvious child's game?

Help!

Book Review - The Forgotten Garden

After hearing many glowing comments about Kate Morton's The Forgotten Garden, I decided to forgo the long reserve line at the library and buy myself a copy.

Even with its respectable five-hundred and forty-eight page heft, I didn't want to put this book down. The Forgotten Garden begins with an unnamed girl playing a hiding game on a ship. A few pages later, a girl named Nell is turning twenty-one and her father reveals to her a devastating truth: she is not their daughter. He discovered her standing alone holding a small suitcase which contains a book of fairy tales and an extra dress on the wharf where he worked when she was only four years-old.

While it's not exactly a mystery, because the reader is never quite sure if a crime has ever been committed, wanting to learn who Nell is, who she was before she arrived on a different continent, alone, and without knowing her name is a strong motivator to keep reading.

Morton doesn't hand over her clues upfront, however. Instead, she weaves the story of Eliza Makepeace, the author of little Nell's book of fairy tales, and Nell's own granddaughter's, Cassandra, story into Nell's quest to rediscover her lost identity.

Most of the time, I enjoyed the weaving. It's done so subtly, like coming in and out of dream sequences, that, unlike some other books that use this technique, I didn't find myself wishing to be back in one story and out of another. I will say, though, that hindsight has made wish certain plot holes were filled and left wondering why other information, that now seems superfluous, was included. Also, I was a little bit disappointed with the character development. Instead of really getting to know Nell, whose story this might have been, Morton instead chooses to use Nell's sense of loss to pose the question: what influences our sense of identity? How do we become who we are? Is it our name? Who our parents are? Is it who we marry or the status of our socioeconomic level? Is it our talents, or fame or careers? Is it our tragedies? Yes. All of them or none of them depending on what we decide matters most.

If you enjoy stories that transport you into Victorian England, have a touch of romance, the pull of mystery, the weight of history as well as a few revealing fairy tales, you'll probably love The Forgotten Garden.

Book Review - The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks

Who loves getting a big reward with only a little investment?  I do!  That's how I felt after reading The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks by E. Lockhart.  On its shiny teenybopper romance quartz surface, the book appears to be a fairly short young adult fictional novel about a prestigious prep school and the cliques and social hierarchy that exist there.  But, underneath its surface, there is an impressive amount of philosophical gold.

Frankie Landau-Banks starts off her sophomore year at Alabaster with the same mindset she had from her freshman year.  She has a nice group of friends, but not too many, she gets good grades, has a crush on a cute senior and obeys her overprotective mother.   Over the summer, however, she morphed from an awkward fourteen year-old into a stunning young woman,  and the changes in her physical appearance are quickly noticed and appreciated by the rich, beautiful and powerful crowd at her school.   As she is drawn into a world where opportunities seem endless and consequences invisible, Frankie develops an appetite for that lifestyle and begins to challenge the unwritten rules that threaten to keep her away from it.  

I suppose one can think of this as a pro-feminism rah-rah tale, but I think it's more about personal agency and empowerment than gender.  Certainly, Frankie is female therefore most of her why-can't-I's had to do with the exclusion she felt from not being allowed into the all-male secret Basset Hound society, but the scope of the novel goes far beyond what girls can and cannot do.  The idea of the panopticon - or the idea that people follow rules because they never know who may be watching - is such a delightfully profound concept cleverly disguised as teenage peer pressure.  Of course, there are a lot more rules to follow  and a lot more angst about what people think about you if you don't follow certain rules when you're a teenager, but that ponopticon doesn't go away upon completion of high school.  Most of our lives are controlled by it - for good and bad.  Without it, there would be anarchy and with it there is integrity, but, as our young protagonist points out, it usually brings fear, limits and status quos too.

Should you desire, when you finish thinking about what you do when no one is watching, there are a lot of ideas about feminism to consider, not to mention nepotism, reverse psychology and the possibility we are all puppets being controlled by secret societies.

Or, you can simply enjoy Frankie's delightfully fresh coming-of-age story.  I loved cheering for her.  And jeering too.

I'll Take It As A Compliment

I am learning, as all parents do, that my children are not flawless.  As shocking as that statement is, I'm also learning that there are times when certain behaviors and habits become particularly glaring.  Annoying, even.

Seth likes to cuddle.  Strike that.  He likes to nuzzle.  In particular, he likes to nuzzle with my arm.

I first noticed myself becoming perturbed with his style of touching on our trip to Boston a month ago.  Before flying to Boston, we were in Denver for one night and there was an incident during dinner with his cousins when I overheard (or think I overheard but all communication about said conversation is emotionally off-limits to Seth so I'm not sure I'll ever really know) an inappropriate comment from Seth.

Not being flawless myself (when did you first realize this Mom and Dad?  Or am I bursting a bubble here?), I overreacted, overwhelmed my highly sensitive child with some scary screaming, and shamefully attempted to rectify the bad parenting moment with high doses of positive bonding throughout the rest of the trip: smiling, game playing, compliments, gifts and, still Seth's favorite love language of all, physical affection.

The hand holding I love.  The lean-his-head-against-my-shoulder move?  Heart warming.  But once the head starts to move back and forth against my upper arm or, worse, I get the two hand gentle squeeze in the same place, it's all I can do to resist shaking him off.   Because I know what he's doing even if he doesn't.  It's like when a cat finds a soft place to knead.  He is absent-mindedly nuzzling my fat arms.

Really, it's a perfect storm.  His current height allows his head to be  aligned with my upper arms.  The warmer weather has brought out shorter sleeves.  And I've recently read a book about parenting highly sensitive children that, in a nutshell, says yelling, criticism or harsh words coming from "the authority figure" has devastating and long-lasting effects.  The author's son, a textbook HSC (yes, it really is an acronym), didn't drive until he was 26, and she supposedly did everything perfectly.  I don't want to drive Seth around until he's 26 so I'm trying to figure out how to be less scary.  Ergo...no, "Please stop with the arm nuzzle!!!!" exclamations.

I've tried to diplomatically move away but it feels mean.  Because I do not want him to think I don't enjoy his physical touch.  I am also afraid of saying something because Seth has a history of overreacting to suggestion. It's entirely plausible that his reaction to a mild, "Please stop squeezing my arm." would be, "Good-bye.  I'll never touch you again.  I'm going to my room."

Using the powers of introspection, I've wondered why this act of nuzzling bothers me so badly.  It didn't take a call to Dr. Phill to realize that with every squeeze, every head rub, I'm reminded of my big arms.  I don't want big arms.  I don't want soft arms.  I don't want anyone, even my own sweet Seth, to call attention to my physical imperfections.

I do, however, want a strong, happy connection to my child.  Yesterday, in a lighter moment, I smiled at Seth while he mercilessly nuzzled and said, "Why do you always do that to my arm?"   Predictably, he answered, "Because they're soft."

Then, he added, "And squishy."

I'm not sure calling anything squishy, ever, can be considered a compliment but I knew in the context that Seth was using that he meant it as one.

I love that boy.  I really do.  With all of his angles and bony limbs, I'm sure it's comforting to rest against something soft and squishy.  Although I'd choose most other physical displays of affection over the arm nuzzle (a back scratch, foot rub, or shoulder massage seem so preferable), I will not deny him my arm.  In return, I'm expecting a driver's licence at sixteen.

"Ah," I diplomatically replied.

He smiled back at me, grabbed my arm with both hands and squeezed.

I Am...

so excited to be living in our new house.  I can't even find my kids anymore. 

wishing I hadn't signed Sam and Henry up for spring soccer.  The weather is too cold and unpredictable for it to be fun. 

done cleaning out our old house.  Carpet cleaners come tomorrow (and they better not mess up my shiny floors) and check out on Thursday.

cursing the owners of our old house who painted every inch of drywall with flat white paint.  No gloss, or semi-gloss anywhere...even in the bathrooms.  It is very unforgiving.

wondering if I have any energy left to start unpacking.

excited that school is over in seven more days!

happy.  But tired. 

Honor Thy Mother

I had to speak in church today and this is my talk.  I am a talk reader.  I figure if the general authorities get to read their talks, then I do too.  I tried to look up and use inflection in my voice.  But, I pretty much said this word for word.  So, if you read it, and know the sound of my voice, it's like you were there:)

I think holidays, in their truest and most simple form, make the world a better place.  The earth enjoys more trees thanks to Arbor Day and what a wonderful idea to remember those who have passed on before us on Memorial Day. 

Mother’s Day is different, however.  It is the only holiday I can think of, other than Father’s Day, whose observation of is actually a commandment.  The Lord told Moses on Mount Sinai, “Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.”  Exodus 20:12

Wouldn’t it be incredible if the other nine commandments were given an entire day of attention and emphasis as well?  Can you imagine an entire day where there is no bloodshed?  What about a day without theft of any kind, or immorality or dishonesty?  Those would be holidays or “holy” days, if you say it the right way, indeed. 

Of course, Heavenly Father is not, nor has ever been, in cohorts with the greeting card and flower companies so He must have meant for us to obey this commandment more often than the once-a-year schedule we currently adhere to.

There is a book I love called Gilead by Marilynne Robinson, which contains some interesting thoughts about the Fifth Commandment.  The book is narrated by an old pastor who wants to leave his young son, who he was blessed to have in his later years, not only his memories and experiences, but also his wisdom and counsel.  As the pastor is especially anxious that his young son honors his mother after he is gone, he says this about the fifth commandment: (I am excluding the irrelevant parts, so this is not a direct quote

I think it is significant that the Fifth Commandment falls between those that have to do with proper worship of God and those that have to do with right conduct toward other people.  I have always wondered if the Commandments should be read as occurring in order of importance.  If that is correct, honoring your mother is more important than not committing murder.  That seems remarkable, though I am open to the idea. 

…if honoring authority means only that you don’t go out of your way to defy it, that really cheapens the notion of honoring as it would apply to an actual mother.  It would not be anything beautiful or important enough to be placed right at the center of the Ten Commandments…

I believe the Fifth Commandment belongs in the first tablet, among the laws that describe right worship, because right worship is right perception and here the scripture commands right perception of people…

The Lord has given most of us someone to honor – the child his parent, the parent her child.  …as for the child honoring the parent, I believe that had to be commanded because the parent is a greater mystery, a stranger in a sense.  So much of our lives have passed.  The right worship of God is essential because it forms the mind to a right understanding of God.  God is set apart – He is One, He is not to be imagined as a thing among things.  His name is set apart.  It is sacred.  Then the Sabbath is set apart from other days….Then mother and father are set apart…There’s a pattern in these Commandments of setting things apart so that their holiness will be perceived.  Every day is holy, but the Sabbath is set apart so that the holiness of time can be experienced.  Every human being is worthy of honor, but the conscious discipline of honor is learned from this setting apart of the mother and father, who usually labor and are heavy-laden, and may be cranky or stingy or ignorant or overbearing.  Believe me, I know this can be a hard Commandment to keep.  But, I believe also that the rewards of obedience are great, because at the root of real honor is always the sense of the sacredness of the person who is its object.  When you love someone to the degree of honoring her, you see her as God sees her, and that is an instruction in the nature of God.

I hope that made sense in its truncated form because it is a beautiful thought:  to honor our mothers is to see them as God sees them, and that is an instruction in the nature of God.

President Henry B. Eyring gives further insight into the Fifth Commandment.  He says, “The Lord gave you a commandment with a promise: “Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee” It is the only one of the Ten Commandments with a promise. … You may not have parents that are living. In some cases, you may not feel that your parents are worthy of the honor and respect of their children. You may not even have ever known them. But you owe them life. And in every case, even if your life is not lengthened, its quality will be improved simply by remembering your parents with honor.”

That’s the tricky thing about this holiday and this commandment.   Parents, including mothers, are human and therefore flawed, sometimes deeply.  We have a difficult enough time honoring our Heavenly Father, who is perfect.  To ask and expect us to honor someone who, perhaps, incessantly nags at us to practice the piano, or who turns off our video games when a poor grade is earned at school or who doesn’t buy us that thing that would make our life perfect may seem unreasonable.  To ask and expect us to honor someone who, perhaps, doesn’t obey the law, keep marital vows or fulfill parental responsibilities probably seems not only unfair, but impossible. 

Hugh Pinnock, a former member of the quorum of the seventy during the 1970s and 80s said this about honoring our parents:  “Sometimes a parent will do something wrong, causing some of us to ask, “How can I honor my parents when they do things that are not right?” The answer, of course, comes in the words of the Savior where he said, “I say not unto thee, until seven times: but, until seventy times seven”. We have the same responsibility to forgive a parent’s mistake as we expect to be forgiven by them and by others.

Of course, this is not Parents Day, but Mother’s Day, so I do want to focus on honoring the mothers of our lives.  As a woman, I am sensitive to how complicated this holiday can be.  Sheri Dew explained, “The subject of motherhood is a very tender one, for it evokes some of our greatest joys and also our greatest heartaches.”

Honoring our mothers, and allowing ourselves to feel honored, doesn’t mean that they, or we, are perfect.  That isn’t the point.  Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles told mothers a few conferences ago, “There is no one perfect way to be a good mother. Each situation is unique. Each mother has different challenges, different skills and abilities, and certainly different children. The choice is different and unique for each mother and each family. Many are able to be “full-time moms,” at least during the most formative years of their children’s lives, and many others would like to be. Some may have to work part-or full-time; some may work at home; some may divide their lives into periods of home and family and work. What matters is that a mother loves her children deeply and, in keeping with the devotion she has for God and her husband, prioritizes them above all else. “

I do believe that mothers can be one of the most influential forces for good in our world.  Abraham Lincoln, who became the sixteenth president of the United States, said, “All that I am, or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.” 

Another story that illustrates the honor Abraham Lincoln showed to his mother tells about a time that he traveled in a stagecoach with a military man, a colonel, from the state of Kentucky. After riding a number of miles together, the colonel took a bottle of whiskey out of his pocket, and said, "Mr. Lincoln, won’t you take a drink with me?"

“Mr. Lincoln replied, ‘No, Colonel, thank you, I never drink whiskey.’

“They rode along together for a number of miles more, visiting very pleasantly, when the gentleman from Kentucky reached into his pocket and brought out some cigars, saying, ‘Now, Mr. Lincoln, if you won’t take a drink with me, won’t you take a smoke with me? …

“And Mr. Lincoln said, ‘Now Colonel, you are such a fine, agreeable man to travel with, maybe I ought to take a smoke with you. But before I do so, let me tell you a little story—an experience I had when a small boy.’

‘My mother called me to her bed one day when I was about nine years old. She was sick, very sick, and she said to me, “Abe-y, the doctor tells me I am not going to get well. I want you to promise me before I go that you will never use whiskey or tobacco as long as you live.” And I promised my mother I never would. And up to this hour, Colonel, I have kept that promise. Now would you advise me to break that promise to my dear mother, and take a smoke with you?’

‘No, Mr. Lincoln, I wouldn’t have you do it for the world. It was one of the best promises you ever made. And I would give a thousand dollars today if I had made my mother a promise like that, and kept it as you have done’

President Thomas S. Monson tells a similar story of the power and influence of righteous mothers.  He says, “Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered. A famed officer from the Civil War period, Colonel Higginson, when asked to name the incident of the Civil War that he considered the most remarkable for bravery, said that there was in his regiment a man whom everybody liked, a man who was brave and noble, who was pure in his daily life, absolutely free from dissipations in which most of the other men indulged.

One night at a champagne supper, when many were becoming intoxicated, someone in jest called for a toast from this young man. Colonel Higginson said that he arose, pale but with perfect self-control, and declared: “Gentlemen, I will give you a toast which you may drink as you will, but which I will drink in water. The toast that I have to give is, ‘Our mothers.’ ”

Instantly a strange spell seemed to come over all the tipsy men. They drank the toast in silence. There was no more laughter, no more song, and one by one they left the room. The lamp of memory had begun to burn, and the name of Mother touched every man’s heart.”

It can be overwhelming to think about the amount of influence we have in our children’s lives, or even the amount of influence our mothers still have in our own lives.  More often than not, that feeling of inadequacy comes after listening to the kinds of stories I just told you.   Some of us will never have the chance to have a child in this earthly life.  Some of us will have children whose accomplishments are limited due to disease or disability.  Most of us will not have children that go on to become president of the United States, or high ranking military officers or general authorities. 

And yet, Jeffrey R. Holland tells us, “Yours is the grand tradition of Eve, the mother of all the human family, the one who understood that she and Adam had to fall in order that “men [and women] might be” and that there would be joy.  Yours is the grand tradition of Sarah and Rebekah and Rachel, without whom there could not have been those magnificent patriarchal promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob which bless us all.  Yours is the grand tradition of Lois and Eunice and the mothers of the 2,000 stripling warriors.  Yours is the grand tradition of Mary, chosen and foreordained from before this world was, to conceive, carry and bear the Son of God Himself.  We thank all of you, including our own mothers, and tell you there is nothing more important in this world than participating so directly in the work and glory of God, in bringing to pass the mortality and earthly life of His daughters and sons, so that immortality and eternal life can come in those celestial realms on high.   

This is our tradition.  This is our mothers’ traditions.  That we, as mothers both in the past and in the future, are the instruments to bring about mortality and joy in our Heavenly Father’s sacred plan of Salvation.    That we are chosen to bear and raise children.  President Monson urges us to remember, “May each of us treasure this truth: One cannot forget mother and remember God. One cannot remember mother and forget God. Why? Because these two sacred persons, God and mother, partners in creation, in love, in sacrifice, in service, are as one."

Contrary to the merchandising, Mother’s Day is more than a one-day event.  Heart-shaped jewelry, chocolates and flowers may be nice and readily available when in a shopping panic, however, real honor does not require a receipt.  President Spencer W Kimball said, “No gift purchased from a store can begin to match in value to parents some simple, sincere words of appreciation. Nothing we could give them would be more prized than righteous living.”

By living righteously, we say, "Happy Mother's Day.  Happy Mother's Week.  Happy Mother's year.  By living righteously, we honor our mothers.  And by so doing, we honor God. 

I'm Good For It

For the past three and a half years, Jay and I have used a cash-only budget.  We are both totally committed to our budget and it's been a fantastic means of being on the same financial page.   Each time Jay gets paid, which has been every two week since we started, we sit down together, fill in the categories of upcoming expenses and one of us goes to the bank to withdraw our cash.

Rarely, we neglect our budgeting duties.  The point of a cash budget, according to our mentor, Dave Ramsey, is to "tell your money what to do."  That means, we budget each paycheck to zero dollars and for the last two years as we've worked at getting into a home of our own, every spare cent has gone into savings.

I don't know if it is that we finally closed on our house, or the disarray our lives are in now that we are in the throes of moving, but we haven't budgeted this week.  I was doing o.k. and had some chump change in my purse to get me through the week, but Jay complained this morning on his way to work that he was broke and needed some cash for his daily needs (i.e. soda and lunch).  I gave him the only cash I had left, a fifty dollar bill, and said I'd budget and get cash out later today.

Well, today was full of other stuff.  I have been boxing and hauling and loading and unloading and on the phone with Direct TV, and on the phone with Qwest, and on the phone with our electric company, our internet company, and getting our address forwarded with the post office.  In other words, I did not make it to the bank today to get cash.

For two days, I have access to a moving truck at no charge.  We're not set up to be completely moved out until next weekend (internet access for Jay's work, furniture moving, commuting kids to school) but I figured using a moving van would equal less back and forth trips for the mini-van.  Getting the moving truck was a last minute thing so I'm trying to fully utilize its power and not waste my limited mass transporting time.

So, I'm not sure that five paragraphs were really necessary to get to my point, which is, after unloading our first truck-full at the new house tonight, Jay and I were both feeling fatigued and hungry so I volunteered to swing through town to pick up dinner.  Tired, dirty and clothed in the kind of clothes I didn't mind hefting tires in, not to mention sporting a two day-old pony tail, I walked into a local barbecue joint for take out.

After ordering, I remembered my cashlessness.  I asked if they accepted checks and they gave me that do-you-think-it's-2005? look.  Um, no.

I spent a few seconds looking around in my purse for a debit card I knew perfectly well was on top of the desk in our bedroom after I pulled it out of my wallet to give the number to the overly chipper Direct TV salesperson.   As soon as I could bear to make eye contact again, I looked up, helpless.

"I'm so sorry.  I don't have my debit card with me.  Um.  I don't know what to do.  I'm really, really sorry."

With my sack of food wafting its slow-cooked smoky goodness at me, the cashier said he'd ask the manager if he could take a check.  The girl who cut all my meat was careful not to meet my please-believe-me-i'm-not-trying-to-scam-you-out-of-your-bbq gaze, and I noticed her head give a knowing nod when her co-worker came back shaking his head.

I was ready to abandon our dinner and avoid that particular restaurant for at least the next few months, when the cashier said, "Could you come back tomorrow and pay?"

"What?  You mean like leave some sort of collateral?"  I started thinking of what I could trade for my smoked turkey.  I did still have my brand new bicycle helmet in the car...

"No.  Never mind.  I'll just pay for it and you can write me a check."  he offered.

"Oh. Yeah.  That will work.  I swear my check is good.  I only look like this because I've been moving all day and....."

I quickly stopped talking.  Sometimes less is more and I had very little to offer in terms of credibility.

"Thank you.  I'm so embarrassed.  Sorry," and I handed him a check with a forty percent tip.  

A cash budget is a great thing.  Except when you're standing in line without any cash to pay for it.

Then, it's like a blog post waiting to happen.

Firsts and Lasts

It's been a week of firsts and lasts.

Firsts:

First time I was able to watch Henry play in a soccer game (it's been going on for three weeks now. His attention span lasts about 30 seconds and then he's ready for the game to be over. Fun!)

love his red shoes

First time I went mountain biking in ten years. I even went on a bike with clips! However, the fancy bike with clips also came with a fancy seat about two inches wide. Ow.







I don't have a picture of my first biking outing. That happened last week with my friend, Lori, who happens to be a skilled and patient rider. I quickly realized I needed to build up to mountain biking so went along the river trail today on my own bike, with its attached padded seat. Much more along my ability level.


First time I entered this house as its proud new owner!!!! We closed today and will be moving into it in ten days.



In front of my front door. I moved two loads over today and barely made a scratch. I need a new plan because taking over loads in my minivan is like eating an elephant one bite at a time. Possible, but not recommended.

Lasts:

I was released as a counselor in the Relief Society Presidency and taught the first sunday lesson in my ward for the last time. I will now be serving as Cubmaster, which is a dual-ward calling.

I reviewed my last LDS fiction book. It's just way too stressful for me to read and review something for an author trying to attract publicity for their book. I really hope for the best for them and their career, but having that added pressure and responsibility took the joy out of reading AND writing.

I paid our last rent check! Hopefully ever! Woot!



I know there are perks to renting, but paying someone else's mortgage so they earn equity isn't one of them.

Destination Imagination

Seth had an opportunity this year to participate in an extracurricular activity called Destination Imagination.  It's a program that runs in most school districts throughout the nation and consists of five different challenges for teams to choose from that differ every year.  There is a regional competition that everyone gets to participate in, and those placing in the top two (or three.  I'm not sure) get to advance to the state competition.

When one of the parent's of Seth's classmate called way back in December and asked if this might be something Seth would want to participate in, I very naively said, "Yes."  He did, of course, because he's usually interested in whatever is going on, but neither of us had any idea the level on intensity this project would require for the next four months.

The major obstacle for teams at this age is a term called "interference."  There is to be no help, nada, none, zilch, from parents or team managers.  Every idea, solution, object, problem has to be handled by the team and by the team only.  I'm not sure every group completely complies with this ideal, but our team did.  It was really hard as a parent to allow them to do everything themselves because it took a whole lot longer for anything to get done, and, a lot of the times, it didn't seem like a very efficient way to accomplish what they wanted to accomplish.

Still, the parents of this group were an amazing bunch of people.  I was able to satisfy the requirements against interference simply by not helping much.  Oh, I dropped off and picked up, but I pretty much stayed out of what was happening with the meetings.   Seth would occasionally mention something he needed to do or bring and I'd leave it up to him to do or bring it.  I've no doubt this caused some frustration for the team, because I know Seth, and he is not exactly Mr. Attention to Detail.

When the time came for the regional competition, I went to the dress rehearsal they held in the driveway of someone's home and was blown away by what this group had accomplished.  They had made these backdrops?  They had written this script?  It was very clever and I was very pleased Seth had the opportunity to be surrounded by such smart and good friends.

They did very well at regionals, taking first in both their challenge and instant challenge (a four minute problem solving competition where they are given materials or an idea and work together to come up with a creative solution) and were excited to advance to state.

Unfortunately, as I mentioned before, I had no idea what Destination Imagination entailed when I signed Seth up for all of this and hadn't known about the possibility of State, which was to be held the same weekend we had already bought airline tickets to travel to Boston for the marathon.

Jay and I had a serious discussion about whether or not we would support the DI team's state bid.  On one hand, we wanted Seth to experience the rewards of their hard work and success, not to mention the positive experience seeing more creative and smart individuals at the state competition.  On the other hand, we felt the cost to change airfare and the inconvenience of getting to Boston from Denver was excessive for this age.

When it became clear that all the other families were supportive of continuing to the next level, Jay and I felt that it wasn't fair to the team to stall their progress because Seth couldn't go.  At the time, we believed that if Seth didn't go, none of them could go as their challenge was a play and Seth had a central part.  The rules clearly state that there are no substitutions if someone quits and we didn't see how their play would work without Seth.  Now, I think they could have re-written it or adapted the play, but we all know how well hindsight works.  We committed to go and changed our plane tickets so that Seth and I would fly to Boston from Denver and Jay and Sam would stick to our original plans of flying out of Albuquerque.  

Getting to Denver was another issue.  Not wanting to have a car in Denver as we planned on using our original return flight home, I had to find a ride for Seth and me.  The only car that had room was a father driving his son and daughter up.  Yup.  I had a seven hour road trip with a stranger.  For me, it was the worst part of the entire experience.  Once that was over, I was able to enjoy the rest of the experience.

It was serendipitous that Seth's cousin, Erin, was also on a DI team that made it to the state tournament in the same challenge as Seth.  That meant a fun night with cousins and a chance to see her skit as well.  I was amazed at the ingenuity and confidence displayed by this age group.  Seth is brilliant, but not confident and it was good for him to rub shoulders with his very dramatic, energetic and sometimes bossy team.  He stepped up to the very uncomfortable plate (for him) and did his part in the very best way he could.  They placed ninth out of 29 teams at state and, overall, I'd say the entire endeavor was a very good learning experience.

The Quacs Pac from left to right:

Seth, Quin, Carter, Autumn, Paxton, Abby and in front, Corbin

(Quacs Pac takes the first letter from each of their first names.  Quinn, obviously, got two letters)

A bake sale to raise money to get to Denver was hugely successful at their school.  They raised over $300.  Plus, they quickly learned some savvy business skills like raising the price of popular items and putting less popular baked goods on sale.  

Seth became good friends with Paxton.  They had fun chasing squirrels before their performance.

The group with their extremely patient and wonderful team manager.

It was so sweet watching them together.  They were doing a song/chant/activity that they do in music class to relax before competing.

More fun before the event.

The best part for me was watching Seth enjoy his friends.  There is no greater feeling, for me, than to see my children happy.

Seth's cousin, Erin who is wearing the pink shirt, was adorable in her skit.  She's is quite a dancer so she wowed the judges with some of her dance moves.

The rules were very rigid and included requiring all of their props, persons and costumes to fit within the marked boundaries before beginning.  They barely fit.

They had eight minutes from start to finish to perform their skit, including setting up.

Their challenge was to write a skit where one or more of the characters experience a flip, or change in perspective.  Theirs was about a spoiled prince, Prince Pollution, who refused to recycle.  His parents (Seth and Abby) felt he'd learn his lesson if he was sent to the Realm of Recycling, so they cast a spell on him.

While there, he met his evil Aunt Ozone, the king's sister who was also sent there.  She decided she now had the perfect opportunity to escape from the land she so detested by ransoming the king's son.   

Elves and fairies, made from recycled materials, helped the prince escape and he, in turn, helped convince the evil queen to change her littering ways by showing her the beauty of recycling.

Part of the challenge also included using a puppet or puppets.  They created theirs out of paper mache and recycled materials and used him as a narrator for between scene changes and to talk about recycling facts.

The judges inspect and investigate once the play was over.  

It sure was a lot of time and work, and there were plenty of days that I wished we hadn't signed on to something that required so many out of school hours, but it really was a positive thing for not only Seth, but for me as well.  It taught me how capable he can be and is.  

I'm really proud of him and his team.