Education that is.
This topic was brought up, rather inadvertently, in my book group the other night. The group is affiliated with RS Enrichment, so we mostly do a good job of sticking to the topics in the book. As when I'm with (most) any group of LDS women, I've learned to just bite my tongue when snide comments are made about the global warming "hoax", Barack Obama being a commu-muslo-terrorist and the latest blog news from Glenn Beck. As much as I hate it when people assume I agree with them about politics because we have the same religion, in person I'm much less confrontational than my writing suggests and I don't like the argument that political discourse often engenders. Discussion yes, but argument, no. Besides, in our group there is a woman who is Canadian, a former social worker, and was a rabid Hilary supporter. She isn't afraid to have a little go-time.
But back to the subject. I only said the other to give a little bit of background into our group and its dynamic. One of our younger sisters was very angry about some diversity posters that were going to be hung at her son's elementary school. Coming into the conversation a moment late, I thought that she was perhaps over-reacting, but then she was specific about the content of some of the posters. A couple of them were about transgender and homosexual individuals with blunt vocabulary. I think some kinds of information, particularly presented in such a sound-byte fashion, merely give children more tools for mocking one another. Also, since homosexual and transgender lifestyles are so wrapped up in sexual behavior and not just inherent identity (like race), the teaching of such should be handled the way sex education is at schools, not the way mulit-cultural education is.
My friend, incensed, wrote a letter to the school. A second mother in the group, who has some older children, also indicated that she has had trouble with the sex education programs at area schools. I kind of cornered mother #2 later and tried to get specifics about her issues with the programs, but she wasn't really able to say. Only that when given the choice, she opted her child out and was promised he'd have other work to do at his seat. He did not, and ended up doing most of the worksheets the rest of the class was doing. Again, no idea about the age of the child in question or the content that was so disturbing to her.
Before I hit you all with my barrage of questions, let me give you a bit of my own history. My first knowledge of sex came from two sources: I was staying with a friend for a few days when I was about 8 years old while my parents went on a trip. While bathing together one night, she told me how babies were made. I was shocked, horrified and disgusted. She told me that it was true and if I didn't believe her I should ask my mother. How could I say ANYTHING like that to my mom!? I'd be in so much trouble. Looking back, I can see that this experience has turned me into a mother that is pretty much anti-sleepover. Don't even get me started on why her mother put two eight year old girls in the tub at the same time.
The second source was a cousin, my age, who loved to entertain us with dirty jokes while all of the cousins stayed up late in the huge tent set up on Grandma's lawn every Labor Day. When I first heard his naughty potty mouth, and his awful jokes were pretty much confirming in their perverse way what bathtub-girl had said, there was no possible way for me to talk to my mother. It was too embarrassing and too gross. Years later I would learn that she was waiting for me to ask, just as my older brother had asked questions while she was pregnant with my youngest sibling.
Then mom forgot to come of the second of our two maturation films at school. She was the only absent mother in the entire sixth grade class. Okay, like I can really know that. But it sure seemed that way. This has been a running family joke for years, but at the time it probably really affected my willingness to approach my mom about girl stuff. I was embarrassed beyond belief when I had to tell her I had started my period, and for years I wanted to die whenever I had to ask her to buy pads. And tampons! Let's not even go there.
Fast forward to junior high health. Our sex education unit took a whopping 45 minutes. Our lame-o health teacher showed a movie about the miracle of childbirth while the boy behind me made snide comments the entire time. I tried desperately not to keep my head on my desk so that I could pass the quiz later. I willed myself to disappear, but not having any magical powers, it was no good. When the movie was done--10 seconds before the bell rang--our teacher said, "If you have an questions, go home and ask your parents."
I did not.
Being a nurse, conversations about sex and even sexuality should have been doable for my mom, but she just kept waiting. It's crazy, really, we talk about all kinds of things now and have a really positive and wonderful friendship. But I was the oldest girl and my mom's own family had been fairly dysfunctional; it seemed like everything I did was uncharted water. Well, about the time I turned 16 and was taking AP biology, Mom figured that she'd just missed the boat. After all, she reasoned, I was exceptionally bright--I'd certainly put two and two together. (Or, in this case, one and one; though my experience was all cerebral and the thought of even kissing a boy terrified me.) As for the chastity stuff, well, I was getting plenty of teaching in church; my dad did give me some kind of object lesson about a boiling frog. But you had to be dating anybody more than once, and they had to be marginally attracted to you, to get anywhere near boiling. Chastity was not a problem.
When I was a senior in high school, my youngest brother went to the maturation film for boys. My mother did not forget to attend with him. I took him on a long walk that night and told him all about the girls' movie. I told him that he wouldn't get this talk from mom but that he was mature enough and smart enough to understand some things, and that I didn't want him to be one of those idiot boys who teased girls about things they didn't understand. I think I knew that afternoon that he would eventually be a doctor.
On to college. I learned a lot, again all academic knowledge, about the mechanisms of sex and birth control and anatomy and physiology and vocabulary and . . . . well, you get the gist. Biology girl, remember? My older brother and his sweet fiance gave me a ride back to school one weekend and in a conversation that must have required him to swallow a lot of pride and mortified her, he asked ME about birth control options. I was 19. I was very blunt. I still wonder if her reticence towards me stems from that single conversation.
I was nearly legal age before I really kissed a boy. We won't go into the depths to which I was naive and stupid about what certain kinds of kissing can do to a man, or how cruel it is when a girl ignorantly starts the launch sequence. The early days of marriage were a long, slow learning curve; and yes, for all my book learning, I was pretty embarrassed about nearly every aspect of intimacy.
My own views of what the schools should or should not include in their sex education curriculum has no doubt been heavily influenced by things I've seen as a teacher. I was 23 and a single student teacher when a gorgeous Hispanic senior came to me and asked me about fifty questions about pregnancy; she was a few months along and I was the first adult that she'd told. I was 24 and teaching 7th grade when some foster parents told me the girl that had guardian-ship for was dealing with the aftermath of a sexually abusive stepfather and an abortion the previous summer. As for my eye-opening experiences at my inner-city school in Texas, well, let's just say that I'm a big advocate of giving people some kind of a license or test before they engage in sexual activity, let alone pro-create! ;)
Permanently damaged by my convoluted sex education? No, of course not. But I would like to do better for my own kidlets. And don't go saying "Get your spouse's support" because we'd been married about twenty minutes when Plantboy said, in no uncertain terms, "you are talking to the kids about sex; you're the science teacher." He has a point, from my painfully bashful beginnings, I never miss a beat when I say sperm or egg or sex or mating or reproducing or penis or vagina or whatever in front of a group of 13 year-olds. It's just science.
But with my own (and my oldest is just five months away from that magic age of accountability), it doesn't feel like science. It feels like how they will normalize themselves to the opposite sex, especially because they don't have sisters. It feels like their understanding of sacred principles. It feels like their future chance at an eternal marriage. The facts are the same, but what my little ones DO with these facts will literally make or break their lives and spirits.
My cornered friend from book group talked about how she opens up the conversation by talking about stranger touch, private parts, etc. The rest kind of evolves from there, over time, as you children are ready for it and ask questions. This is the approach advocated by the Cub Scout Manual. But I remember how poor I was at asking questions, even in an atmosphere of love and trust that my mom always inspired. And my boys are such boys--so mechanical and busy and practical--I don't know if they ever even think about babies, let alone where they come from. I also wonder if by jumping right to the molesting conversation, we rule out any possibility for such touch to be good and wonderful and necessary? Of course, all that affirmation stuff is not really appropriate or desirable for quite a number of years still . . .
What are your thoughts here? Things your parents did well? Things that have worked with your older kids? Didn't work? And most all, funny stories; sex is serious and sacred, but it isn't ALL bad. ;)
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Channeling My Inner Sunnie
Some of you may occasionally check out other bloggers from my sidebar or their comments. One of my few bloggy friends who still lives in the ward we moved from in Texas is named Sunnie. She is as bright and cheerful as her name suggests, and I know that when I read one of her new blog posts I will feel uplifted, informed and resolved to spend more quality time with my kids. Her blog reflects her personality perfectly--it is full of pictures of going and doing with light, but meaningful commentary. She has one of those mommy-blogs that you love to read because it is just so unpretentious. For all the fun things she does and copious pictures she takes, she never posts about her adventures to make you feel like she has it all figured out and her kids are perfect.
I unloaded pics from my camera yesterday and realized there are about 100 of them from the last six weeks or so. They aren't super exciting, but they are a reflection of what we've spent our time doing this spring. Several of them are plant pictures that more adorable hubby took. Plantboy likes to print these pictures and mount them on blank cards to give away. The result is absolutely lovely, though he has been known to say things like, "do you know any other straight men who would do this?" while he is picking colors and cropping shots for sticking to his cards.
So in a Sunnie-style Mormom mamma blog, here are pictures from this spring with minimalistic commentary. Be warned, there are a lot. I just had strawberries and cream for lunch and I'm feeling a bit indulgent.
These are from the jog-a-thon at Jedi Master's school. He did 22 laps! In any other class this would have put him in first place. In HIS class, he came in just behind super-girl with like 26 or something crazy like that.
I unloaded pics from my camera yesterday and realized there are about 100 of them from the last six weeks or so. They aren't super exciting, but they are a reflection of what we've spent our time doing this spring. Several of them are plant pictures that more adorable hubby took. Plantboy likes to print these pictures and mount them on blank cards to give away. The result is absolutely lovely, though he has been known to say things like, "do you know any other straight men who would do this?" while he is picking colors and cropping shots for sticking to his cards.
So in a Sunnie-style Mormom mamma blog, here are pictures from this spring with minimalistic commentary. Be warned, there are a lot. I just had strawberries and cream for lunch and I'm feeling a bit indulgent.
These are from the jog-a-thon at Jedi Master's school. He did 22 laps! In any other class this would have put him in first place. In HIS class, he came in just behind super-girl with like 26 or something crazy like that.
These next several are of the garden--some in the back and some in the front. We mostly have vegetables in the back because we have one very sunny corner. This first is the drip system lovingly weaving in and out of the carrots (?).
Oh, yeah, the Youngling is a huge help. Though he spends most of his time getting underfoot, he really loves nothing more than to be outside with dad. Mom is very encouraging of such behavior.
This is nearly a month ago; the strawberries are twice this tall now and we'll probably be ready to pick our first big "crop" in about a week. The raspberries aren't quite so close.
Um . . . should have rotated this one before loading, but it was too pretty to skip, so just turn your head sideways. This plant is in the lupine family, which is the same as the Texas Bluebonnet. The leaf is nearly identical and the flowers are also similar. This thing, however is about three feet tall. I guess everything is NOT bigger in Texas.
Oh, yeah, the Youngling is a huge help. Though he spends most of his time getting underfoot, he really loves nothing more than to be outside with dad. Mom is very encouraging of such behavior.
This is nearly a month ago; the strawberries are twice this tall now and we'll probably be ready to pick our first big "crop" in about a week. The raspberries aren't quite so close.
Um . . . should have rotated this one before loading, but it was too pretty to skip, so just turn your head sideways. This plant is in the lupine family, which is the same as the Texas Bluebonnet. The leaf is nearly identical and the flowers are also similar. This thing, however is about three feet tall. I guess everything is NOT bigger in Texas.
This is a delphinium. I inadvertently discovered that these make excellent cut flowers. Padawan and the Youngling waged a vicious light-saber fight against some imaginary foe, but the delphinium was the collateral damage and had to be put in water. It lasted nearly a week before it began shedding petals or drooping.
Random ground cover, but I just love the blueness. Plantboy says that true blue flowers are actually quite rare. Most flowers called "blue" look more purple.
Here is the garden a week or two after the previous shots--carrots, strawberries, raspberries, herbs, onions, peas, lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, corn, potatoes and beets. The squashes and cukes will be planted in just a few weeks. We're eatin' good this summer!
The Youngling's second birthday was on Sunday. What a cheeseball. He has gotten to that I-think-I'm-posing-for-pictures phase and he seldom smiles naturally for the camera anymore unless it is an accident. His shirt is a size 12 months, I think. It is also a onesie. Plantboy snapped it up before church and it was like a diaper-thong. Here he is with puzzles from Grandma P.
In a stroke of genius, Mom gave him a blender, since he wants the real blender out all the time. In less than two days, this thing has, literally, entertained the child for hours. He loves to put the plastic spoon (included with the set) in the blender, set the thing to high and then watch it blow its top. I'm quite certain we are exceeding the appropriate use clause here. I'm starting to hope it runs out of batteries very soon.
Here is mom cutting the red velvet cake. This is my all-time favorite cake. (ONLY homemade, the box stuff is like eating brownish-pink dried Styrofoam.) Until the Padawan can tell me otherwise, this is going to be his birthday tradition. Mom made this cake for me every year when I was growing up, but I can't bring myself to make it for my own birthday. This way, I just have to wait about a week and a half after my own day to make it. I'd like to find a bottle of blue food coloring and do blue velvet, but the store I went to didn't carry it.
Yesterday we went to a local park/demonstration garden that is mostly planted with native rhododendrons. May is the month for these and this tiny park was one of the most beautiful places I've been to in a city full of lovely things. When you come to visit next May, I promise to take you. Rhodies are in the same family as the Texas azaleas, but they are evergreen, so they have leaves and blossoms at the same time. The varieties in this park were also tree types so they were huge.
This is a picture of the three dwarfs: Itchy, Grumpy and Sloppy. I'm sure these same folks visit your house from time to time. Baby is wearing his new birthday clothes from Grandma L. Thanks!
I told Plantboy that this was the look I was going for in our back yard.
Random ground cover, but I just love the blueness. Plantboy says that true blue flowers are actually quite rare. Most flowers called "blue" look more purple.
My Colorado Plantboy loves columbine. Here are three of several varieties found in our back yard.
This one is called bleeding heart. I've always loved this perennial and my mom has grown both the white and the pink types for years and years. Very aptly named.
Here is the garden a week or two after the previous shots--carrots, strawberries, raspberries, herbs, onions, peas, lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, corn, potatoes and beets. The squashes and cukes will be planted in just a few weeks. We're eatin' good this summer!
The Youngling's second birthday was on Sunday. What a cheeseball. He has gotten to that I-think-I'm-posing-for-pictures phase and he seldom smiles naturally for the camera anymore unless it is an accident. His shirt is a size 12 months, I think. It is also a onesie. Plantboy snapped it up before church and it was like a diaper-thong. Here he is with puzzles from Grandma P.
In a stroke of genius, Mom gave him a blender, since he wants the real blender out all the time. In less than two days, this thing has, literally, entertained the child for hours. He loves to put the plastic spoon (included with the set) in the blender, set the thing to high and then watch it blow its top. I'm quite certain we are exceeding the appropriate use clause here. I'm starting to hope it runs out of batteries very soon.
Here is mom cutting the red velvet cake. This is my all-time favorite cake. (ONLY homemade, the box stuff is like eating brownish-pink dried Styrofoam.) Until the Padawan can tell me otherwise, this is going to be his birthday tradition. Mom made this cake for me every year when I was growing up, but I can't bring myself to make it for my own birthday. This way, I just have to wait about a week and a half after my own day to make it. I'd like to find a bottle of blue food coloring and do blue velvet, but the store I went to didn't carry it.
Yesterday we went to a local park/demonstration garden that is mostly planted with native rhododendrons. May is the month for these and this tiny park was one of the most beautiful places I've been to in a city full of lovely things. When you come to visit next May, I promise to take you. Rhodies are in the same family as the Texas azaleas, but they are evergreen, so they have leaves and blossoms at the same time. The varieties in this park were also tree types so they were huge.
This is a picture of the three dwarfs: Itchy, Grumpy and Sloppy. I'm sure these same folks visit your house from time to time. Baby is wearing his new birthday clothes from Grandma L. Thanks!
I told Plantboy that this was the look I was going for in our back yard. 
Friday, May 22, 2009
Humidity and Hippies and Hermione
Apparently my fair city is once again in the top five bad hair cities in the country. The main factor viewed for this designation is humidity and rainfall, but I think the hippie factor plays in pretty powerfully here too. Anytime you live in a city where showering, shaving and washing your hair are not only optional, but opting out of them sends some kind of political statement, well, you can bet that high fashion is not going to follow your regular man (or woman or some transgender combination of the two) on the street.
I have loved my long hair (I've only revisited this look for the last couple of years); when it is combed I really feel like myself for maybe the first time ever when I look in the mirror. WHEN IT IS COMBED. Four very important words. Today I look a bit like Hermione Granger.
No, no, not adorable Emma Watson on the red carpet at the latest Harry Potter premiere.
Hermione Granger. Circa Hogwarts year one. I couldn't find a single picture to really do her mop justice. I think this first must have been for the press shoot and is practically tame.
This next one looks a bit more like they gave her 100 strokes with the horsehair brush. Still, the Hermione I really see in my mind is the one that tells Ron and Harry to sneak into the library at Christmas time to read books in the restricted section. Or when she is trying to tell Ron how to pronounce Wingardium Leviosa! (Incidentally, if you Google search that last term, there are videos and pictures of people actually doing magic. Amazing.)
And here is the close up. You know, this could have actually been be at age 12. The hand raised, the earnest expression, the know-it-all answer-girl, the lack of friends, and, oh, yes, the bushy hair. Now I'm all naturally bushy. I had a perm in 1987. What I wouldn't give to do THAT year again! After all, who didn't love the 7th grade?
On the upside, my own look is not nearly as bad as the wig that is modeled on Hermione. This child is going to one day hunt down and murder her parents for agreeing to let her pose in this thing:
So, a ponytail it will have to be. Though I've been told recently that a ponytail is not actually a substitute for showering. Sorry Emma and all you fellow Eugene-ites!
So, a ponytail it will have to be. Though I've been told recently that a ponytail is not actually a substitute for showering. Sorry Emma and all you fellow Eugene-ites!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Ambition
Last year my book group read Anne of Green Gables. We had a surprisingly lovely discussion. I say surprising because I was amazed at the depth we found in that much beloved volume when looking for something more than just a story. As the evening wrapped up, I remember posing one last question that wasn't addressed thoroughly because of time and inclination, but it is something I've often thought about.
Now that I'm serving with the Young Women, it is something I've been thinking about again.
You remember the Anne books. Anne is so bright, committed and highly competitive. She wins awards, honors and acclamation from her peers and professors. Marilla and Mathew are so proud of her efforts which put her right on par with the male counterparts in her class. In the second book she teaches, in the third book she goes to college and in the fourth book she is the principal of a school while Gilbert becomes a doctor. Anne is probably 23-ish by the time she marries. Pretty much spinster-age in that time period.
And then, boom! Anne marries, takes no thought to ever teach again, keeps house for Gilbert (brilliantly I might add, there is little that the red-head cannot do), and waits to have a baby.
Each year Anne says goodbye to her crop of kiddies, and is properly regretful to see them go, but there is no indication that she regrets leaving her classroom teaching behind for good. She moves into her house o' dreams with nary a backward glance and becomes as perfect a mother as she was a teacher. I'll tell you how my own experience feels after I pose my question.
How do we teach our girls to be ambitious and to work hard, while still instilling a desire for motherhood? Or, conversely, how to we nurture their desire to have children and stay at home with them and simultaneously encourage them to set academic and career goals?
Right now I have a group of young women who want to be mothers, at least for the most part. For some of them, though, this supersedes all else. Too many of them express indifference to their school work and classes, and little desire to go to college or have no interest in any career path when they get there. I see lots of untapped potential in the way they are approaching their lives.
Our YW president recently read a book called "Do Hard Things." It is about modern youth and their laziness in response to how convenient and entertaining their lives are. I had one of our most spiritual and sweetest girls tell me the other day, in response to something I told her about door-knocking on my mission, "I could never do that." Her brother just left on his mission, but I'm wondering why she thinks this hard thing is just something for her brother to do? Why isn't a mission something she might keep her mind open toward? And for all that several of them have expressed a desire to be stay at home moms, some of them have told me without flinching that when they babysit they don't do diapers. We have to teach our kids to do hard things. To love hard things. What does Tom Hanks say in A League of Their Own when Geena Davis tells him that baseball just go too hard? "It's the hard that makes it great." I have also often heard young women say, "I don't want to go on a mission; I want to get married." Where does this false dichotomy come from? Serving a mission doesn't rule out marriage, any more than staying home from a mission guarantees a spouse. Or "I don't plan to work, I'm going to be a mom." What if you don't get married until you are 30?
The last several young women who have graduated from high school in my ward come back to visit from time to time--each of them seem without anchor in their way. They don't seem driven by anything that makes them want to jump out of bed each morning and just grab life by the horns. They are wishing so desperately for Prince Charming to come along that they seem to have forgotten to take the lead role in their own lives.
I was not like Anne. I didn't jump in to keeping house head first; I was busy keeping my head above water at my first middle school job. On our first anniversary we moved far away to take a job for Plantboy. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, one that couldn't be passed up, and we knew it was the right move. But I left a job I loved, and I walked away from a valuable professional opportunity that would have led to some very interesting graduate opportunities for me.
As the kids came along and times got very lean, I always worked part time--tutoring, writing curriculum, supplemental instructor in the schools, and whatever I could get my hands on. My hubby worked for the Church, and although the benefits, both spiritual and physical, were fantastic, the pay was lousy. When we approached our five year mark with LDS employment, Plantboy felt that it was time to go back to school. Though I was entirely supportive, I have to admit to being surprised at the turn our life took. I thought I'd be the one to go back first.
When Plantboy went back to school we made a very prayerful decision for me to work full time, and met with mild criticism from very surprising places. Thankfully, my family was always supportive of our decision, my parents especially. We were blessed--I had a wonderful job just 10 minutes from campus, was home by three every day, and most of Plantboy's classes were afternoon and evening. We had very little babysitting in the two years we spent back at school. Baby #3 was the biggest leap of faith either of us had ever taken we were blessed again both with his birth and presence in our family as well as a job opportunity we never had anticipated.
Now with all of this, I want to point out something very important. It is true that when I have worked (nearly always), we have done it primarily from necessity. But there is something more: I really like it.
Scratch that. I love it.
I love my children too, and they are absolutely my priority right now. If they weren't, I'd be teaching during the day instead of delivering papers at 3:30 every morning. When I worked full time while Plantboy was in school, it was hard, but I was grateful every day to be at a job I loved so much, even if it meant I had to be away from home.
Some days back I was standing in a group of women talking about mothering and those little things you do day in and day out a million times over. I don't think anybody was really complaining, just observing. One friend said, "Just think, if you worked, you'd miss out on making those lunches every day." She didn't mean to be sarcastic, but it sounded a bit that way. A couple of people in the group jumped on the tone, affirming how much they loved doing it and so on and so on.
Now, my own working experience was not having to drop kids off at daycare somewhere. I knew they were home being exceptionally well-cared for by Plantboy. Still, when everybody finished re-affirming how much happier they were at home than at work I couldn't help but say how much I had enjoyed working, and how much more centered I felt when I came home to my little ones each afternoon, ready to be a parent full time and enjoy their company.
Talk about being able to hear a pin drop.
The stay-at-home-mom thing in LDS circles is like being a Republican. Everybody just assumes that everybody is in complete agreement, even if there might be lots of different opinions in the room. My mom always worked (part time, as a nurse) and was always active in the church. I was never raised to see a conflict between working and mothering, nor was I raised to think that earning money was the sole province of the father.
Here is the thing: if women have the means and the desire to stay home I think it's wonderful. When I see sisters take a leap of faith to quit work and do full time childcare I think it's awesome. (I think it's not so awesome to listen to a handful of these same women spend much of their time complaining about money, however.) I think that men and women with testimonies need to do all they can to follow the prophet's counsel, but it might just be that there are times you have to choose which counsel to follow. When Plantboy went back to school we chose self-reliance over mom staying home. There was no way to pick both. Did we make the right decision? I think so. We certainly don't regret it.
I'm not so delusional as to think I can have it all, but I've always seen myself going back to work one day. Yes, yes, the money will be nice. My working might allow Plantboy to really pursue a career he dreams about though the pay is lower. A house with more space would be nice: I had that recurring dream again this week where I discover a secret door leading to a part of the house I didn't know existed, like something straight from a JK Rowling novel. Being able to sock a little bit more each month into our savings would be a relief. A current teaching certification would be a fantastic life insurance policy.
All of these are great reasons, but at the end of the day I think the main reason I see myself working, is just that I like it. I'm good at it. Classroom teaching is really the one thing I feel like I have a clear talent for. It isn't just a job or a career for me, it is a passion. It's a gift. The thought of never going back makes me feel like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on my head.
In recent months I've heard people say the following, "Well, STM, maybe it's time to find a new passion." "We would never even consider a loan just for the wife's education" "Can't you just teach your children or at church?" While each person might have a point, none of these things sit all that well with me.
These thoughts have been on my mind partly because of my young women, but also because of something else: as my family gets older and busier, my tutoring is interfering too much with family life. Our afternoons are crazy and I feel like we are all in a mild state of disarray on the days I tutor. Add a night of YW into the mix and well, it is just too much. We are at a crossroads. Or maybe an impasse.
So next year I'm giving it up. But we still need some additional income, so I'll be keeping the paper route. As I prepare to sacrifice the job I love (tutoring) for the one I often hate (papers), I know it's for the good of our family. But I keep watching and waiting for the time when what is for the good of our family will allow mom to get a master's degree. When the good of our family will send me back to the classroom. When there is an outlet for my abilities that doesn't exist right now.
With my sons, this whole question of ambition is so cut and dried--mission, college, marriage, career, family. There is an order to things with boys, and there isn't quite so much choosing. I'm not so naive to think that my boys won't feel conflicted at times and that the path ahead will not always be smooth sailing, but with girls the way is much less plain. Even when grown women have babies and a husband and a home the way is not so plain.
As I look around at the many remarkable and talented women I know, I'm amazed at the things you've sacrificed to become mothers. Of course, the blessings of motherhood outweigh the sacrifice, but it doesn't make the giving up any less real or painful. It might even be this sacrifice, in part, that makes motherhood so great. I admire the courage of the great women I know--you mothers for what you've exchanged for your children; you single-tons for the zeal you put into your careers and extended families; and childless friends for making the unexpected twists in your lives a matter of optimism.
I want the young women I know to feel this burning commitment inside so deeply that regardless of the hand life deals them, they want to go all in. I want every possible door to be open to them because of the preparation and sacrifices they have made. I want them to get on their knees when it is time to make choices. I want them to be women that men look up to and not just look at. I want them to do hard things.
But perhaps this is too ambitious . . .
Now that I'm serving with the Young Women, it is something I've been thinking about again.
You remember the Anne books. Anne is so bright, committed and highly competitive. She wins awards, honors and acclamation from her peers and professors. Marilla and Mathew are so proud of her efforts which put her right on par with the male counterparts in her class. In the second book she teaches, in the third book she goes to college and in the fourth book she is the principal of a school while Gilbert becomes a doctor. Anne is probably 23-ish by the time she marries. Pretty much spinster-age in that time period.
And then, boom! Anne marries, takes no thought to ever teach again, keeps house for Gilbert (brilliantly I might add, there is little that the red-head cannot do), and waits to have a baby.
Each year Anne says goodbye to her crop of kiddies, and is properly regretful to see them go, but there is no indication that she regrets leaving her classroom teaching behind for good. She moves into her house o' dreams with nary a backward glance and becomes as perfect a mother as she was a teacher. I'll tell you how my own experience feels after I pose my question.
How do we teach our girls to be ambitious and to work hard, while still instilling a desire for motherhood? Or, conversely, how to we nurture their desire to have children and stay at home with them and simultaneously encourage them to set academic and career goals?
Right now I have a group of young women who want to be mothers, at least for the most part. For some of them, though, this supersedes all else. Too many of them express indifference to their school work and classes, and little desire to go to college or have no interest in any career path when they get there. I see lots of untapped potential in the way they are approaching their lives.
Our YW president recently read a book called "Do Hard Things." It is about modern youth and their laziness in response to how convenient and entertaining their lives are. I had one of our most spiritual and sweetest girls tell me the other day, in response to something I told her about door-knocking on my mission, "I could never do that." Her brother just left on his mission, but I'm wondering why she thinks this hard thing is just something for her brother to do? Why isn't a mission something she might keep her mind open toward? And for all that several of them have expressed a desire to be stay at home moms, some of them have told me without flinching that when they babysit they don't do diapers. We have to teach our kids to do hard things. To love hard things. What does Tom Hanks say in A League of Their Own when Geena Davis tells him that baseball just go too hard? "It's the hard that makes it great." I have also often heard young women say, "I don't want to go on a mission; I want to get married." Where does this false dichotomy come from? Serving a mission doesn't rule out marriage, any more than staying home from a mission guarantees a spouse. Or "I don't plan to work, I'm going to be a mom." What if you don't get married until you are 30?
The last several young women who have graduated from high school in my ward come back to visit from time to time--each of them seem without anchor in their way. They don't seem driven by anything that makes them want to jump out of bed each morning and just grab life by the horns. They are wishing so desperately for Prince Charming to come along that they seem to have forgotten to take the lead role in their own lives.
I was not like Anne. I didn't jump in to keeping house head first; I was busy keeping my head above water at my first middle school job. On our first anniversary we moved far away to take a job for Plantboy. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, one that couldn't be passed up, and we knew it was the right move. But I left a job I loved, and I walked away from a valuable professional opportunity that would have led to some very interesting graduate opportunities for me.
As the kids came along and times got very lean, I always worked part time--tutoring, writing curriculum, supplemental instructor in the schools, and whatever I could get my hands on. My hubby worked for the Church, and although the benefits, both spiritual and physical, were fantastic, the pay was lousy. When we approached our five year mark with LDS employment, Plantboy felt that it was time to go back to school. Though I was entirely supportive, I have to admit to being surprised at the turn our life took. I thought I'd be the one to go back first.
When Plantboy went back to school we made a very prayerful decision for me to work full time, and met with mild criticism from very surprising places. Thankfully, my family was always supportive of our decision, my parents especially. We were blessed--I had a wonderful job just 10 minutes from campus, was home by three every day, and most of Plantboy's classes were afternoon and evening. We had very little babysitting in the two years we spent back at school. Baby #3 was the biggest leap of faith either of us had ever taken we were blessed again both with his birth and presence in our family as well as a job opportunity we never had anticipated.
Now with all of this, I want to point out something very important. It is true that when I have worked (nearly always), we have done it primarily from necessity. But there is something more: I really like it.
Scratch that. I love it.
I love my children too, and they are absolutely my priority right now. If they weren't, I'd be teaching during the day instead of delivering papers at 3:30 every morning. When I worked full time while Plantboy was in school, it was hard, but I was grateful every day to be at a job I loved so much, even if it meant I had to be away from home.
Some days back I was standing in a group of women talking about mothering and those little things you do day in and day out a million times over. I don't think anybody was really complaining, just observing. One friend said, "Just think, if you worked, you'd miss out on making those lunches every day." She didn't mean to be sarcastic, but it sounded a bit that way. A couple of people in the group jumped on the tone, affirming how much they loved doing it and so on and so on.
Now, my own working experience was not having to drop kids off at daycare somewhere. I knew they were home being exceptionally well-cared for by Plantboy. Still, when everybody finished re-affirming how much happier they were at home than at work I couldn't help but say how much I had enjoyed working, and how much more centered I felt when I came home to my little ones each afternoon, ready to be a parent full time and enjoy their company.
Talk about being able to hear a pin drop.
The stay-at-home-mom thing in LDS circles is like being a Republican. Everybody just assumes that everybody is in complete agreement, even if there might be lots of different opinions in the room. My mom always worked (part time, as a nurse) and was always active in the church. I was never raised to see a conflict between working and mothering, nor was I raised to think that earning money was the sole province of the father.
Here is the thing: if women have the means and the desire to stay home I think it's wonderful. When I see sisters take a leap of faith to quit work and do full time childcare I think it's awesome. (I think it's not so awesome to listen to a handful of these same women spend much of their time complaining about money, however.) I think that men and women with testimonies need to do all they can to follow the prophet's counsel, but it might just be that there are times you have to choose which counsel to follow. When Plantboy went back to school we chose self-reliance over mom staying home. There was no way to pick both. Did we make the right decision? I think so. We certainly don't regret it.
I'm not so delusional as to think I can have it all, but I've always seen myself going back to work one day. Yes, yes, the money will be nice. My working might allow Plantboy to really pursue a career he dreams about though the pay is lower. A house with more space would be nice: I had that recurring dream again this week where I discover a secret door leading to a part of the house I didn't know existed, like something straight from a JK Rowling novel. Being able to sock a little bit more each month into our savings would be a relief. A current teaching certification would be a fantastic life insurance policy.
All of these are great reasons, but at the end of the day I think the main reason I see myself working, is just that I like it. I'm good at it. Classroom teaching is really the one thing I feel like I have a clear talent for. It isn't just a job or a career for me, it is a passion. It's a gift. The thought of never going back makes me feel like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on my head.
In recent months I've heard people say the following, "Well, STM, maybe it's time to find a new passion." "We would never even consider a loan just for the wife's education" "Can't you just teach your children or at church?" While each person might have a point, none of these things sit all that well with me.
These thoughts have been on my mind partly because of my young women, but also because of something else: as my family gets older and busier, my tutoring is interfering too much with family life. Our afternoons are crazy and I feel like we are all in a mild state of disarray on the days I tutor. Add a night of YW into the mix and well, it is just too much. We are at a crossroads. Or maybe an impasse.
So next year I'm giving it up. But we still need some additional income, so I'll be keeping the paper route. As I prepare to sacrifice the job I love (tutoring) for the one I often hate (papers), I know it's for the good of our family. But I keep watching and waiting for the time when what is for the good of our family will allow mom to get a master's degree. When the good of our family will send me back to the classroom. When there is an outlet for my abilities that doesn't exist right now.
With my sons, this whole question of ambition is so cut and dried--mission, college, marriage, career, family. There is an order to things with boys, and there isn't quite so much choosing. I'm not so naive to think that my boys won't feel conflicted at times and that the path ahead will not always be smooth sailing, but with girls the way is much less plain. Even when grown women have babies and a husband and a home the way is not so plain.
As I look around at the many remarkable and talented women I know, I'm amazed at the things you've sacrificed to become mothers. Of course, the blessings of motherhood outweigh the sacrifice, but it doesn't make the giving up any less real or painful. It might even be this sacrifice, in part, that makes motherhood so great. I admire the courage of the great women I know--you mothers for what you've exchanged for your children; you single-tons for the zeal you put into your careers and extended families; and childless friends for making the unexpected twists in your lives a matter of optimism.
I want the young women I know to feel this burning commitment inside so deeply that regardless of the hand life deals them, they want to go all in. I want every possible door to be open to them because of the preparation and sacrifices they have made. I want them to get on their knees when it is time to make choices. I want them to be women that men look up to and not just look at. I want them to do hard things.
But perhaps this is too ambitious . . .
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Ostriches Just Might Have It Figured Out
Remember that big box of "I'm Sorry" cards I needed a couple of weeks ago?
Well, after much prayer and introspection, I did send out some personal and very heartfelt apologies. No snarkiness there--I recognized where and when and with whom I had crossed the line and worked to make amends. However, one good sister took my apology so much to heart that she has taken it on herself to call me two or three times since to analyze every nuance of every conversation I've had with her (and others!) since to make sure that I understood exactly when I said the wrong thing.
Tonight she dropped by to talk to me for half and hour while her kids tackled mine all over the front yard, stirring them up to new levels of hyperness just before bedtime. She felt it was important for me to know that an offhand comment said to somebody else several days ago got back to her, albeit without a name attached, and figured this comment, which could be construed by some as offensive, could have come from nobody else but me. If that last sentence didn't make any sense to you, well, it doesn't make much sense to me either. In her roundabout and loving way she reprimanded me. Again.
I'm so glad this good sister has taken it on herself to make sure I'm perfected. I don't have enough guilt just on my own.
The hardest part? I really like this person. A lot. Just like most of the sisters I've met here. But my experiences of the last few weeks have emphasized to me that there isn't a single sister I can say anything to in confidence. Not visiting teaching, not in a presidency meeting, not as a friend.
I have about 200 things to do in the next two weeks, both church and other-wise, but I really feel like I just want to crawl under the covers and let somebody else take care of everything. Is it possible to lose yourself so much in the service to others that you just feel lost?
This too shall pass.
Well, after much prayer and introspection, I did send out some personal and very heartfelt apologies. No snarkiness there--I recognized where and when and with whom I had crossed the line and worked to make amends. However, one good sister took my apology so much to heart that she has taken it on herself to call me two or three times since to analyze every nuance of every conversation I've had with her (and others!) since to make sure that I understood exactly when I said the wrong thing.
Tonight she dropped by to talk to me for half and hour while her kids tackled mine all over the front yard, stirring them up to new levels of hyperness just before bedtime. She felt it was important for me to know that an offhand comment said to somebody else several days ago got back to her, albeit without a name attached, and figured this comment, which could be construed by some as offensive, could have come from nobody else but me. If that last sentence didn't make any sense to you, well, it doesn't make much sense to me either. In her roundabout and loving way she reprimanded me. Again.
I'm so glad this good sister has taken it on herself to make sure I'm perfected. I don't have enough guilt just on my own.
The hardest part? I really like this person. A lot. Just like most of the sisters I've met here. But my experiences of the last few weeks have emphasized to me that there isn't a single sister I can say anything to in confidence. Not visiting teaching, not in a presidency meeting, not as a friend.
I have about 200 things to do in the next two weeks, both church and other-wise, but I really feel like I just want to crawl under the covers and let somebody else take care of everything. Is it possible to lose yourself so much in the service to others that you just feel lost?
This too shall pass.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Mormet
No, no, this title is not a typo for a small furry mammal you see occasionally in the Rockies.
I'm a marmot, people! BTW, aren't I just cute as the dickens?
Nor does this word rhyme with the Dallas Cowboys football sensation from the early 80's.
Check out me and my bad self! I'm Tony Dorsett.
Hopefully the next few ideas will keep you from dinner drudgery. It has been a very good food week at our house. I realize that the new recipes I'm trying and posting aren't necessarily simple, but now and then it is fun to really channel your inner domestic goddess and create something fantastic. Yesterday was just such a day: it was amazing how much I was able to accomplish during a self-imposed no screen day. I'm not off to such an auspicious start today.
Rosemary-Lemon Artisan Bread
This recipe basically came from a Williams-Sonoma catalogue, but I added my own twist to speed it up a bit. The original proof time is 12-18 hours. Not happening. I didn't really make this as part of a meal, but it will go so well with my tomato soup at lunch time
3 cups all purpose flour
1 1/2 tsp active dry yeast
1 1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp rosemary (I used dry)
2 tsp chopped lemon zest
1 3/4 cups very warm water
cornmeal
Combine well all dry ingredients except cornmeal. Add water and stir until the dough is shaggy and stick. Cover with plastic wrap and let the dough rest about six hours (if you do the full 12 hour proof here, reduce yeast to 1/4 tsp; it will be more of a sourdough type bread then). Place on lightly floured surface and turn a few times, allow some of the air to settle out and then loosely shape it into a ball on a cookie sheet or in a dutch oven and dust it with cornmeal. (I shaped mine in a snake because I wanted to bake it in a bundt pan.) Cover. Raise two more hours. Bake at 425 for 30 minutes, or 25 minutes if you use the bundt. Outside will be dark golden brown, inside will be soft and spongy.
This bread was great because it mixed together in about five minutes and doesn't have to be kneaded. You just need to give it time.
Plantboy's Yukon Gold Potato Wedges: Eureka!
8 Yukon Gold Potatoes
1 TBSP butter
2 TBSP olive oil
Salt
Pepper
3 TBSP sprinkle Parmesan
2 TBSP chopped fresh herbs (your choice--basil, cilantro, parsley or oregano are probably your best bets.)
Plantboy washed (not peeled) the potatoes and cut them into steak fry sized wedges. If you haven't used YG's before, they have fantastic texture and lovely color. They are also slightly sweeter than a regular russet. He boiled them for three minutes and then shook them in a bag with the melted butter and olive oil, salt and pepper, cheese and half the herbs. Once shaken so everything is coated, transfer them to a med-high frying pan. Don't stir them too often, it will make them fall apart and keep them from browning nicely. When they are close to being quite crispy and brown on at least two sides, throw in the rest of the herbs and cook for just another minute or two. Not fancy, no, but oh. So. Good. This will serve four if you are all very polite and well-mannered. Otherwise, you might finish the pan on your own and then lick your fingers and the bottom of the dish too.
Greek-Style Gyros
Plantboy made Greek food for Mother's Day and I had a container full of leftover tanziki sauce I wanted to use up. Usually I make way to much of this yogurty goodness and end up throwing a bunch a way. This week is officially "sandwich week" at House Jedi and so I decided to try something new. (Incidentally, this totally defeats the purpose sandwich week, which is to simplify and save money. Oh well.) This recipe is general. I just winged it. So just make how much ever you want for how many people you are feeding. How is that?
Our version of gyros had Plantboy drooling so hard that I don't think he could have been any happier even if it had been THIS woman serving up the Grecian goodness.
Does anybody else think I have an unnaturally large head? What do you mean nobody looks at my head? And while you are at it, PLEASE find me a doctor, for the love. Apparently bleeding out is the new sexy. Wait, tomato sauce? Are you sure? Oh, yummy.
Olive Oil
Lemon
Oregano
Garlic Powder
Chicken
Red Pepper
Pita Bread
Olives (we like the really low-brow canned kind. If you want to get all fancy and go for the super bitter or salty olive bar variety, be my guest.)
Cucumber
Red Onion
Tanziki Sauce (see below)
Fresh Mozzarella Marinade (see below)
Mix first four ingredients together with salt and pepper to taste and marinate chicken. I used chicken breasts and sliced them first (they were partially frozen.) Lemon juice is a fantastic addition to marinade because its acids help to tenderize the meat. Let it sit for at least two hours.
Cook marinated chicken however you want--bake, grill, fry pan. I fried my pieces because they were already small. Ideally I think grilling would be best, but not having a grill makes this difficult (not to mention it sends Plantboy into spasms of desire when he smells the heady aroma of mesquite rising from our neighbors' back yards.) When cooked, if you didn't do it before, thinly slice the meat.
Roast the red pepper. You do this by cutting a large red pepper in thirds and low broiling it a few inches away from the heating element until you start to see blisters form on the skin. Remove from oven and let them sit until they cool slightly. Peel the chewy skin away from the sweet, soft red goodness.
On the table of sammy fixin's, set warm pita bread, chopped olives, sliced cucumber and red onion, tanziki sauce, meat and mozzarella. If you don't have the patience or interest to do the mozzarella, you can skip it and do feta instead. I also think spinach would be fantastic in them, but I didn't have any. Layer the ingredients you like in any order on your pita bread, fold and enjoy. Bring a napkin.
Tanziki Sauce
1 cup plain yogurt
Juice of one lemon and 1/4 tsp zest if you like
1/2 tsp garlic powder
1/2 cucumber finely diced
Black pepper
Salt
Combine all ingredients--delicious on pita bread or with chicken.
Marinated Mozzarella
Fresh Mozzarella
2 TBSP fresh basil, chopped finely
2 tsp Balsamic vinegar
1 TBSP olive oil
Thinly slice mozzarella and layer on a plate. Sprinkle with basil and then drizzle with vinegar and oil. Cover with plastic and let it sit for at least an hour before serving. It is, incidentally, really yummy melted onto a piece of the lemon rosemary bread for breakfast.
Pumpkin Spice Cake With Ganache
This was my birthday cake this year because Plantboy's time was rather limited and I was not going to make a cake for myself. This cake is decadent and easy; there are very few ingredients (though they aren't cheap ingredients) and you don't have to wait for it to cool in order to frost it. I made two of these for the spaghetti auction and between the two they pulled in about 70 dollars. Are they worth $35 apiece? No way. But it is safe to say that whomever took these home and least got a fantastic dessert for their devotion to the Scouting program. My kids like it because when it is finished it looks like a huge chocolate donut.
1 spice cake mix
1 small can packed pumpkin (or half a large can)
1 egg
1 cup heavy cream
2 cups semi or bittersweet chocolate chips
Mix first three ingredients until well blended. Batter will be VERY thick. Spread into a greased bundt pan and cook according to package directions for bundt pans, following the lowest cook time. Turn out cake onto large platter.
Heat heavy cream over low-medium heat, stirring continuously, until it is steaming a lot but not boiling (I'm sure there is either a term or a temperature for that, but what do you think I am? Paula Dean?) Turn off heat and immediately stir in chips. Stir and stir until it is all blended (you don't think it will work at first) and there are no lumps. Drizzle all but about 1/4 cup over warm cake. This cake is fantastic warm, but also very nice the next day for breakfast. Wait, did I just say that out loud?
It isn't my beloved red velvet cake that is my usual birthday special, but I am so grateful I didn't have to make it myself. Thanks Plantboy! And thanks to everyone who wished me a happy day a la Facebook. I haven't felt so loved in a long time.
Happy cooking.
Oh, if you are wondering, that extra 1/4 cup of ganache is for the strawberries you all having lurking in your fridge this time of year.
Monday, May 11, 2009
It Isn't a Youth Problem . . .
Tamathy is our excellent Sunday School teacher, so when I praise the lesson her substitute gave last week, please know that Tamathy is always fabulous, but my thoughts are specific to the topic from a couple of weeks ago.
Do you remember this lesson? It was on keeping the Sabbath Day and Reverence. Our teacher, a former stake president, gave a fantastic lesson. His take was that, as LDS people, the reverence area is one where we fall down a little bit. Many anecdotes were shared. The class discussion was helpful and interesting. I wrote two things in the margin of my scriptures in Chapter 59.
1--When the Lord says to rest from "our labor" he didn't meant that we should rest from "His labor."
2--Light-mindedness is the opposite of reverence.
The first is interesting--Sunday was hard for me on my mission. You would be together, feeling the love and fellowship of the Saints and then church was over and all of these loving families would go home together. We would just go back to work. Because, for that short span in my life, my labor was "His labor."
But it is not the first comment in my scriptures I want to talk about. It is the second. President **** talked a lot about the sabbath being a covenant between the Lord and his people from the beginning. A collective covenant. This idea of covenants got me to thinking about the temple and the nature of my individual covenants. We also discussed reverence not just being a collection of actions--though they are an important part of reverence--but an entire attitude of respect and awe for our Father in Heaven. It isn't what you do so much as how you think. Indeed, the opposite of light-mindedness. No wonder the Lord is so clear about the need to avoid light-mindedness.
In a culture of sarcasm, mockery, skepticism and the carefully delivered joke being the ultimate indicator of intelligence, keeping our minds away from indifference toward sacred things takes an active effort. Does this mean that humor is a problem? Of course not. But humor that depends on the disdain of others and a casual view of Diety is a major problem.
Yeah. I've got a ways to go.
The discussion took another turn in the class with a story shared by President ****. I don't know if he was referencing our last Stake Conference or one from a year or two ago, but he was asked to shuttle the visiting area authority to the airport. On the way, President **** took opportunity to ask for some advice saying, "there is such a youth problem in [the] stake . . . . "
The area authority shook his head solemnly and said, "You don't have a youth problem in your stake. You have a parenting problem." President **** backpedaled a bit on his unexpected response as the wise area authority added, "You might begin by teaching them some reverence."
Arriving just minutes later at the airport, that was basically the end of the conversation, but this good brother went home and gave it some serious thought. His perception was that the youth weren't all that noisy in the meetings (he obviously wasn't sitting in the back!), at least no noisier than the young children, but after some reflection he began to understand what the area authority meant:
That the youth were not being taught proper respect for their Heavenly Father. That their sloppy manners, sloppy dress and sloppy attitudes were spilling over into their spiritual lives.
And now I'm a youth leader and I see it too. But there is a fine line to walk, and for all that that most of these young women are old enough to make their own choices, I think many of them have been given too much freedom before they had the maturity in place to understand about the consequences of unfettered agency.
* Are most 14 year-old girls responsible enough/mature enough/wise enough to own their own cell phones? When we have 14 year-olds who spend their time text-messaging during their hour in YW, is this a youth problem or a parent problem? And, as leaders, when we set down a rule about no cell-phone use, but the parents don't make any effort to stop them from coming to church in the enormous scripture cases (also filled with goodies and distractions), how do we approach the girls firmly and with love, without undermining their parents?
* If we show a church movie circa 1980 to the girls and then get mad when they don't pay attention, haven't we set them up to fail? And if their lack of attention involves drawing in their notebooks then why is it okay for them to have a notebook in the class? Do we just keep staring at the kids, getting more and more bugged, when they may not even realize that they are demonstrating disrespectful and/or irreverant behavior? And if we afraid to call them on this behavior for fear of parents calling and getting after us, then how can we help to mold them?
* If we are bugged that our girls at church are constantly asking for treats, then whose fault is it? If they have come to expect to be fed junk food at church, it can only be because their teachers have given it to them. And if we bring two dozen of whatever treat is prepared and then continue to be surprised when everything is eaten and the girls are gaining weight, is that a kid problem or an adult problem?
* While shadow leadership is the ideal instructional tool for teaching our kids, if new Deacons and Beehives come in and have NEVER seen an adult conduct a meeting, then how will they learn the proper and yes, dignified way to do it?
*If we have a 30% attendance rate in Young Women among parents who are fairly active and ALL of these girls are under age 16, where do changes need to be made? And if a mother goes home each week after Sacrament Meeting, what does her daughter think when she gets chewed out about not wanting to go to Sunday School or Young Women's?
* Is it really love to allow kids to get away with whatever they want over the fear that they "might stop coming to church" even if it means that a sixteen year old boy is not even asked to stop laying underneath the bench in the foyer though his parents, the young men's president and the Bishop have all seen him there?
* At what age do you stop saying to your kids, "Going to church is what our family does. This isn't optional."? In a conversation I had with a friend this morning about this and related topics she quoted President Hinckley as saying that parents needed to be careful not to force their children--and that his own good and loving parents had never made him do anything when it came to Church. But as inspiring as this story is, I can't help but wonder how young Gordon's parents would have reacted if Gordon had shown any inkling to be rebellious. Every parenting and leadership method works on kids who want to basically toe the line.
I honestly don't mean for this post to sound like I have all the answers, and much of what I shared above is anecdotal and not all recent. I promise, I'm not taking notes in church each week of what everyone else is doing wrong. For all my observations of young people over the last 10 years, and my very close observations these last couple of months, I can say that I have as many questions as I do answers.
My heart aches and unpleasant memories are brought to the forefront when I see the funny teenage mixture of fear and faith in their eyes. They shoot in the dark "knowing" they have all the answers, but also attempting to diguise their terrible ignorance. They want to be grown up and they want to be children. They want too much independence, but at the same time, curiously, not enough. And just because a 13 year-old acts a certain way on Sunday, doesn't mean you have any clue how she'll be on Wednesday.
As I've thought more and more about Brother ****'s anecdote about youth problems being parenting problems, I've looked more carefully at my little brood. When they act in certain ways I'm trying harder to say, "what can I do differently" while still trying to remember that I cannot control each outcome. Kim Blue once said that parenting was the fine art of hanging on and letting go.
These thoughts about parenting problems have also given me another dilemma, one in which I need some advice. ALL of the sisters on my visiting teaching route are also women I see regularly because of Young Women's: either because I serve with them or I have their daughters in classes. Having had this same route for many, many months, I know these women fairly well. Like all sisters, they each have their own unique set of challenges and trials, some of which affect their ability to parent as well as each would probably like. As I come to know their daughters and see their challenges too, it is becoming increasingly difficult for me not to feel judgmental toward some very real parenting problems. (But even THAT phrase is probably judgmental! But how will I know how to be a parent if I don't try to learn from others' mistakes as well as my own?)
This judging thing is the great battle of my life anyway (along with my big mouth), but I feel like I'm in a very difficult place when I'm wearing so many hats in the lives of these families. It is hard to serve appropriately and meet everybody's needs when I feel the way I do. So do I just keep getting on my knees and praying like crazy that I'll work this out, or do I contact our wonderful Relief Society President and say "Please assign me to four old widows who haven't had contact with the YW program since the Carter Administration" in the hopes that I can better serve those I've committed to serve? And if the answer is the former, then give me some advice on maintaining my objectivity in this situation so that I don't go mad.
Do you remember this lesson? It was on keeping the Sabbath Day and Reverence. Our teacher, a former stake president, gave a fantastic lesson. His take was that, as LDS people, the reverence area is one where we fall down a little bit. Many anecdotes were shared. The class discussion was helpful and interesting. I wrote two things in the margin of my scriptures in Chapter 59.
1--When the Lord says to rest from "our labor" he didn't meant that we should rest from "His labor."
2--Light-mindedness is the opposite of reverence.
The first is interesting--Sunday was hard for me on my mission. You would be together, feeling the love and fellowship of the Saints and then church was over and all of these loving families would go home together. We would just go back to work. Because, for that short span in my life, my labor was "His labor."
But it is not the first comment in my scriptures I want to talk about. It is the second. President **** talked a lot about the sabbath being a covenant between the Lord and his people from the beginning. A collective covenant. This idea of covenants got me to thinking about the temple and the nature of my individual covenants. We also discussed reverence not just being a collection of actions--though they are an important part of reverence--but an entire attitude of respect and awe for our Father in Heaven. It isn't what you do so much as how you think. Indeed, the opposite of light-mindedness. No wonder the Lord is so clear about the need to avoid light-mindedness.
In a culture of sarcasm, mockery, skepticism and the carefully delivered joke being the ultimate indicator of intelligence, keeping our minds away from indifference toward sacred things takes an active effort. Does this mean that humor is a problem? Of course not. But humor that depends on the disdain of others and a casual view of Diety is a major problem.
Yeah. I've got a ways to go.
The discussion took another turn in the class with a story shared by President ****. I don't know if he was referencing our last Stake Conference or one from a year or two ago, but he was asked to shuttle the visiting area authority to the airport. On the way, President **** took opportunity to ask for some advice saying, "there is such a youth problem in [the] stake . . . . "
The area authority shook his head solemnly and said, "You don't have a youth problem in your stake. You have a parenting problem." President **** backpedaled a bit on his unexpected response as the wise area authority added, "You might begin by teaching them some reverence."
Arriving just minutes later at the airport, that was basically the end of the conversation, but this good brother went home and gave it some serious thought. His perception was that the youth weren't all that noisy in the meetings (he obviously wasn't sitting in the back!), at least no noisier than the young children, but after some reflection he began to understand what the area authority meant:
That the youth were not being taught proper respect for their Heavenly Father. That their sloppy manners, sloppy dress and sloppy attitudes were spilling over into their spiritual lives.
And now I'm a youth leader and I see it too. But there is a fine line to walk, and for all that that most of these young women are old enough to make their own choices, I think many of them have been given too much freedom before they had the maturity in place to understand about the consequences of unfettered agency.
* Are most 14 year-old girls responsible enough/mature enough/wise enough to own their own cell phones? When we have 14 year-olds who spend their time text-messaging during their hour in YW, is this a youth problem or a parent problem? And, as leaders, when we set down a rule about no cell-phone use, but the parents don't make any effort to stop them from coming to church in the enormous scripture cases (also filled with goodies and distractions), how do we approach the girls firmly and with love, without undermining their parents?
* If we show a church movie circa 1980 to the girls and then get mad when they don't pay attention, haven't we set them up to fail? And if their lack of attention involves drawing in their notebooks then why is it okay for them to have a notebook in the class? Do we just keep staring at the kids, getting more and more bugged, when they may not even realize that they are demonstrating disrespectful and/or irreverant behavior? And if we afraid to call them on this behavior for fear of parents calling and getting after us, then how can we help to mold them?
* If we are bugged that our girls at church are constantly asking for treats, then whose fault is it? If they have come to expect to be fed junk food at church, it can only be because their teachers have given it to them. And if we bring two dozen of whatever treat is prepared and then continue to be surprised when everything is eaten and the girls are gaining weight, is that a kid problem or an adult problem?
* While shadow leadership is the ideal instructional tool for teaching our kids, if new Deacons and Beehives come in and have NEVER seen an adult conduct a meeting, then how will they learn the proper and yes, dignified way to do it?
*If we have a 30% attendance rate in Young Women among parents who are fairly active and ALL of these girls are under age 16, where do changes need to be made? And if a mother goes home each week after Sacrament Meeting, what does her daughter think when she gets chewed out about not wanting to go to Sunday School or Young Women's?
* Is it really love to allow kids to get away with whatever they want over the fear that they "might stop coming to church" even if it means that a sixteen year old boy is not even asked to stop laying underneath the bench in the foyer though his parents, the young men's president and the Bishop have all seen him there?
* At what age do you stop saying to your kids, "Going to church is what our family does. This isn't optional."? In a conversation I had with a friend this morning about this and related topics she quoted President Hinckley as saying that parents needed to be careful not to force their children--and that his own good and loving parents had never made him do anything when it came to Church. But as inspiring as this story is, I can't help but wonder how young Gordon's parents would have reacted if Gordon had shown any inkling to be rebellious. Every parenting and leadership method works on kids who want to basically toe the line.
I honestly don't mean for this post to sound like I have all the answers, and much of what I shared above is anecdotal and not all recent. I promise, I'm not taking notes in church each week of what everyone else is doing wrong. For all my observations of young people over the last 10 years, and my very close observations these last couple of months, I can say that I have as many questions as I do answers.
My heart aches and unpleasant memories are brought to the forefront when I see the funny teenage mixture of fear and faith in their eyes. They shoot in the dark "knowing" they have all the answers, but also attempting to diguise their terrible ignorance. They want to be grown up and they want to be children. They want too much independence, but at the same time, curiously, not enough. And just because a 13 year-old acts a certain way on Sunday, doesn't mean you have any clue how she'll be on Wednesday.
As I've thought more and more about Brother ****'s anecdote about youth problems being parenting problems, I've looked more carefully at my little brood. When they act in certain ways I'm trying harder to say, "what can I do differently" while still trying to remember that I cannot control each outcome. Kim Blue once said that parenting was the fine art of hanging on and letting go.
These thoughts about parenting problems have also given me another dilemma, one in which I need some advice. ALL of the sisters on my visiting teaching route are also women I see regularly because of Young Women's: either because I serve with them or I have their daughters in classes. Having had this same route for many, many months, I know these women fairly well. Like all sisters, they each have their own unique set of challenges and trials, some of which affect their ability to parent as well as each would probably like. As I come to know their daughters and see their challenges too, it is becoming increasingly difficult for me not to feel judgmental toward some very real parenting problems. (But even THAT phrase is probably judgmental! But how will I know how to be a parent if I don't try to learn from others' mistakes as well as my own?)
This judging thing is the great battle of my life anyway (along with my big mouth), but I feel like I'm in a very difficult place when I'm wearing so many hats in the lives of these families. It is hard to serve appropriately and meet everybody's needs when I feel the way I do. So do I just keep getting on my knees and praying like crazy that I'll work this out, or do I contact our wonderful Relief Society President and say "Please assign me to four old widows who haven't had contact with the YW program since the Carter Administration" in the hopes that I can better serve those I've committed to serve? And if the answer is the former, then give me some advice on maintaining my objectivity in this situation so that I don't go mad.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Lilacs in the Rain Just Before Dawn
Perhaps because of my discovery of Facebook some time ago, I've spent the last few months thinking a lot about memories and how they help create who we become. I've made some marvelous connections with old, cherished friends who helped mold me into the person I am; friends whose ideas, laughter, borrowed courage, and love are still a part of me. I've been able to send some long overdue thankyous to a few of these important people. Such connections have given me roots, even though I've spent much of the last fifteen years feeling like a perpetual transplant.
Very early this morning, I had a memory that sprang from a smell rather than a person. A smell that I only enjoy for a week or two each spring, but it is a smell that whispers the promise of warmer weather, birthday gifts and change: the heady scent of lilac caught me in full force as I delivered a newspaper to somebody's porch. It had been raining, so the scent was particularly pronounced, and sure enough, just a few feet to my right was an enormous tree in full blossom. How lovely and surprising to smell it before I could even see it.
There is a lot of scientific research about the connection between memories and smells, but there is still much about the mechanism of the linking that remains unknown. Like most things to do with the brain, neurologists have barely scratched the surface for how it all works. I'm just glad that it does. Lilacs remind me of growing up in Utah because there was an enormous hedge of them on the border between our house and our neighbor's house when I was a child. They bloomed every spring right around the time of my birthday and mother's day. Their lovely scent makes me think of old-fashioned things, a grandfather I have only a single memory of, and the promised renewal of life each spring.
When Plantboy and I hadn't been married long he unpacked a box that contained several books from his mission. They were warped and water stained. The mildew-smell coming from the box was strong, though the books had long dried out. Plantboy grinned and inhaled deeply, "Ah! It smells just like Brazil!" Even bad smells, when attached to fond memories, can make us smile.
I have other favorite smells.
I smelled wisteria for the first time on my mission. It doesn't grow in Utah, but in Australia many people put it on arbors in their yards where it blooms prolifically in September and October. It was intoxicating to walk under these trellises on the way to knock on a door. It was a companion from New Zealand who identified it for me. I have since seen its popularity in both Oregon and Texas, but it always reminds me of Australia.
Eucalyptus reminds me of Australia too. There are tons of eucalyptus trees in the great south land--they call them gum trees. Just before the rain, the change in pressure causes the oils in the leaves to be released, filling the air with the most amazing smell. But watch out for the rain: as soon as you smell the gum trees it is too late to run for cover.
Fresh-mowed grass reminds me of hard-work and order. Mowing lawns was the first chore I could get more than a few cents for. Mowed lawns are so tidy and organized. Even the most beautiful yards look shabby when the lawns get over-long. The only scent that says summertime to me more than cut grass is grape taffy. I think the grape taffy must be a holdover from all of the ballgames we watched my dad play in when I was a child.
There was (and maybe still is?) a patch of wild roses in one of the beds near the east fountain at the Houston Temple. Most roses people want in their gardens are bred for huge blooms and lovely colors, but their wild cousins aren't much to look at. They were wild and thorny with tiny flowers and lots of leaves. But the smell? Oh. Wow. If you are lucky, you can find wild roses while you are hiking, and wild rose hips make the most interesting and fragrant ice cream you have ever eaten.
Before all you allergy-prone people start sneezing from just reading about all the outside smells that I love, there are inside smells I love too.
Cinnamon and cloves make me think of Christmastime, even more than the smell of pine. I also think of Christmas when I smell my mother's gingerbread--full of yummy spices and molasses. It is the coziest smell in the world.
Any decadent thing baking my oven--cakes, cookies, sweetbread and the like--reminds me of good times. You don't bake treats unless there is money and time for a little bit of frivolity, or an important event coming up.
When my house is freshly cleaned and there is a combination of lemon and disinfectant in the air, I feel so organized and together. I am reminded of Saturday mornings as a kid when we'd all work together in the house for a couple of hours to have the house spic and span before we started each new week.
Then there are the people smells! Now, granted, many of the people smells are not so great, and we go to great lengths to cover them up, but here are a few I love.
When I thought of baby smells before I had children, I mostly thought of Baby Magic lotion or Johnson's baby oil. When my own firstborn turned out to have such sensitive skin that no products whatsoever could be used on his skin, I realized that he had a luscious scent all of his own. Just a good, clean, baby smell. I could smell it the strongest around the soft spot on his gorgeous little head and it made me want to bury my head in his neck and and just kiss him all the time. Baby number two didn't have this smell so much, but baby number three did.
As for covering up smells . . . when I met Plantboy he wore an Abercrombie and Fitch cologne called "Woods." Hubba-hubba. At the time, Eternity was so popular among college and high school guys alike that I felt like that sickly sweet aroma was nearly constantly in my nostrils. Plantboy's chosen cologne was so much more subtle and earthy. Also, he didn't bathe in it, which is helpful. (He recently found an Axe brand shower gel that smells similar. He said he is planning on writing the company to get his money back for false advertising, however. Apparently he expected to see dozens of panting women just outside the bathroom when he finished showering with it, as per the commercials.)
Remember in the mid-90's when all those Victoria's Secret lotions came out? The classics--Pear, Vanilla, Tranquil Breezes--you remember. My second year in college, everyone went crazy with this stuff. The boys would sit in class, hardly able to concentrate on a word being said. A friend turned to Pocohantas one day in class and nearly yelled, "You two smell good enough to eat! You're driving me crazy!" I still can't use any vanilla lotion without thinking about that comment. But sometimes, driving her man crazy is just what a girl needs. Maybe it is time to get back out the vanilla lotion and make more unforgettable moments . . .
Very early this morning, I had a memory that sprang from a smell rather than a person. A smell that I only enjoy for a week or two each spring, but it is a smell that whispers the promise of warmer weather, birthday gifts and change: the heady scent of lilac caught me in full force as I delivered a newspaper to somebody's porch. It had been raining, so the scent was particularly pronounced, and sure enough, just a few feet to my right was an enormous tree in full blossom. How lovely and surprising to smell it before I could even see it.
There is a lot of scientific research about the connection between memories and smells, but there is still much about the mechanism of the linking that remains unknown. Like most things to do with the brain, neurologists have barely scratched the surface for how it all works. I'm just glad that it does. Lilacs remind me of growing up in Utah because there was an enormous hedge of them on the border between our house and our neighbor's house when I was a child. They bloomed every spring right around the time of my birthday and mother's day. Their lovely scent makes me think of old-fashioned things, a grandfather I have only a single memory of, and the promised renewal of life each spring.
When Plantboy and I hadn't been married long he unpacked a box that contained several books from his mission. They were warped and water stained. The mildew-smell coming from the box was strong, though the books had long dried out. Plantboy grinned and inhaled deeply, "Ah! It smells just like Brazil!" Even bad smells, when attached to fond memories, can make us smile.
I have other favorite smells.
I smelled wisteria for the first time on my mission. It doesn't grow in Utah, but in Australia many people put it on arbors in their yards where it blooms prolifically in September and October. It was intoxicating to walk under these trellises on the way to knock on a door. It was a companion from New Zealand who identified it for me. I have since seen its popularity in both Oregon and Texas, but it always reminds me of Australia.
Eucalyptus reminds me of Australia too. There are tons of eucalyptus trees in the great south land--they call them gum trees. Just before the rain, the change in pressure causes the oils in the leaves to be released, filling the air with the most amazing smell. But watch out for the rain: as soon as you smell the gum trees it is too late to run for cover.
Fresh-mowed grass reminds me of hard-work and order. Mowing lawns was the first chore I could get more than a few cents for. Mowed lawns are so tidy and organized. Even the most beautiful yards look shabby when the lawns get over-long. The only scent that says summertime to me more than cut grass is grape taffy. I think the grape taffy must be a holdover from all of the ballgames we watched my dad play in when I was a child.
There was (and maybe still is?) a patch of wild roses in one of the beds near the east fountain at the Houston Temple. Most roses people want in their gardens are bred for huge blooms and lovely colors, but their wild cousins aren't much to look at. They were wild and thorny with tiny flowers and lots of leaves. But the smell? Oh. Wow. If you are lucky, you can find wild roses while you are hiking, and wild rose hips make the most interesting and fragrant ice cream you have ever eaten.
Before all you allergy-prone people start sneezing from just reading about all the outside smells that I love, there are inside smells I love too.
Cinnamon and cloves make me think of Christmastime, even more than the smell of pine. I also think of Christmas when I smell my mother's gingerbread--full of yummy spices and molasses. It is the coziest smell in the world.
Any decadent thing baking my oven--cakes, cookies, sweetbread and the like--reminds me of good times. You don't bake treats unless there is money and time for a little bit of frivolity, or an important event coming up.
When my house is freshly cleaned and there is a combination of lemon and disinfectant in the air, I feel so organized and together. I am reminded of Saturday mornings as a kid when we'd all work together in the house for a couple of hours to have the house spic and span before we started each new week.
Then there are the people smells! Now, granted, many of the people smells are not so great, and we go to great lengths to cover them up, but here are a few I love.
When I thought of baby smells before I had children, I mostly thought of Baby Magic lotion or Johnson's baby oil. When my own firstborn turned out to have such sensitive skin that no products whatsoever could be used on his skin, I realized that he had a luscious scent all of his own. Just a good, clean, baby smell. I could smell it the strongest around the soft spot on his gorgeous little head and it made me want to bury my head in his neck and and just kiss him all the time. Baby number two didn't have this smell so much, but baby number three did.
As for covering up smells . . . when I met Plantboy he wore an Abercrombie and Fitch cologne called "Woods." Hubba-hubba. At the time, Eternity was so popular among college and high school guys alike that I felt like that sickly sweet aroma was nearly constantly in my nostrils. Plantboy's chosen cologne was so much more subtle and earthy. Also, he didn't bathe in it, which is helpful. (He recently found an Axe brand shower gel that smells similar. He said he is planning on writing the company to get his money back for false advertising, however. Apparently he expected to see dozens of panting women just outside the bathroom when he finished showering with it, as per the commercials.)
Remember in the mid-90's when all those Victoria's Secret lotions came out? The classics--Pear, Vanilla, Tranquil Breezes--you remember. My second year in college, everyone went crazy with this stuff. The boys would sit in class, hardly able to concentrate on a word being said. A friend turned to Pocohantas one day in class and nearly yelled, "You two smell good enough to eat! You're driving me crazy!" I still can't use any vanilla lotion without thinking about that comment. But sometimes, driving her man crazy is just what a girl needs. Maybe it is time to get back out the vanilla lotion and make more unforgettable moments . . .
Friday, May 01, 2009
Boys LIKE To Be Naked
Youngling got out of the tub the other night and ran down the hall squealing and giggling. I chased him, and he only giggled louder. He loves this game. After about a minute, he corners himself on purpose with a look that can only be described as pure mischief. Then he lets you catch him. Once caught, he expects to be held down, tickled and covered in kisses. Then the giggling really starts. Almost two years old is such a fantastic age.
He especially likes this game when he's naked: after all, what is better than tummy kisses? Anyway, back to the other night. As he lays there giggling and fighting off the diaper I'm trying to put on him, my seven year-old comes running down the hall. Also naked. He is fresh from the shower and he has obviously taken the time to dry off and comb his hair, but he somehow failed to put on the clothes I left sitting outside the shower for him. He threw his arms wide, shook his buns and yelled, "What do you think of ME!"
I yelled right back, in my most amused mommy yell, "I think you're naked! Put some clothes on." (There is a lot of volume set to high in our house.) He ran back to the bathroom.
Just as I got Youngling's diaper on, child number two made an appearance, underwear on his head singing a song he and Jedi made up called "My Underpants." This song has few lyrics but you can only sing it while naked or in the process of putting your underwear on.
I turned to Plantboy, who was watching a basketball game, and said, "You know, I think boys like to be naked."
He nodded and said, "I can prove it."
Scienceteachermommy loves proof. "Okay," I challenged.
"You always went to girls camp, right?" Nod. "Did you ever pee to put out the fire?"
"No."
"Did you ever run naked around the fire, chanting and yelling? And don't even ask me where the leaders were--probably hopped up on benadryl in their tent."
"Never ran around the fire naked."
"Well, did you ever burn your underwear while roasting it on a hot dog stick over open flames?"
"No."
"All of these things happen at Boy Scout Camp."
So. Boys do like nudity. And fire.
I'm now going to add a couple of anecdotes to add to my overwhelming proof for my boys-like-to-be-naked-(and-also-love-fire) theory.
In high school, a large-ish group of us went camping after graduation. The fire was dying low and it was getting very late. We decided to head to bed--boys in one tent, girls in another, if you wanted to know--but the guys hung around for a little while. Finally one of them said, "Girls, we need to put this fire out and you need to go to bed." A few girls had clued in to what was about to go down and helped get the rest of us herded into our tent.
I can't even describe how horrible flame-broiled logs covered in urine smell.
This next story really happened, but if you don't believe me, I don't blame you. If I hadn't experienced this story for myself I'm not sure I could buy it either. I can appeal to Tiffany (who checks in occasionally) to vouch for my honesty here. Chrisw probably also heard this story very shortly after it happened and can back me up too.
In Logan there is lawyer's office with an indoor pool. Apparently the partners wanted to build a pool for their families to use, and since you can only swim outdoors in N. Utah about two months of the year, the practice was the obvious place to put it. They built a small basement apartment with a separate entrance from the office and rented it out to a couple who then maintained the pool in exchange for cheap rent and scheduling rights to the pool.
Tiffany was my roommate (along with PammyLee, Pocohantas and Pocahantas' cousin, Steph), and her sister happened to be living in the pool apartment at the time. For several weeks she had promised we could come, and finally was able to get a Friday night free for us. She put our names on the calendar and gave Tiffany the key, as she was out of town that night.
It was a dark and stormy night (I swear I am not making this up), and freezing outside. As soon as we walked in the door at the law office, we knew something was wrong. We could hear a bunch of voices coming from the pool. We were so bugged. We'd had the pool scheduled for like two weeks and some spoiled lawyer-brats were using our pool time! We debated on staying or going, but righteous indignation won out.
Tiffany said that she just wanted to see what was going on before we started kicking people out, so we went into her sister's apartment and Tiffany walked up a short flight of stairs to the back pool entrance. She crept very quietly.
Twenty seconds later she came shooting back down the stairs like she had seen a ghost. "Naked," she said, rather breathlessly, "All naked. Probably 20 guys. All naked."
AAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!! That is when the giggling started; but of course, the question of kicking them out was answered. Being naked in the pool is like licking the sucker--man, you own it.
Steph, who had seen a bit more of the world than the rest of us, didn't buy into the "let's leave now" proposal. She'd come from Dixie College to the land of the frozen chosen without even a sweater. She had a bikini drawer, for crying out loud! Steph was not afraid of the melee up the stairs.
She walked right past us, and we saw her stand at the top of the stairs, hand on her hip, and we just knew she was giving the eyebrow as only Steph could. Oh, and she was a total babe.
About fifteen seconds after she planted her hot self on the top stair, the screaming began. And then the running. We heard a lot of swearing and at least 20 variations on the "Dude! It's a chick!" theme. Wild Steph, her hand on the hip and the eyebrow had cleared the room in less than a minute. She didn't say a word.
All of these naked guys were now holed up in the law office. She walked over the door, ripped it open and very sweetly asked who was hosting the party. A very sheepish looking individual, probably a college freshman, made his way through the crowd and she told him, in those same honeyed tones that WE had the pool reserved and they had about five minutes to be dressed and GONE before we started making some phone calls.
She flounced her lovely curly head back down to where we huddled, laughing our heads off at the bottom of the stairs. We waited five minutes, swept the last few out of the office, locked the doors and changed--one at a time, behind locked doors, thank you very much. No group nudity for us.
As if this is not all weird enough, we think that some of them actually came back and were looking in through the windows. Other than Steph, and maybe Pocahontas, none of us were girls that you would seriously scout out in their swimming suits. Especially if you had to climb a hedge to do it. In February. In the snow. So they were exhibitionists, desperate AND creepy. Still, if I was going to write a horror novel this would probably be a great start. At one point we thought we saw both hands and faces pushed against the glass poolhouse through the steam and condensation.
So fire, nudity . . . and, oh, yes, lightsabers. We had a Dos de Mayo party at Tabula Rasa and Jamin's house Saturday. She and I wanted to make homemade tamales and it is always fun to hang out with them. Between us, there are five boys: we watched a lightsaber fight that probably went on for a good hour--two if you count the Wii. My favorite is when Jedi yells, "Now in slow motion!" and everybody fights in slo-mo. The facials are awesome. When I asked Jedi the other night why he wasn't firing his dart gun back at me, he said, "Mom, my bullets won't defeat you! My moves will." Ah. I think his moves need a little bit of work. I probably hit him forty times.
So I guess my boys like to be naked, but maybe this momma likes violence.
He especially likes this game when he's naked: after all, what is better than tummy kisses? Anyway, back to the other night. As he lays there giggling and fighting off the diaper I'm trying to put on him, my seven year-old comes running down the hall. Also naked. He is fresh from the shower and he has obviously taken the time to dry off and comb his hair, but he somehow failed to put on the clothes I left sitting outside the shower for him. He threw his arms wide, shook his buns and yelled, "What do you think of ME!"
I yelled right back, in my most amused mommy yell, "I think you're naked! Put some clothes on." (There is a lot of volume set to high in our house.) He ran back to the bathroom.
Just as I got Youngling's diaper on, child number two made an appearance, underwear on his head singing a song he and Jedi made up called "My Underpants." This song has few lyrics but you can only sing it while naked or in the process of putting your underwear on.
I turned to Plantboy, who was watching a basketball game, and said, "You know, I think boys like to be naked."
He nodded and said, "I can prove it."
Scienceteachermommy loves proof. "Okay," I challenged.
"You always went to girls camp, right?" Nod. "Did you ever pee to put out the fire?"
"No."
"Did you ever run naked around the fire, chanting and yelling? And don't even ask me where the leaders were--probably hopped up on benadryl in their tent."
"Never ran around the fire naked."
"Well, did you ever burn your underwear while roasting it on a hot dog stick over open flames?"
"No."
"All of these things happen at Boy Scout Camp."
So. Boys do like nudity. And fire.
I'm now going to add a couple of anecdotes to add to my overwhelming proof for my boys-like-to-be-naked-(and-also-love-fire) theory.
In high school, a large-ish group of us went camping after graduation. The fire was dying low and it was getting very late. We decided to head to bed--boys in one tent, girls in another, if you wanted to know--but the guys hung around for a little while. Finally one of them said, "Girls, we need to put this fire out and you need to go to bed." A few girls had clued in to what was about to go down and helped get the rest of us herded into our tent.
I can't even describe how horrible flame-broiled logs covered in urine smell.
This next story really happened, but if you don't believe me, I don't blame you. If I hadn't experienced this story for myself I'm not sure I could buy it either. I can appeal to Tiffany (who checks in occasionally) to vouch for my honesty here. Chrisw probably also heard this story very shortly after it happened and can back me up too.
In Logan there is lawyer's office with an indoor pool. Apparently the partners wanted to build a pool for their families to use, and since you can only swim outdoors in N. Utah about two months of the year, the practice was the obvious place to put it. They built a small basement apartment with a separate entrance from the office and rented it out to a couple who then maintained the pool in exchange for cheap rent and scheduling rights to the pool.
Tiffany was my roommate (along with PammyLee, Pocohantas and Pocahantas' cousin, Steph), and her sister happened to be living in the pool apartment at the time. For several weeks she had promised we could come, and finally was able to get a Friday night free for us. She put our names on the calendar and gave Tiffany the key, as she was out of town that night.
It was a dark and stormy night (I swear I am not making this up), and freezing outside. As soon as we walked in the door at the law office, we knew something was wrong. We could hear a bunch of voices coming from the pool. We were so bugged. We'd had the pool scheduled for like two weeks and some spoiled lawyer-brats were using our pool time! We debated on staying or going, but righteous indignation won out.
Tiffany said that she just wanted to see what was going on before we started kicking people out, so we went into her sister's apartment and Tiffany walked up a short flight of stairs to the back pool entrance. She crept very quietly.
Twenty seconds later she came shooting back down the stairs like she had seen a ghost. "Naked," she said, rather breathlessly, "All naked. Probably 20 guys. All naked."
AAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!! That is when the giggling started; but of course, the question of kicking them out was answered. Being naked in the pool is like licking the sucker--man, you own it.
Steph, who had seen a bit more of the world than the rest of us, didn't buy into the "let's leave now" proposal. She'd come from Dixie College to the land of the frozen chosen without even a sweater. She had a bikini drawer, for crying out loud! Steph was not afraid of the melee up the stairs.
She walked right past us, and we saw her stand at the top of the stairs, hand on her hip, and we just knew she was giving the eyebrow as only Steph could. Oh, and she was a total babe.
About fifteen seconds after she planted her hot self on the top stair, the screaming began. And then the running. We heard a lot of swearing and at least 20 variations on the "Dude! It's a chick!" theme. Wild Steph, her hand on the hip and the eyebrow had cleared the room in less than a minute. She didn't say a word.
All of these naked guys were now holed up in the law office. She walked over the door, ripped it open and very sweetly asked who was hosting the party. A very sheepish looking individual, probably a college freshman, made his way through the crowd and she told him, in those same honeyed tones that WE had the pool reserved and they had about five minutes to be dressed and GONE before we started making some phone calls.
She flounced her lovely curly head back down to where we huddled, laughing our heads off at the bottom of the stairs. We waited five minutes, swept the last few out of the office, locked the doors and changed--one at a time, behind locked doors, thank you very much. No group nudity for us.
As if this is not all weird enough, we think that some of them actually came back and were looking in through the windows. Other than Steph, and maybe Pocahontas, none of us were girls that you would seriously scout out in their swimming suits. Especially if you had to climb a hedge to do it. In February. In the snow. So they were exhibitionists, desperate AND creepy. Still, if I was going to write a horror novel this would probably be a great start. At one point we thought we saw both hands and faces pushed against the glass poolhouse through the steam and condensation.
So fire, nudity . . . and, oh, yes, lightsabers. We had a Dos de Mayo party at Tabula Rasa and Jamin's house Saturday. She and I wanted to make homemade tamales and it is always fun to hang out with them. Between us, there are five boys: we watched a lightsaber fight that probably went on for a good hour--two if you count the Wii. My favorite is when Jedi yells, "Now in slow motion!" and everybody fights in slo-mo. The facials are awesome. When I asked Jedi the other night why he wasn't firing his dart gun back at me, he said, "Mom, my bullets won't defeat you! My moves will." Ah. I think his moves need a little bit of work. I probably hit him forty times.
So I guess my boys like to be naked, but maybe this momma likes violence.
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