Austenland

Sorry, Sister Hale, the movie might just be better. I missed Jane's running commentary in her head and the chapters interspersed with old boyfriends, but I think no more than two minutes passed during the duration of the film when I didn't laugh right out loud. Well cast. Well played. Well done. Kudos to three Mormon girls for pulling this one off in a way that is hilarious, and at times risque without sinking to the level of raunchy that passes for the new funny. Here's to Jerusha, Shannon and yes, even you Stephenie. . . as well as the three awesome women I had my girl's night with.

I have got to get one of those I heart Darcy bookbags. 

Movies Are To Film As Pulp Fiction Is To Literature

I apologize for the couplet-title. I'm studying for the Miller Analogy Test and I'm thinking in analogous phrases.

In junior high my best friend was a Mafiaphile. While other young women (aka, me) fantasized about being a Bennet girl or at least living in 18th century England, Kate imagined the romance of being a Corleon matriarch. She also dragged me through the shadowy underground of R-rated movies. Growing up in white-bread Utah, I didn't realize that said shadowy underground mostly exists in minds of members of the Church, and that to other people such a rating didn't particularly influence movie-watching choices. Especially R-rated movies circa the 1980's. As Kate and I made our way each weekend through another gangster movie, I felt delightfully rebellious. And though my Italy-fever never reached my friend's near-obsession, I actually really enjoyed all of the contra-band.

Kate and I didn't stay BFF's. (I guess the label is misnomer.) My new peer group was very anti R-rated movies and, at the time, the Church issued the first edition of its youth pamphlet titled, "For the Strength of Youth" which carried a firm warning against viewing any movie rated R. The line in the sand was more than enough for me and some years passed without me watching any others.

Enter The Mistake. Despite his church-ish demeanor (at least around me), he had few qualms about such viewing. When I had been home from my mission just a month we had already seen Air Force One (actually cool and thought provoking), The Full Monty (hilarious) and The Rock (wrong on nearly every level). The irony, of course, is that of all the movies we saw together (what else did we do, after all?) the trashiest two were both rated PG-13. The first Austin Powers, during which I ultimately had to leave the room; and Titanic. Okay, okay, there are some awesome things about Titanic, but I thought it was highly overrated and plenty heavy on the Tit. Though I'm sure The Mistake was thinking about how artistic Kate Winslet was as she disrobed for her paramour.

Yes, yes, "trashy" is a relative word and certainly in the eye of the beholder. The other strange thing, to me, is that in Australia there is no "R" rating. Most movies in the US that get a PG-13 OR and R rating are labeled "M" for mature in Oz. Every member of the Church I knew went to a wide variety of "M" movies, several of which I knew to be rated "R"in the US. Oooo. . . .even "good" members of the Church.

Not long after returning from my mission, the Church issued a second edition of the Strength of Youth booklet, counseling specifically ONLY against pornography. The header scripture for the section is an excerpt from the 13th Article of Faith, "If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things." The new emphasis on the section is on the dangers of immersing yourself in media of any type that causes of a loss of the Spirit. And that is pretty much it.

There are a variety of opinions on this: some say that the standard is therefore stricter than ever. That there are plenty of even PG rated movies that can't make the cut here, and virtually none of the other movies with their seedier ratings are appropriate, just by virtue of all that can be allowed in movies that have those ratings. Others have gone just the opposite and say that now it doesn't matter what we watch, and that we should just exercise a particle of caution. My own view is more in the middle, though I've definitely gone to the side of more caution and with a reversion to the standard from my teenage yars.

In our married life, Plantboy and I have only rented R-rated movies on two ocassions. One was not a bad movie at all (and I'm still a little confused about the rating); the other was a bloodbath predicated by characters with bloodlust and covered with loads of bloody blood after most scenes. With Mel Gibson. I guess that image should be pretty clear.

We have never paid to go to the theatre to see one; though, admittedly, I've seen plenty of PG-13 and even PG movies that could not pass the 13th Article of Faith Litmus Test.

So it is with the background that I stood in line to buy tickets for The King's Speech last Friday night. I felt anxious. Naughty. Like a 14 year old boy trying to sneak into a porn film . . .

Okay, maybe not THAT bad, but I don't think I've ever paid, personally to see an over-17. The young man behind the counter hesitated, ever so briefly, when I told him what I wanted. No doubt, he was waiting for his computer screen to tell him that, yes, there were still seats available, but I thought he was going to ask for my ID, though I blow past the over 17 thing by more than double. He stared at me lazily, his mood clearly out of step with my shaking hands.

We are so conditioned.

The King's Speech is a movie about loyalty, bravery, war, true love, patriotism, friendship, family, overcoming, suffering . . . Along with such grand themes, every other aspect of what makes film making (and literature) interesting is also present--brilliant juxtaposition, careful characterization, mood and pacing. From the opening minute, you feel such an intense connection to the main character (it IS Mr. Darcy, after all), that you already begin rooting for him. The humanity of this story is truly remarkable.

The film is praising of virtue. It is Lovely. Of good report. Praiseworthy. I came away uplifted, and with a greater conviction to treat others with kindness, to understand their story. Do not miss this film, but seek after this thing as soon as you have opportunity.

So, in other news, I've been very busy. (And I don't just mean breaking commandments that don't actually exist.) I've discovered the graduate program I want to be a part of and am working on my application. My friend and I backed away from running the BIG race because we couldn't get enough support, but we are running a half-marathon at the end of July and I'm making a rather weak effort to train for that. Plantboy was in charge of last weekend's ward party; and, of course, that meant we were co-chairs. Church in general has kept us ridiculously busy. The novel-writing is progressing: slowly but surely. I have maybe 30 pages left to finish a 300 page manuscript. At that point, that is where YOU will come in. I will definitely be soliciting readers. I'm making my six year old a blanket out of granny squares.

Oh, and I un-closeted myself as a registered Democrat the other day on Facebook which generated a very interesting discussion with 65 comments. No, not all of them were mine. Sheesh, if I had that much to say I would just start a blog where I spend an unhealthy amount of time writing/thinking/discussing politics and religion. . . . wait a minute . . .

Trying to Get My Head Above Water

I've got a long post nearly ready. It is all about my vacation and what I learned, etc. etc. The problem is that I am two weeks out and Disneyland is feeling so last month because I also want to post about my awesome Thanksgiving dinner, the extremely cool changes that are taking place in our ward, this must-read article by (the great) Kathryn Soper, etc. etc.

Instead I'm taking time out from my regularly scheduled life to point out the following:

Flynn Ryder is adorable.


"You became my new dream, Rapunzel."

????????????????????

Talk about your Darcy Effect.

Theory of Everything

Between my last post and being assaulted yesterday at Fred Meyer with a mind-numbing display of pink and purple and red hearts, I've been thinking a bit about romantic relationships and why they are so difficult and wonderful at the same time--perhaps more difficult as a single and more wonderful as a married, but neither status is a recipe for bliss or for disaster.

I don't know if you did (or do) this as a single, but my friends and I had a theory for just about everything when it came to dating. In her comment earlier in the week, chrisw asked me to tell the Naked Mole Rat story. After all, it sounds so much more appealing to be the "Hot Chick."

To preface, I've got to tell a little bit about the fabulous chrisw. Though we went to the same high school just a year apart, chrisw and I didn't meet until my third year at college. She was also a biology education major and we began overlapping classes; we also had a lot of student government-type activities in common and ended up really connecting. Chrisw is like the laid-back, hilarious, mellow version of STM. Or maybe I am the uptight, serious, driven version of chrisw? Anyway, chrisw was one of my few friends still left around when I got back from the mish and she saved me from deep lonliness on a number of ocassions. We went through a lot together--the Bleskimo, Shaner, Evolution 587, frizz hair girl, squirrels. . . . you get the picture. As I remember it, the Naked Mole Rat theory didn't orginate with chrisw (correct me if I'm wrong?), but she got it immediately when I said it off-hand one day: another reason to really love her.

Before I knew Chris, I took a basic biology class that had an evolution component for one of the sections. It was pretty basic stuff, but the instructor spent nearly a whole week on the concept of "altruism." You see, scientists have a hard time explaining WHY animals will ever act in anything but their own immediate self interest. (Humans are a little different: we are intelligent enough to have complex social values that bear on our behavior as powerfully as instinct; because animals don't have these values, evolutionary biologists are always looking for genetic reasons to explain behavior, particularly "unselfish" behaviors.) The teacher gave several examples of animal behaviors considered altruistic.

He used the example of the Naked Mole Rat: this hideous and nearly blind creature lives in subterranean niches in Africa. As if being a mole wasn't bad enough, this thing gets its full name from the fact that it is nearly bald and very rat-like. In a large family colony, there is only ONE female who gets to mate. This female, whose hormones are the strongest, effectively blocks the other females from being recognized. To add insult to injury, the other females are compelled to serve the Queen. They take care of the young, wash the Queen and bring her food.

My friend Ryan and I had this class (and several others) together and we were always trying to come up with ways to remember what we had learned. As we'd had several chemistry classes, our mneumonics usually revolved around attraction and relationships. And though Ryan and I were never interested in dating, I always thought the whole studying chemical attractions thing was probably our geeky attempt at flirting. The Naked Mole Rat Queen lesson gave me the giggles for some reason.

I told Ryan that it was not unlike my apartment. One of my roommates was Pocahontas. (I posted about her some time back, though you are unlikely to remember that. She was definitely the "hot chick," but also one of the bet friends I've ever had.) He knew immediately what I was talking about--men sensed Pocahontas' presence from 100 yards. I think every guy who visited our apartment the three years I lived with her, came initially for a chance to see her. It was a bit disconcerting to go places with her and witness the mass-whiplash that happened as men of all ages craned their necks to look. I'm not kidding. I remember starting spring quarter one year and both of us, in different classes, noticed this amazing looking guy sporting a cream-colored sweater. We joked all afternoon how cute he was and who would dare sit by him first. That afternoon, she took the garbage out, met him at the dumpster and had a date before she came back in the house. There was no chance of getting asked out, at least not first, with Pocahontas around.

What Ryan didn't know (or maybe he did) is that any girl who ever lived with her, adjusted to her cycle within a month. She and I lived apart over the summers and if I'd switch tracks with other roommates, it would only last until I was living with Pocahontas again. It was not uncommon for all six of us to start within three hours of one another. My apologies to any men reading here.

Pocahontas, being a fellow science geek, got a real kick out of the analogy and even put up with us calling her The Naked Mole Rat Queen from time to time. If any girl we knew was lucky enough to be having a good dating month, she was dubbed the Queen; though, I must add, it was not too likely with Pocahontas on the market. She got married while I was in the MTC to a wonderful man, and though I was sorry not to be at her wedding, I rejoiced over the marraige, knowing that I might actually get a date when I got home with the Queen out of the way.

Then, for one glorious summer, just before I met Plantboy, my turn came. Chrisw was able to pass the torch and dub ME the Naked Mole Rat Queen. It wasn't all it was cracked up to be: I learned that with great power comes great responsibility.

Other relationship theories came and went during those years:

The Challenge Theory--Compliments of SimpleEasyandQuick and Ryan. This is basically the revolting idea that the hunt is much more fun than the catch, particularly for men. I always hated this, but my observations and few pitiful experiences told me that it was probably true.

Rebel Factor--This was Pocahontas' idea. As much as you wanted to marry the nice boy, there was something infintely appealing about the boy with a wild streak. Particularly if that wild streak manifested itself in some rather harmless way like motorcycle riding or bridge jumping in the middle of the night or living out of your car with nothing but a shotgun and a flannel shirt for a month.

Trade-up--Also SimpleEasyandQuick's idea. This could potentially be called the "string-along" theory because the premise was that you never dumped whomever you were with until you could be reasonable assured that your were trading up.

Red-Hooded Sweatshirt--More of a test than a theory really. My roommates and I thought there was nothing cuter than a guy in a backwards ball cap and I hooded sweatshirt. Especially if it was red. If you couldn't pass the ball cap test, well, then, you were out. Really mature, eh?

Darcy Effect--This is my most recent acquistion. It is important to note that the lovely Elizabeth wanted nothing to do with Darcy when she only saw him as handsome and tall with 10,000 a year. (I'm talking about the book, people, not the 2005 travesty that has Keira Knightly's boy-bosom heaving over mullet-boy from the minute she claps eyes on him.) It is only when she sees that he is basically pledging to give up everything for her--his family connections, his pride, his condescension, that she falls in love with him. In other words, what attracts a woman most to a man is that he is willing, to at least some degree, to be made over by her. Jack Nicholson in "As Good As It Gets," says to Helen Hunt, "You make me want to be a better man." BINGO. Darcy Effect.

So why all of this living in the mid-nineties reminscing today? (It is starting to really scare me how long ago that was.) Well, I think that PP and EQP did get ONE thing right in their blog-that-wishes-it-was-satire-but-doesn't-quite-cut-it. They are posting nearly every day about "mistakes" that women make and relationship issues. What this says is that in the end of it all, there is not a "reason" why people are single: there are as many reasons as there are people who would like to be married.

My first two or even three years of marriage was difficult for me. I loved Plantboy, but I remember thinking sometimes, "People really do this for a lifetime? For eternity?" There were so many new things all the time--job changes, moves, a baby--things that many young couples experience. It took a long time for me to realize that part of my difficulty stemmed from my screwed up relationship theories. All that I thought I learned about men and relationships while dating, didn't translate that well into married life. So many years had been focussed on the chase that I didn't know all that much about what to do once we were standing still.

It was ironic really, because one of the things that most attracted me to Plantboy is that we didn't play mind games on one another. How we felt was always very straightforward. It had been a huge relief for me to find someone so devoid of manipulation and false pretense. But after marriage, so many of my unresolved insecurities (imagine marriage not solving all my problems!) and my overblown belief in the huge differences between men and women threatened to keep me from being truly happy with my partner.

Now, most of my relationship theories have flown the coop. There are no pat answers and easily wrapped up solutions. I find myself instead sometimes looking for parenting theories that will do this! But I like to think I'm a little wiser now. As interesting and even helpful as all such philosophies are, they can never take the place of inspiration, hard work and consistent love.

Because Apparently the Choices Are Tweedle-dum or Tweedle-dee

BEWARE: I HAD TO ADD A LABEL CALLED "RANT" JUST FOR THIS POST.

Yesterday I was reading Nem's blog and came across a link to a blog titled "Why Mormon Girls Stay Single." There were no details, it was just a link thrown out with a request for Nem to look at it a little bit closer and some day in the future share her thoughts. Not knowing anything about the blog, I skimmed a couple of posts, thinking that it was authored by a couple of funny female roommates with a healthy dose of self-deprecation about single, Mormon women. But closer scrutiny told me that it must be a couple of guys writing. Sure enough, post-ers PP and EQP were acronyms for "Peter Priesthood" and "Elder's Quorum President." This should have been my first red flag: all manner of false doctrine might be shared under cover of righteousness and leadership.

After a few fairly informative and funny-ish posts, I looked at their archive and was drawn to the post titled "Hatin' on the Hot Chick." It was not informative, nor even funny-ish. Unless, of course, pure mean-ness is the new funny.

Their gripe is, of course, that women get jealous of the girl who seems to get all the dates. This girl is, of course, the "Hot Chick." (In my apartment we called this girl the "Naked Mole Rat." Which is a very funny story with a definite science geek angle that might need to be told some time.) There is a legitimate point here--women do tend to, often with unexpected results that backfire, undermine one another when it comes to dating. Married women sometime act this way too; it may not be men that are at stake, but women still will attempt to outshine one another in our own imitation at corporate climbing. However, after the initial sentence or two, the Hot Chick post quickly deteriorates into something that caused my gag reflex to work overtime and make me fear for a future when LDS men have bought hook line and sinker into pop culture.

In another post, PP and EQP insist that "all" (since they seem to speak for all) men are looking for women who are independent, assertive and confident. Yet in the above referenced post they make the following thesis statement, "Here's the deal . . . we want to date the hot girl too!" Which seems to negate all else these boys claim to be looking for. But not to worry, the good brethren throw single women everywhere a bone with the best advice I've ever heard. "Make yourself hot." And what is the prize for this Paris Hilton-like descent into babe-dom? "We'll reward your efforts with a nice meal, an occasional movie," (there is even another post that gives advice about what kind of movies and nice, classic girly books to say you are interested in) "and a possible make out." At this point, every single women is probably panting with eagerness and thinking, "Goody!" Forget about emulating any positive role model you've ever met or read about. Heck! Forget about following the Savior's example! It is all about taking "drastic measures to get hot."

But lest we think that there is no hope for girls who are not "hot," let's look at this gemstone paragraph, "Guys never hang around girls because they're 'good friends'. They are just biding their time waiting for an open invitation for some nookie. Give it to them, they will love you more than any 'McDreamy' who's not even wasting his time on you."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It is hard to say on how many levels these three sentences are wrong. When I was a single, at least a pre-mi single, several of my closest friends were guys. There is no way they could have wanted to hang out with me because we had wonderful conversations and hilarious times. I'm fairly convinced that it will come as a shock to every single one of them that what they were really waiting for a was a make-out from my 20 year old self. Remember all those racquetball games, boys? Now I know what you were REALLY up to. It is a wonder that your fabulous wives will even speak to me for the jealousy they must each feel.

What PP and EQP (and probably many single men and too many husbands) seem to be missing is the realization that Hot Chick is just a woman too. And, I'm sorry to say, she might even have more security issues than Regular Chick. In the morning, Hot Chick also has b.o., haltosis and bed head. Hot Chick's gorgeous hair color, luscious skin and lovely feet look a lot less attractive when she is no longer paying the hairdresser, the MaryKay saleslady and the monthly pedicurist herself. She'll turn into a chocolate-loving Harpie every 28 days who dares say the word Tampax in your presence. She will come with student loans, family issues and relationship baggage, as will Regular Chick. Also, if she is really the pure and naive vision of loveliness these brilliant BYU alum no doubt insist on, she will have no more clue about sex than Regular Chick, so you can put THAT fantasy to rest right now. She will put on a minimum of 30 pounds when she is pregnant, but it might be 60 or 70 or . . . you get the picture. That same pregnancy will leave stretch marks on her lovely once-fakey-tanned tummy. Night after sleepless night of nursing babies will cause Hot Chick to put her hair in a ponytail every day, or heaven forbid, cut off that big sexy hair all together. Hot Chick will probably be a lot more likely to insist on the tummy tuck and the boob job after the babies--after all, you have taught her what the cost of your love is.

And no chick, hot or otherwise, will be immune to life's inevitable challenges. Maybe what single Mormon men (and women) need to say when they look at the opposite sex is, "How will this person handle it when we are out of work for six months?" "Will this person be happy with three kids in a two bedroom apartment?" "Will this person crack under the pressure when our children come home with inevitable problems?" "Will this person validate my emotions, even when they are unreasonable, and love me over the rough times?" And married people need to remember their own humanity when trying to scrutinize Partner's faults too closely.

There is another incomprehensibly asinine paragraph in the Hot Chick post, comparing women (and I guess men too, the analogy is a little bit vague) to cars. Basically, don't go looking for a Mercedes Benz when you are a Ford Focus. To this glittering nugget of wisdom I'd like to say that I can probably count on one hand the number of men I would say were anything more than an Edsel before age 25 or 30. You see, PP and EQP, what makes a man attractive to a woman has less to do with money, power or looks (all variations on the "size matters" theme) is COMMITMENT. When a man shows, over time, that he will be there day in and day out even when it is hard, even when life is real and difficult, then it matters a whole lot less how "hot" he was to begin with and is about who is becoming. When a woman knows that a man loves her, really loves her, she will reciprocate in ways even she doesn't know she's capable of: in her eyes you will become the prince of her dreams that comes in the door every night; the Mercedes in the driveway, the lover she snuggles next to as she falls into her dreams each night.

And a man who would give up all of that for "hot?" Well, he really deserves to sleep alone every night. PP and EQP think they have figured out why Mormon women are single? In reality they have exactly pinpointed why Mormon men are: because too many of them would trade their birthright for a mess of pottage.

Their blog has been very instructive, however; it is has given me a great example of what kind of boys NOT to raise.

Austenland?

A friend whose book-sense I trust asked me Sunday if I had read Austenland. I said no, but replied that now I'd gotten a taste for Shannon Hale I wanted to get my hands on more of her stuff and that Austenland had been on the to-do list for a while. She shook her head saying that she couldn't get through more than half of it, thought it was intensely boring and could hardly believe it was the same author.


Still, just the title was too appealing for me to give it a pass, so yesterday I read it in one sitting (or as much as a mother of three CAN read anything in one sitting). I did not think it was intensely boring, and Hale's voice, her wit and her charm was just as distinctive as in the last book I read. The common thread in both Austenland and in Goose Girl is this idea of looking in a mirror and wondering who exactly is looking back at you. This is never more apparent than in perhaps my favorite moment in the book. (CAUTION: SPOILERS AHEAD)


Jane Hayes has gone to a place where fantasies play out, but unlike the other women present, she is unable to completely lose herself in the role-playing. Even as she tries to "catch" various suitors, she knows it is all pretend and can't quite figure out which Jane she is the most often, or even which one she likes the best. She finally convinces the most Darcy-esque of the actors to fall for her. (Or does she? Does he? Isn't it all pretend?) During the ball, with various desperate older ladies fawning all over him, he grabs our intrepid heroine's arm (not the first time he has done this) and pulls her into a small room off the ball room. After some pacing, during which he looks all sexy and tortured,


"He wildly combed his hair with his fingers. 'I can't bear to be out there with you right now, all those indifferent people watching, admiring you, but not really caring. Not as I do.'

"Jane: (hopeful) Really?

"Jane: (practical) Oh, stop that.

"Mr. Nobley sat in the chair beside her and gripped its arm.

"Jane: (observant) This man is all about arm gripping."


Re-creating the punctuation in the above passage is awkward, but if you followed, you see that Jane didn't actually SAY any of these things, though she could have said any one of them and been perfectly herself. He then professes his love, she sees the ridiculousness of it all (or does she?) and refuses him. Walks away. Knowing that for once and for all she is over the Darcy-fetish. Yeah right.


So while I really liked much about this book, at the end she gets the man that you knew from the opening scenes that she had to get all along. For a moment, Hale makes the reader believe that it will not work out that way and it will still be okay, but I was feeling a bit cheated until about nine pages from the end until Hale, of course, righted everything. And though the book is supposed to be all about coming to terms with what is real and imaginary(?), in the end, she does get "Mr. Darcy." And what does he sweetly reply to her protestations that it had all been fake? "We are cast as actors that are closest to the parts we play, since we had to stay in character so long." Ah ha! So he is Henry Jenkins and Mr. Nobley and Mr. Darcy all at once! Lucky girl.


In those last nine pages, he says some intensely beautiful things to her, and this time we are to believe that they have moved from scripted to un-scripted, but you just know that Hale poured over this dialogue for a long time to get it just right. People don't just say things off the cuff like this: I'm throwing myself at your feet because I'm hoping for a shot at forever, have you stopped to consider that in fact you are my fantasy, etc. And don't even get me started on the kissing that Hale so perfectly describes.


Anyway, for a book whose jacket claims to be about a woman learning to separate fantasy from reality, our main character only gets about 10 minutes to decide she can do that before fantasy-man walks right into her life. And true to the Darcy Effect, he is giving up everything for her, stepping on the plane with nothing but a vest and cravat. Oh, and we assume he has a passport.


Like Mr. Darcy and Miss Jane, this plain governess once found herself looking into a pair of fine eyes and falling in love against her will. The night before our wedding, my delicious Gardener gave me two things: a beautifully huge hammock and the Complete Works of Jane Austen. (I refrained from tearing right into it shouting, "Jane Austen! Your works complete me!") I've always loved that gift. I think, in his way, that Plantboy was telling me that he knew he wasn't the Perfect Man I had long dreamed of, but that he would never begrudge my escape with my books as long as I came back to him at the end of the day--refreshed and ready for another round of reality.

Musings From the Mother of Boys (and a Book Review)

When I was growing up, my mother had this marvelous tradition of taking each of her four children school shopping individually. We'd spend the day with her and she'd take us to lunch. I cannot tell you how much I looked forward to this. I decided, with my oldest about to enter kindergarten this year, that I would begin this tradition myself. With a nursing baby, I knew we couldn't take a whole day, but I could do a couple of hours after Plantboy gets home from work and take Scallywag to dinner. I have been looking forward to this all week.

Well, the best laid plans often fall apart, and last night I found myself at Fred Meyer with my whole family doing some school shopping. Scallywag whines about trying on shoes, so I say "That's okay, we'll find shoes later." We head over the clothing section; I have a fairly good idea about what we want, but I would at least like Scallywag to choose colors, styles, etc. And despite being almost six a lot of his 4T clothes still fit so I'm trying to get an idea of sizing, etc. I'm also trying to hurry because the Poopy Pirate and Scallywag are sitting in the race car cart hitting each other and Captain Tootypants is spitting up all over Plantboy. I wave two shirts in front of Scallywag's face because his attention has totally wandered and say, "I want to buy you one of these but you need to choose the color."

He looks at me with this strange expression I can't read, kind of laughs and says,

"I just don't care, Mom."

And in that moment it absolutely hits me. I am a mother of boys. (I know, I know, you are thinking "Duh!" but bear with me.) We left the clothing section immediately, finished getting the other things we came to purchase and shuffled the boys in the car. The whole time time I was completely distracted. I suddenly felt like I wanted to cry.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love each of my little boys for very different reasons. I love their unique personalities and the breath of life they give my daily activities. I love their moods and their cuddles. I love their energy and their intensity.

But I doubt very much that I'll ever scrapbook with one of them. Hah! Many of you out there will say, "That is no big loss!" But what I'm trying to say with that trivial statement is that there are things that are a part of me that I may never get to pass on. Some things are just inherently girly. I love to read. Most of the books I read would hold NO interest for boys. I've collected hundreds of books over the years knowing that one day I'd share these tender gifts with a daughter the way my mother shared them with me. My boys will never want to know who Anne, Heidi, Meg, Aerin and Elizabeth are. I will also write books they will have no interest in reading. I like to buy and put together clothes and shoes. I like to arrange flowers. I love chick flicks.

My husband was attempting to understand my mood last night. I think he caught a little bit of a vision when I said, "What if you were had a whole household of people who had no interest in helping you with your yardwork, camping with you or learning about your projects? What if there were important parts of your personality that you had no chance of sharing with the people you loved most because they just weren't interested?" Plantboy had a hard time even imagining a houseful of women.

I think of the relationship I now enjoy with my mom and it pains me to think that I will not have a similar relationship one day. Ha! You say! You are a Mormon girl with just THREE kids, there are plenty more coming down the pipe!

Hmm . . . . having a baby just under three months doesn't really put me in a good mode for making that decision. And there is plenty of time for such a decision. But if I cannot get to a point where I'd be just as happy with four boys, and boy number four would never feel mom's disappointment that he is not a girl, then it is probably the wrong reason to have another baby.

Okay, enough wallowing. On to the book review. I've just finished Jane Eyre and I think it is brilliant. In our society of decaying morals, however, I think you are going to find fewer and fewer young people who can relate to its message. It is unfortunate. My greatest impression from the book this time was the reason Jane leaves Rochester in the first place. Although it is partly for the sake of her soul, she believes it is really for the sake of HIS soul. She sees herself as the greatest object of his temptation and fears to be the source of his damnation. Despite her own heartbreak she flees Thornfield with just 20 shillings to her name so that she will not succumb to his entreaties and drag him down to Hell with her.

Jane also has the sense to see that by allowing him to keep her as a mistress, he would eventually feel the same contempt for her that he felt for those other women. In turn, Jane would have resented Edward for turning her back, not on society which she had not use for, but on God whom she believed in wholeheartedly. Ultimately, the way we feel about others is a reflection of how we view ourselves.

In modern days, the situation is so easily rectified--Rochester should divorce wife #1. If he feels guilty about it then he can just pay for her support and move on with his life. A novel with such a theme of guilt and societal mores could never take place in our time. The great message is that despite trial and difficulty, they are together in the end because Jane stuck to her guns.

One last thing as everyone is reviewing Eclipse these days . . . Mr. Rochester is a much more interesting Edward than vampire-boy. He is so HUMAN. He is moody, but still strong. His beauty is only in the eye of his beholder. He is not young, nor does he even have the appearance of youth; in fact he his quite old (Jane puts him near 35--scandalous!). And while he has money, he has no exciting powers. His intellect is all his own, gathered over the course of a normal lifetime.

One thing both Edwards have going for them is the Darcy Effect. Many of you have heard my favorite literature theory, so you can stop right now. ;) The Darcy effect is simply this--what is most appealing to a woman about any man is that he is willing to change for her. Money, looks, power, material possessions, habits, interests are all very nice, but what a woman really wants is a man who looks at her and says, "You make me want to be a better man." She wants to know that there is some inherent part of her personality that gives her influence over him. His desire to change for her gives her more validation than a chest full of jewels and pages filled with sonnets.

"I've been a selfish being all my life . . . such I might still have been, but for you, dearest, lovliest Elizabeth."

"I've been a soulless blood-sucking vampire my whole life . . . such I might still have been, but for you, dearest, whiniest Bella."

"I've been a sinful, God rejecting grouch all my life . . . such I might still have been but for you dearest, plainest Jane."

The Darcy Effect.