Yeah. It is a Rant.

A few years ago in the state of Oregon, a law was passed that essentially said that school grades had to be tied to actually learning skills and demonstrating knowledge. The bill, in part, reads as follows:

The bill said, "Each district shall adopt a grading system ... that shall ... be based on the student's progress toward becoming proficient in a continuum of knowledge and skills."

The purpose was to a) help encourage districts to stop allowing teachers to give grades based on things like: extra credit that was totally unrelated to the class; allowing students to still pass grades (and even earn A's) without ever having to pass a test, when many of those point heavy class projects and homework assignments were completed by somebody else; never missing class all semester and getting 100 bonus points, etc. 

The second purpose was to allow districts already strictly adopting a proficiency-style grade system (in other words, you have to really prove what you know) the leeway and backing to do so without people raising a stink.

The bill was meant to be interpreted very narrowly.

Then it was sent to the Oregon Department of Education, where it was interpreted very broadly.

The ODE handed down new rules to the district three years ago regarding grading practices. Teachers were forbidden for giving points related to behavior. Oh, and homework was regarded as behavior. In fact, no more than 10% of any students grade could be related to anything that was considered "proof" of learning. Daily assignments became called "practice" and lumped into that 10%. Quizzes generally too. Some lab work. All homework. If the work is not done independently (by, by group work for points), in class and after sufficient practice, it cannot be given points. In addition, students may continue to retake-rewrite-redo this scored work indefinitely with an eye to continually improving their learning and therefore their scores.

I am all for a high school diploma meaning something. Absolutely. I think it is ludicrous for a teacher-coach to award 50 bonus points in a math class to students who come help at games. I think students should get second chances to demonstrate learning, particularly on things like writing assignments. I think schools should be more demonstrated-skills based than rote memorization. Absolutely.

But there are realities, too. And students see points as currency in the classroom. If you can't "pay" students, then there are very few (particularly among young teenagers) that are motivated to do the work required to pass the tests. By not awarding the process, you inadvertently downplay it as well. I may take hours to carefully craft a test that adequately reflects all that we learned in class . . . students doing retakes need a test that is different. And so I might spend hours writing that one too.

In the first year after implementation, teachers balked at all these things: the time commitment (so much of which is never paid for); the pounds of re-grading; our inability to reward the process as a valuable part of learning; the scorn for any question that isn't a written answer or a hands-on type of task despite what those types of tests mean for grading load; the very expensive administrative position added to our district staff to oversee implementation; the edicts coming time and again from people who have never had boots on the ground in a classroom.

Proficiency practice expectations have coincided with huge increases in class sizes. I teach five classes. Twenty years ago, this meant 100 students. A decade ago it meant 150. In 2014 it means 180 . . . though I'm supposed to bite my tongue and be grateful it isn't 200. Proficiency practice has also coincided with the adoption of the Common Core which will result in vast changes to our classes, much of which is good, but all of which is very, very new. This year it also coinciding with new professional standards that are causing lots and lots of extra work, but cannot possibly set out to prove what they think they can.

After tens of millions to implement these proficiency rules--money from the districts, not the state-- not to mention tens of thousands of frustrated parents and teachers, the Oregonian released this report last spring:

Oregon Schools' Big Switch is Kaput

The politician who passed the bill, and the nearly 100% majority who agreed with, realized what the ODE was doing and said, "WAIT!! THAT ISN'T WHAT WE MEANT!!!"

And yet, in spite of everything, our district decided to go ahead because they are so ridiculously invested at this point. And they aren't just going ahead, they are expanding--even to the point of introducing an even more rigorous grading standard that puts everything on a 5-point scale. This whole post is the result of, six weeks into the school year, is that my middle school-er has a C in history based on one assignment that he got 3/5 on. He has no math grade, just a test tomorrow that will also be worth 5 points. His English grade is a B based on the fact that he seems to be earning more 4's than 5's on his assignments. At the high school our heads exploded over the 5-point scale when we pointed out that our grading program will ONLY do total points; that a 3/5 cannot in any way be a C, but only a D-. On a five point scale, in fact, there is no way to earn a C at all. 

They have also taken alignment (horizontal and vertical) so far that they are not only going to specify what should be taught in each grade, but mandate that we teach it on nearly precisely the same schedule. In other words, not only do I need to be teaching the same things that the teacher next door to me teachers, but we need to be within two days of one another when we do it. This is nearly impossible, and it looks a helluva lot like Texas: the place I left teaching in order to get more freedom.

I love kids. I have moments of perfect clarity when I love my job and know I'm in exactly the right place. But I will say it, flat out, the expectations and paperwork and the constant changing of systems and approaches and on and on and on is sucking the joy out of what I do. And, there is no way around it, it is hindering my ability to do it well and to focus on my students' needs. At this fledgling end of my career I can honestly say that I don't see how I could survive 20 or 30 years as a classroom teacher.

Education is a trendy field. Today's proficiency is tomorrow's debunked idea. Legislators pass laws and throw money around like it is no big deal. But everything they do affects my job in real ways that are painful. All of this legislated and mandated pain is happily coinciding with our district digging in its heels over a modest raise despite running a huge surplus this year. Not only are we expected to do a better job under worse conditions than ever, they expect us to do it on a food stamp budget. 

So while I hate the big government stupidity that handed down these enormous problems, I'm still going to gladly march with my union. How is that for being a conflicted democrat with five weeks until election day?

Job Creators

So we can't have higher taxes on the wealthiest 1% of Americans because they are the job creators. America has listened. This class enjoys the lowest tax rate EVER. And all this during a lousy economy and a war.

So create some jobs already.

This same group continues to blame the current administration for the poor economy. But it doesn't take a genius to realize that the economy is primarily poor because people are employed. Yes, yes you can argue that other causes started the downward cycle, but the main issue now is just that too many people aren't working, spending, paying taxes, etc.

The self-proclaimed "job creators" can't have it both ways. Either they can create jobs with that huge pile of cash they are sitting on and/or sharing on bonuses and take all the credit, or they cannot actually create jobs and therefore blame Obama for the bad economy. Since the most vocal choose to blame the Administration, then is the other also true? That they actually cannot create jobs? And if they can't, then why should they get extra breaks?

They might sign the paycheck at the end of the day, but roads and buses take those people to work. Public schools and colleges educate their workers. Fire fighters and police ensure their safety. Enormous tax breaks are given when they actually DO hire.

I'm not without humor. A comedian on Jon Stewart some months ago said, "Republicans are job creationists. We know the rich create jobs. Democrats just believe that jobs evolve from millions of years of stimulus packages." I want to vote for a politician who knows that the path forward is neither road . . . it is the middle road. This is increasingly the road less taken.

The Collective

Let's talk about Ayn Rand today, shall we?

Her's is a name we hear sometimes, often associated with her two most famous works "The Fountainhead" and "Atlas Shrugged." It is a name that might come up occasionally in the next few months, as Paul Ryan (VP candidate) has sometimes said he is an ardent supporter. He has dramatically changed his tune in the last few months, citing his reported support of her philosophy as an "urban legend." However, in remarks made a few years ago to a society dedicated to her teachings he is on record as saying, "I grew up reading Ayn Rand and it taught me quite a bit about who I am and what my value systems are and what my beliefs are. It has inspired me so much that it's required reading in my office for all my interns and staff . . . ." (It isn't clear which novel/pamphlet he is referencing there) ". . . . The reason I got involved in public service, by and large, if I had to credit one thinker, one person, it would be Ayn Rand. And the fight we are in here, make no mistake about it, is a fight of individualism versus collectivism."  

So why is it important now that he distance himself? After all, what he said there merely points to an over-riding philosophy of individual rights versus collective good--the very debate many politicians wish to frame right now. (Aside: the weird thing is, of course, that which side a politician is on depends on the issue. Democrats want individual rights when it comes to marriage, reproduction, privacy, and actual, you know, individuals, etc. Republicans want individual rights when it comes wealth, business practice and, you know, corporations recognized as individuals, etc. So neither side really has a very good claim to individualism vs. collectivism. End aside.) Why is he so antsy?

Well, quite simply, Ayn Rand's fundamental philosophy, without apology, is anti-Christ. She rejected Communist economic theory wholly and completely when she immigrated to the United States (with childhood scars over her parents' crushed entrepreneurial hopes). What she did not reject, however, was the Marxist assertion that "religion was the opiate of the people." But whereas Marx believed that perfect, collective government control was the antidote to religion, Rand asserted that the real antidote was pure, unbridled capitalism where self-interest was the most important value.

Lest you fear my own progressive tendencies have caused me to misread Ms. Rand, here are a few more famous quotes/anecdotes.plots:

Her first novel was quite widely-read, though very controversial, and made into a movie. She was very angry when the following line was cut from the climax scene, because she found it the most important line her protagonist had to say, "I wish to come here and say that I am a man who does not exist for others." 

"Achievement of your happiness is the only moral purpose of your life, and that happiness, not pain or mindless self-indulgence is the proof of your moral integrity, since it is the proof and the result of your loyalty to the achievement of your values."

"From the smallest necessity to the highest religious abstraction, from the wheel to the skyscraper, everything we are and everything we have comes from one attribute of man--the function of the reasoning mind."

"I swear, by my life and my love of it, that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine."

"If any civilization is to survive, it is the morality of altruism that men have to reject."

She condemned much of our great and classic Western literature and proved herself to be rather poorly read, much more interested in movies than books. She descried Anna Karenina as the most "evil book in serious literature." 

One of her novels refers to people outside free-market entrepreneurs as "moochers," "looters," and "college-infected parasites." 

Her first novel is about a man who is uninterested in money, only in preserving the integrity of his ideas. She drops this pretense by the second novel and casts millionaires, barons and tycoons as her protagonists, portraying them as the true oppressed minority.

It seems she followed her philosophy of self-interest to the end: she lived in an open marriage (with a long and well-known affair with one of her many acolytes who headed up what he ironically called a "collective" of her worshipers), isolated herself from anyone who bothered or disagreed with her, cut-off relationship after relationship with those who might have helped her. What she never did was start a business. Hmmm.

Am I cherry-picking? Of course. I am making a point. Liberals have sometimes quoted her too when it comes to individual rights and choice and privacy. She is the mother of Libertarianism, and in times past, libertarians were as likely to vote Democratic as Republican. Part of the difficulty in the Republican party of late is the very real distance between pure Libertarians and the Christian right. One side would legislate nothing, the other side would legislate nothing but morality. 

So what is the point? I think Rand's overriding philosophy is inherently dangerous and at odds with true Christianity. Has she said some good things? Certainly. In thousands of written (rambling) pages even somebody like Rand might stumble on some truth. My deep dislike of her philosophy is personal too. I must admit to carrying deep resentment of anybody who says that somebody is "too smart to be a Christian." It is at that moment I need to repeat the mantra: charity never judgeth, charity never judgeth . . . .

To conclude I'd like to contrast two quotes. The first is from Rand who said this, "It only stands to reason that when there's sacrifice, there's someone collecting the sacrificial offerings. Where there is service, there is someone being served. The man who speaks to you of sacrifice is speaking of slaves and masters, and intends to be the masters." Rand was speaking of both government and God. Don't get me wrong, I have no delusions that the government has as much right as God to demand sacrifice. My argument is that any philosophy that leads us to believe that all forms of sacrifice (yes, even taxes) are wrong, eventually will lead us away from God too. When we are led away from God, we cease to love our fellow man. Here is the second quote, from Joseph Smith, " a religion that does not require the sacrifice of all things never has the power sufficient to produce the faith necessary unto life and salvation." 

When Plantboy and I were married, we were told that marriage over the altar symbolized the need to lay all we are on the altar of sacrifice for the good of our partner and our family. Rand's philosophy would have us take and take and take and find all our happiness in serving only our own self-interest. To use our agency to glorify only ourselves. Christ taught the opposite: to give and give and give and find all our happiness in service to God by serving others. To give our agency back to God and glorify Him.

I'm not saying I have arrived there by any stretch of the imagination, but I think I have a clear idea which direction I would like to be headed. And in the short term, that most decidedly means NOT voting for a candidate who EVER said his philosophy was primarily influenced by Rand. To now say otherwise is a flip-flop that should make even Romney blush.

Too Much?

I know that we are supposed to always serve joyfully. Whenever and whatever asked.

Lately I've been struggling with that.

I recognize that some of this is of my own making. My involvement in last night's Pinewood Derby is a case in point--I wanted it to be nice for my own kid and took too much on myself that might have been easily and (equally successfully) delegated. There are areas to simplify my own service and if I'm not happy then I can see places I need to make changes.

My husband on the other hand ends up a little bit more stuck than I do. He is the Elders' Quorum President and I'm surprised by how much of his calling-time is made up of things that others need/ask/want him to do. Outside of his regular meetings he ends up doing a lot of visiting--either as a stand-in Home Teaching companion or with his presidency to get to families that haven't been visited in many months. He does exchanges with the missionaries and teaches the quorum on a regular basis. This is in addition to his regular home teaching route. This spring, in the last month or two on Saturdays, he's been to three moves and been the only one from our ward to show up at a service assignment at the stake camp, He also had to work one Saturday. Not long ago I heard him pray for a Saturday to open up so he could get his stuff done around the house. Not fun stuff, mind you . . . mostly stuff for me.

He has planned to rip out the floor and toilet in our bathroom, and last Saturday finally was free for him to do it. In the middle of the week he checked an email message that had come through the previous Saturday (he doesn't check his email very often.) It was a "reminder" that his Elders' Quorum was responsible for taking down the Stake Relief Society activity in the middle of the day on Saturday! He contacted the person and asked her how on earth it could be a reminder when this was the first he'd heard of it. She explained that she is a fairly new secretary and that she was told that there was an assignment calendar that was supposed to be good through 2017 (!!) and somehow none of the current EQ presidents seemed to have a copy of it.

Plantboy sent out the word to his email group--a mixed response proposition at best and said to me with a tired sigh, "I thought the whole point of those round tables was that sisters were supposed to be able to set them up and take them down on their own?" I had heard this somewhere once myself.

I was reminded of being in the young women's and being constantly bombarded with service requests--can't the girls just volunteer to babysit for such-and-such activity? For couples to go to the temple? Won't the girls serve at the Christmas dinner? We know there is an activity, church and fireside this week but we also need them on Thursday night to hold a meeting about. . . . You get the gist. I sometimes felt that the girls ended up so over-committed because they were seen as perpetually available and willing to those not in their lives.

I recognize that some of what my husband has going on is directly related to the fact that our ward experiences a particularly low activity rate--something perhaps most pronounced among the elders. He can't compel them to serve, of course, nor can he seem to stop the constant bombardment of requests to do more service.

So here are the questions I have. When is it okay to say "no?" Is it okay to say it even if you know it means that something won't be accomplished? Something somebody else views as really important? When we raise hands to sustain somebody, what is the extent of that? Does it mean that I need to babysit for a friend whose husband is out of town nearly every week when she is supposed to be at Young Women's? Even if being asked to do so makes me wonder why she said yes/was asked in the first place? When does all the doing take away from the "why" of the Gospel?

Just in case you were wondering: Plantboy did not help on Saturday, and only two men showed up to help. I didn't go to the RS activity: I chose to spend the afternoon working on scrapbooks with a friend. When we got to Church on Sunday we realized that we had forgotten a building-cleaning assignment. The reminder had come in the mail Friday, which I had failed to check.

Really? Calling People Pinko is so 1950.

I might not make it until November without my head exploding.

Maybe literally.

Figuratively is bad enough.

A Republican house member from Florida was in his home state this week and said that "about 78-81" Democratic members of Congress were Communists.

On how many levels is this just insane?

Is there a consipiracy?
Do they have horns or something?
Where does this bizarrely specific number even come from?
Do they carry cards?

My other new favorite is all the candidates who have pledged to vote a certain way AHEAD OF TIME. I'm not talking about campaign rhetoric--these pledges are something else entirely. This is signing their names to back positions before they see a bill. Before they discuss a bill. Before stopping to consider what might be best for the voters. They are selling out instead to the PACS with all the money. This is such thinly veiled vote buying that it makes me fear for the future of our country. Where are the statesmen??

Mitt Romney has committed both in writing and in words to a lot f these. The linked article is an editorial, and admittedly, a bit inflammatory, but it presents some really important questions. Who will really be running the country if he is elected? The money makes me sick. I know. . . . I know . . . those of you more right leaning can make the argument the other direction: who is running it now? The to-the-right answers range from socialists to communists to unions to intellectuals. But if I had to choose, I think I'll take my chances with the unions and intellectuals over the banks and oil companies.

Whackadoodle Sunday

Between the most overtly political talk I've ever heard in Church (can you guess which party he advocated for in his talk about self-reliance?) and the singing "If You Could Hie to Kolob" during the rest hymn, I can't help but understand why people think we are a little . . . . um . . . . out there.

Then the last speaker spoke about his mother's conversion. Generous to a fault, his mother ended up feeding the Mormon elders one Friday night. They left her a copy of the Book of Mormon. Being a curious and voracious reader she finished it by Saturday afternoon. She was baptized on Sunday and has never, in thirty years, looked back once. He shared scripture after scripture from the Book of Mormon and bore his own powerful testimony. I felt the Spirit. I thought of my own many and remarkable encounters with the Book of Mormon, and I remembered why I love this Church so much.

But I still might have to say something to somebody about that shocking talk . . .

Looking Forward to the Next Parenting Crisis

Alternately Titled: What I Would Do With the $100 Million Jackpot

Jedi Knight has been taking karate since September. I chose this particular dojo, out of several choices, because its flexibility is awesome. He can go any day of the week because the general beginners' class is offered at the same time each day. He can go four times monthly, and if I up my monthly payment, he could go as often as he wanted. It has been good for him. He has learned some discipline and focus. He is getting better all the time. Some of the instructors I like better than others, though admittedly I don't get to stay and watch him as often as I like, so I'm not always sure how his classes go down.

What I had not counted on was the karate being quite as . . . well. . . self-important as the folks running the dojo make it seem. I appreciate that it is serious to them. That it is not a game or a costume party. But what I'm not crazy about is the secretary who makes me feel like a pariah when I ask questions about the way things work regarding advancement, etc. I sometimes feel like every other parent in the place kind of gets what is going on and I don't. My questions are often met with a combination of incredulity-condescension-and "well, duh!" I'm still trying to get a read on the place because JK likes it. Quite a lot.

A bit more background and then we'll address my current situation at karate. I am a hyper-modest girl. I'm not sure how this happened. My mom didn't necessarily really push this, although there was a pretty strong level of embarrassment regarding anything related to body stuff. For whatever reason, I entered puberty very reluctantly and slowly. I was angry when my friends threw over books, Barbies and school for boys, clothes and hair. By age 10 I was practically barricading myself in the bathroom when it came time for bathing or showering. If I took too long, somebody would always bang on the door threatening to use the butter knife to break in if I didn't hurry. Bra-shopping (at least six months too late) and menarche (at least a year too early) were nightmares of mortification, in which I never wanted to look my mother in the eye again.

Enter seventh grade gym class.

Until we toured the school, it had never occurred to me that we might be required to shower in a group. I was shocked and horrified. My public pool experience was pretty limited and the before pool showering we did was always in the little outside showers. Which word is stronger than mortification? Like you probably did, I learned to change my clothes without ever actually taking my other clothes off. I learned to shower wearing underwear and just wrapping myself in a towel. My feet were always very clean. . . .

I observed a couple of things. First of all, the only girls comfortable wandering the locker room in bra and panties were the cute/popular/boyfriended girls. I was not one of these. Unfortunately, most of my friends were, and it is safe to say that the girls in my locker aisle (which we could choose) were probably the most with-it group of our class start to finish. It is a group I somehow always managed to be on the fringe of and would end up rooming with at college some years later. Some of these women are still my close friends and I love them dearly, though I'm never really quite sure how they were my group to begin with. (Oh, man, this is a whole new set of hang-ups today. I need a new label called "Living in 1987.")

Ah hem. Back to the topic. My second observation from my locker room days is that the only girls comfortable showering uninhibited in front of everyone were the girls who already carried very bad reputations before we turned 13. I still remember this one girl . . . .

Okay, let's not go there.

Our gym teacher complained that somebody stunk. I thought it was a stupid accusation: I didn't smell anyone, and none of us were working hard enough to actually sweat. Still, she stood with the clipboard to watch each of us shower. For a grade. She later uncloseted as a lesbian.

Really.

College was awkward with the same pretty friends and their low inhibitions. Why is it easier to put on makeup in just a bra then it is just to put on a shirt, for crying out loud?? Now I live with four men, but my modesty principles have not loosened up much. Even when my kids were babies I didn't let them in the shower, or even the bathroom with me. I would lock them into the bouncy seat just outside the door and jealously guard my private time. My modesty. When my midwife and I went over the birth plan for my first baby, I mentioned my modesty hang ups and, bless dear Happy Barnes (my midwife's actual name), she was so careful while I labored. At the public pool we regularly attend now I always use the family restroom, even when I only have my three year-old with me. The sight of women changing in front of one another and their daughters and their young sons is really pretty horrible to me. Nursing was perpetually awkward for me and I was never really comfortable doing so in front of other people.

Out in public we cover, cover, cover. Why is it that the moment we step into a changing room it is okay to . . . . and I don't think I'll ever quite get over going to early morning water aerobics with my 70ish grandmother and her friends. I wish I had gone out into the 20 degree morning in my damp hair and clothes rather than be haunted by the elephantine memories of that public dressing room experience.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying this is necessarily right or normal and certainly not any kind of an LDS requirement for virtuous living. It is just me.

And because parents do, I have transmitted some of this to my kids. Jedi Knight showers with the door shut and often locked. He is bothered when people enter his room while he is changing. I have urged bathroom privacy for each child. We have decided to be a non-sleepover family and have spoken with all the kids at length about when and for whom it is appropriate to change your clothing.

Back to karate. When we started karate in the summer, they were meeting in a small and temporary dojo while construction was completed on another. Each child wore their "gi" (the white outfit) to karate. We were careful with it--ONLY to and from karate and kept clean and folded. In mid-October, the new dojo opened and we began going there. I noticed that a lot of kids in the class after JK changed at karate. Maybe even a majority. There is some kind of a group changing area with lockers in one area. Because the next class is comprised of teenagers and adults, I assumed they changed at the dojo because they came from school or work and it was convenient.

Not necessarily so, as I was firmly told on Monday. You see, everyone at the dojo is required to wear street clothes, and change there. Everyone. I was told that there are some lingering kids still making the mistake of changing at home because they allowed it over the summer. Not only is JK my modesty-boy, but he is also very resistant to change. I could see him shutting down as strict-secretary-girl was laying down the law. She explained her reasoning--the Gi is not a costume, they stay cleaner, the kids take greater responsibility, etc. etc. She confirmed that even the four and five year olds at his class are changing their clothes, in the group room, prior to class.

I explained to her that he and I had spoken a lot about modesty and that he had been instructed never to change clothes in front of other people. That it was a thing our family valued. She emphasized that she monitored the room carefully while kids were in there and listened for any talk that wasn't related to changing, and that it was a RULE for crying out loud. Seeing my discomfort, the dojo owner remarked that it would be appropriate for him to change in one of the stalls in the men's bathroom. I conceded that this would work.

Now if I can just convince Jedi "I'm-not-really-comfortable-with-this" Knight that he can go for the compromise.

On my way home from the encounter, all of my horrible junior high PE emotions came back to me. I went to college the year of the huge Skyview High scandal that brought hazing in high school sports into the national spotlight and began a discussion about where does "boys will be boys" cross the line into brutalizing sexual harassment. In a classic case of blame the victim, the young man was told that unless he apologized to the team for having sought police involvement in the case, then he was off the team. The perpetrators didn't even get a slap on the wrist.

Recent studies and practices at some high performing middle schools demonstrate that doing PE in the morning (actual PE, not avoid-the-dodge-ball-and-gossip-for-25-minutes) increases academic performance. I'm a believer in this. The dream school I design in my head all of the time is a 6-12. PE and Health would be a major part of the required curriculum. Every year. Equipment. Classes. Martial Arts. Nutrition. Disease. etc. . . . but if something couldn't be done about completely re-envisioning locker rooms, I could never really get behind it. Individual showers. Stalled changing rooms. Gym teachers with more important tasks to fill their time than watching young kids shower to earn points.

We may have averted the karate crisis. I think by the time our next lesson rolls around I will have him talked into a compromise that works for the dojo and for our family.

But what will I do in middle school? When my quirky, smart, small boys who haven't been weaned onto a diet of team sports are confronted with a locker room dilemma which I find pretty offensive? A place that, almost by design, strives to separate the kids into a social stratification that persists for years and erodes self-esteem. Kids can be so cruel, and I've been around teenage kids more than a little bit. I know the kind on which some of them prey. They are the little men I love more than I love my own life. The system, as it stands, forces kids to be at their most vulnerable around one another just when they are getting smart enough to learn exactly whom they should never "strip" in front of.

Oh! I know we can't take away their hurts, but I don't want to throw them to the lions' den either!

Officially Filed Under "Duh"

This story appeared in my local newspaper today:

NASHVILLE, Tenn. - Billy Ray Cyrus says the Disney TV show "Hannah Montana" destroyed his family, causing his divorce and sending daughter Miley Cyrus spinning out of control.

In a December interview published in the Feb. 22 issue of GQ Magazine, Cyrus said he wished the show that launched his daughter to pop stardom had never happened.

"I hate to say it, but yes, I do. Yeah. I'd take it back in a second," Cyrus said. "For my family to be here and just be everybody OK, safe and sound and happy and normal, would have been fantastic. Heck, yeah. I'd erase it all in a second if I could."

Cyrus and his wife, Tish, filed for divorce in October. They have three kids together — Miley is the oldest — and two from Tish's previous marriage.

Billy Ray Cyrus said when he asked about the rumored video footage of his daughter smoking from a bong at her 18th birthday party in December, he was told it was none of his business. He refused to attend the party, saying it was wrong to have it in a bar.

Cyrus says in the interview that he tried too hard to be a friend instead of a parent to his daughter. He said he is scared for Miley and compared her current path to those of other stars whose lives ended tragically, including Kurt Cobain, Anna Nicole Smith and Michael Jackson.

"I should have been a better parent," Cyrus said. "I should have said, 'Enough is enough — it's getting dangerous and somebody's going to get hurt.' I should have, but I didn't. Honestly, I didn't know the ball was out of bounds until it was way up in the stands somewhere."

He said his entire family was baptized before leaving Tennessee for Los Angeles to protect themselves from evil, and he believes Satan is attacking his family."

Are there ANY circumstances under which you would encourage your child to become a star, or even attempt to go that direction? Is it possible for ANY teenager to properly grow up with such public scrutiny and money? I saw True Grit last weekend, and was astounded at the depth of talent and intelligence clearly on display by the young actress in the film. I am with a recent critic of the Academy Award nominations who said that is wasn't clear "exactly WHOM Hailee Steinfeld was supporting" indicating that she clearly deserved to be in the "Best Actress" category. With Miss Cyrus I've always thought, "What are her parents thinking???" and with Miss Steinfeld I can't help but think how awful it would be if she goes the same direction.

Maybe there is hope. Miss Steinfeld reports that her parents insisted she go to bed on time the night of the news release concerning Awards nominees. When her name was on the list, they came into her room and told her. The night that Miley Cyrus' most recent movie was released? She was seen lap-dancing with the director at a wrap party. She was 16. Her parents were not at the party. Satan can't get in your house unless somebody hands him the keys.

Your Daily PSA. Or two.

I scaled back on my feelings about Tiger Mom in the comment section of the piece I wrote on the subject a couple of weeks ago. I think I might have gone too far in the scaling back department. Elizabeth Kohlbert reviewed the actual book for The New Yorker this week. Things were made clearer for me. The book is meant to be a memoir, and not a parenting manual, but Kohlbert maintains that any introspection and changing done by Tiger Mom is brief and half-hearted. Despite the reviewer's subtly disguised distaste for Ms. Chua's parenting approach, she also cites the most recent, dismal findings of how American children in the current generation are stacking up against their global counterparts. There is no justification for how poorly American children are doing academically. There is no justification for calling your children garbage when they come in second on a multiplication test either.

What is clear is that some sort of middle ground must be found soon.

Your second public service announcement is not really for the public, but it will make me feel better.

Note to the newspaper customer with the hundred year-old dog that manages, somehow, to almost daily escape the airtight security you insist exists in your backyard: I don't care how harmless you insist Houdini-dog is. I still don't want her sniffing me. Especially there. And especially at four-thirty in the morning. Oh, I hear you chuckling on the phone, insisting that your gray-muzzled beauty is harmless, and telling me it is ridiculous to be afraid of her. I'm not afraid of her! But why should delivering your paper for the dizzying sum of a dime a day cause me to bring home fleas and need to see the vet for my own, special case of mange?


Now back to your regularly scheduled life.

Home. With Souvenirs.

Where to even start? The thing with blogging is that I do it a lot when I have little to say and plenty of time to say it. Today, for example, I have a hundred things I could say and Christmas already breathing heavily down my neck. (I guess that puts Christmas on the "naughty" list.)

In an attempt to organize my thoughts, I will break up my experiences the post into two categories--Awesome. Not Awesome.

Awesome

1. San Fransisco. What a cool city. I would dearly love to go and visit with a few girlfriends next spring to see a show and more of the city. We decided to go the public transport route, which was a good choice, but it also meant that there were parts of the city we couldn't really get to. The weather was gorgeous and sunny. It wasn't the easiest place to take kids, but seeing their faces as they climbed in and out of the submarine was pretty great.

2. Exchanging presents with my sister that we have been collecting and/or making for months . With one sickish child and one baby, she had a very long and difficult week.

3. Meeting up with my family at Disneyland on November 15, which also happens to be my youngest brother's birthday. It was a blast to wait in line for the Peter Pan Ride with each other, swapping stories and joking with one another. We told my mom that for his birthday next year (he'll be 30) we are expecting a cruise! After all, we teased her, he IS the baby and still the favorite. We broke into a spontaneous birthday song while my forever mocking youngest sib turned red with embarrassment. Too bad we forgot to pick up one of these:


And don't forget these bad boys:
4. Everything about California Adventure. That place is really wonderful. I had more fun there than in Disneyland. I loved the way it was all lit up at night down by the water, like an old-fashioned amusement park. A couple of really fun "big-kid" rides are over on that side. We got to see the World of Color show, wherein Disney magic uses a wall of water instead of a screen on which to project images from their shows. (Now available on DVD!!) I thought they should have ended with "Paint With All the Colors of the Wind" however, instead of the cheesy written-for-the-show number called "World of Color" set to the princess-fest images.

5. Seeing the Jedi Knight really come out of his shell as one of the big kid cousins. He tried every "scary" ride except for one and for the most part really loved them, working out some complicated ranking system for the rides. The only one he didn't love was Space Mountain. "That was the worst experience of my life!" he said more than once when he came out. Still, it didn't scar him too bad. He told somebody the other day that the vacation, as a whole, was the "best experience of his life."

6. Mostly short lines and gorgeous, temperate weather. Don't tell anyone, but the week before Thanksgiving is the time to go.

7. Watching all four cousins who wanted to participate get picked for the Jedi show at the same time. One of the boys has tried four times. Jedi Knight stared down a very realistic Darth Maul, with no small amount of terror in his face, but his training kicked in and he didn't join the Dark Side, I'm happy to report. I have had some worry on that point.

8. Shamu. Duh. The Youngling had picked up a stuffed Shamu after the first show and carried her around all day. When we went to another Shamu show, he acted out all of Shamu's best "moves" with his stuffy. Youngling has hardly been able to part from her since we got home.

9. Spending the night with my lovely cousin in San Diego. She holds a very special place in my heart, and we relate to one another on a level that isn't always there with other members of my extended family. Her kids were hilarious and an instant bond was struck with five boys ages 3 to barely 9. I remembered just how much I liked her husband and how grateful I am to the Angel who sent him to her. I wish we could see them more often. Maybe they need to come north next time--a house on the coast would be just the thing when the 100 degree days rage across southern California again next summer.

10. Rides. Even the stupid ones. I love rides. I love getting scared out of my mind and leaving my stomach at the top of a ledge or slope or loop. I love the cheesy blacklight Disney paraphernalia and the ridiculously dated animatronics. I fell down at the end of each day just as exhausted as my children. It is remarkable what eight hours of sleep every night for a week can do to your outlook. Oh, and not having to cook a single meal.

11. Legoland. Everything about it. Everything. My kiddos were the perfect ages and we were able to see nearly all of the park in just a day. JK got the hard-to-find set of Legos that he's been saving months and months to buy. He was so happy.


12. Park food. Really. I don't think we had a bad meal inside any of the parks. We were pretty selective, and you do pay through the nose for it (what does that mean, anyway? If they would take what was coming through my nose then why didn't we just spend that?), but I felt like we at least didn't have to eat disgusting or greasy food. I especially loved my broccoli cheddar soup in a Boudin bread bowl on our last, cold night in California Adventures. Little did we know just what that chill in the air was going to mean!

13. The matching shirts that made my mom so happy and were a source of endless amusement.

Not Awesome

1. Getting lost in San Fransisco while trying to navigate our way to a hotel, and then a busy Saturday in the city with three kids.

2. Waiting 40 minutes for Peter Pan (almost the worst line of the week!) only to create an absolute terror of the dark in Padawan. The rest of the week, the question that preceded each ride was, "Is it dark?" Mostly I was truthful, but my memory from so many years back wasn't great and we made a few mistakes. For future reference, if you tell a youngish child that Splash Mountain will "not get them very wet, isn't dark, and isn't scary," then you are lying through your teeth.

3. Missing most of the Dolphin show because Plantboy took JK down to the "splash zone" while I sat with the little ones who got too hot and had too much sun in their eyes. We walked across the stadium and down to the shade, risking the splash zone wrath. We'd been seated for about 40 seconds when the Youngling had to pee. In fact, much of the whole trip seemed to involve either Plantboy or myself hunting desperately for a public toilet, and then convincing him that the gaping, noisy hole wouldn't suck his tiny butt right down. I quickly realized that all exits, except those at the TOP of the 50 stairs I'd just come down were closed. I ran him to the top, found my mom to sit next to Padawan and circled around the whole stadium to find a toilet that was 20 feet the opposite direction. "No accidents mom!" Back up the stairs to the top of the stadium and back down. I caught less than ten minutes of the Dolphin show. Raspberries.

4. Too many people EVERYWHERE. California is a nice place to visit very occasionally, but wouldn't want to live there. Twice this year (Redwoods, March) was ample.

5. The matching shirts that made my mom so happy and were a source of endless amusement.

Souvenirs

In this blog, I have tried to take the experiences I have on the journey and try to learn from them. Memories and lessons are, after all, the best souvenirs. After one particularly long letter from my mission, my mother wrote to say that I was the kind of person who "could glean a lot of living out of ordinary experiences." I think she meant it as a compliment, though sometimes I wonder if she was saying that I needed to just stop over thinking things!

To the purpose of gleaning some living, I'd like to share about our last day of vacation. The original plan had been to drive to Sacramento on Saturday and then the rest of the way home Sunday. This would break the trip into two 7-8 hour legs. Upon finding out the Primary Program was that Sunday, and consulting with the kids, we were in agreement--we had to be back on Sunday. It was better all around--we would avoid LA traffic completely by leaving at 3 in the morning, we would arrive home in time for everyone to have a good night's rest, and the kids would sleep at least a third of the ride in the car.

As of Redding, California, we were right on track, even with a long lunch. We were about 150 miles from the border and my calculations put us home at about 7 o'clock. Just time for grilled cheese sandwiches and bed. Then the snow started.

And didn't stop.

We got to the top of the pass in the Cascades in a near standstill. I was shaking like a leaf when we came to the road worker near an exit called Pollard Flats. (Don't bother finding it on the map; I don't think it is a real city. Just a gas station with a greasy spoon diner inside. And a bathroom. Thank heavens for that.

It was about four o'clock and here is the information we had: I-5 North was closed down for several miles while they tried to clear a wreck despite the ice and snow. Plows hadn't been down there yet. Nobody was going through without chains. "It might be open in an hour. It might be closed for three days. You just never know."

In short, we had very little information. We did, however, have chains. Why we had them defies all logic. Dressed in our southern California gear--I was in a light, matchy sweatsuit and Plantboy in shorts and a tee shirt--we figured out how to put the chains on using the waterproof (thank goodness for that) instructions.

While struggling to tighten the chains with numb fingers and soaked to the knees, I had a major epiphany. I knew that in just a couple of minutes I would be able to get inside the car and turn the heat all the way up if needed. We could go into the station and get some hot chocolate to warm the inside too. Even in the worst case scenario we'd be home safe and snug in bed in a few days. My kids were warm and dry. We had a full gas tank in the event that we'd need to run the car all night. We had food in the car and a few clean clothes.

I thought about my pioneer ancestors and bit back complaint. I thought about how pathetic and modern and useless I am.

After consulting with the kids, who were completely broken-hearted at the prospect of missing Sunday, we prayed at length and comforted one another. Prayer finished, we looked up to see five snowplows getting ready to head north. Miracles come in many forms.

But still we waited. I reminded Padawan about his talk for the next day: how Nephi was obedient even when it was hard. We decided we would do the same. An iPod with video capability, a charged laptop, the DVD player and a couple of good books didn't hurt our patience a bit. We ended up with two more bathroom stops. I reminded myself to be grateful even as I tried desperately not to touch anything in the filthy public restroom, even when the power went out while I was on the commode. There was a tub in there, which was odd enough, but somebody had hilariously added a really grotesque mannequin to it. Just weird. And don't get me started on the bumper stickers papering the walls; I really am grateful that the kind of folks of Pollard Flats decided to come to work that day.

Three hours later we gratefully left that little town, crawling along at 30 mph (speed limit 70) for the 70 miles it took to get to Weed, California. Yes, really. We de-chained two-hundred miles from home. It was 10:30 pm and we had to change drivers three more times to keep from falling asleep. Plantboy and I went to bed at 2 am.

But we were on time for church. Padawan's talk was wonderful and perfect. His little freckly face spoke straight from his heart and my own spirit was deeply touched.

Our six hour delay taught me so much.

* Before I knew what was happening, my stress was so palpable that I could, quite literally, feel my muscles stiffening as my heart beat faster and faster. Once we had something to DO, even something as miserable as trying to put chains on our van, I felt so much better. So stress will kill me, but when I'm busy I don't feel stressed. It has helped me to see that the fog I've felt for the last year or so is probably because of uncertainty. Having plenty to do is not the problem.

* Being exhausted and stressed makes me snarly and mean. Plantboy, patient man, is still kind to me. By the time we snuggled into our covers in the wee hours of Sunday morning, I couldn't believe how blessed I am to be married to him. And while this isn't a NEW revelation, certainly, it is always a good reminder.

* I need to get a lot better about letting go of things I cannot control. I tried a lot harder this last week to just take deep breaths when things get crazy and just be in the moment. I feel a lot better. More committed to what really matters. More conscious of the gifts I've been given.

Happy Christmas, all.

What? There's NO Bacon??? (Or How To Get Something For Nothing)

Don't you hate it when you witness a scene in public? You know what I mean--when somebody chooses not to follow those nice, polite rules laid down (either physically or in unspoken ways) by society? I witnessed one such scene a couple of weeks before Christmas at the Louetta Post Office in northwest Houston some years ago. The horrible discomfort of the situation lingers with me still. In all fairness to the offending parties--it is probably the busiest post office in the country. I never waited less than 20 minutes in line there, and on that day it was probably closer to a 40 minute wait. The title is dubious, to be sure, but I'm sure anyone who has ever lived in that area will back me up here. That ugly moment of social discomfort brought new meaning to the phrase "going postal."

Fast forward to the Hampton Inn in Nampa Idaho last month.

After our late night foray into Turner Movie Classics, we pulled those wonderful hotel black-out curtains tightly shut and we all slept until nearly 9 a.m. This is no small feat for my clockwork children. Breakfast only ran until ten, so we quickly dressed and went down. (Side note--Hampton Inn has the best 'continental' breakfast I've ever been to. Just a little public service announcement when you are trying to travel on the cheap.)

As we arrived late, some items they typically have were gone, like bacon, though there were still plenty of sausages and I-wish-I-was-real-egg-omelets. I was unconcerned about the bacon crises, not being much of a hot breakfast eater myself. When there was only about ten minutes to go in the breakfast, I noticed a couple come to the little area. I noticed because she had fantastic hair and a very cute dress. What she didn't seem to have was a kind word or expression for her hapless companion as she went off at him about the fact there was no bacon.

He tried to placate her, but she ignored him and found instead the sweet breakfast server girl who, with a lobby still full of breakfasting guests was unable to clean up the area yet. The young woman apologized profusely for the lack of bacon and took some really mean abuse with quite a lot of dignity. Upon being offered some freshly cooked sausage, Cute Hair/Mean Face gritted her teeth and declared, "I can't eat sausage!" She then threw her napkin on the table, stormed from the breakfast area declaring loudly, "I'm speaking to a manager!"

I was reminded of this clip that aired on Conan O'Brien last year. The clip is titled, "Everything is Amazing and Nobody Is Happy." The comic's point is that we have all this stuff-technology-privilege, but it hasn't fundamentally made us better or more grateful. He is really funny, but surprisingly profound at the same time. He talks about a guy next to him on the plane who is happy when he learns that the flight will have Internet, a new technology at the time. Some minutes into the flight, the flight attendant comes on the intercom to announce that the Internet will be down for the flight, due to technical difficulties. The guy next to him is completely hacked. The comic points out that the guy felt entitled to something that he didn't even know existed ten minutes before.

I've talked here before about my opinions on entitlement, and how it isn't just an attribute we should attribute to the "undeserving poor." We are quite possibly the most entitled society in the history of the world. As our financial "recovery" sputters along with the recent government data released I am struck again by the idea that our welfare system had nothing to do with the current state of the problems. Too many middle class Americans felt entitled to live in homes they couldn't afford, because don't we all seem to constantly be needing more room for all our stuff? Wall Street and banking executives responded by giving the people what they wanted--easy money--because the short term gains were enormous. After all, they all earned their MBA's and were running the system, weren't they entitled to make fifty million dollars a year?

I'm sure that King Benjamin could enlighten us on his ideas of entitlement. His amazing talk found on pages 147-157 of the Book of Mormon points out, sometimes with kindness and other times with sharpness, that any time we don't give the credit back to God for each and every blessing and act in a spirit of love and charity, we are behaving with a sense of entitlement. This idea is at odds with our entire society and financial system. The great challenge of modern life is learning charity (and teaching the same to our kids) in the face of overwhelming societal encouragement to acquire, out-compete, fit in and recreate.

In his book, Heart of Darkness, Conrad describes Brussels--one of the most progressive European cities of its age--as a "whited sepulcher." It is a biblical reference used by the Savior in reference to the Pharisees and hypocrites in general. It means that some things might be beautiful on the outside, but are dead and unclean on the inside. The surface of our society gets prettier all the time. Whiter and straighter teeth. Highlights and dye for just the perfect color. Gym memberships, plastic surgery and diet pills to keep us skinny despite the unnatural food that we eat. Beautiful, cheap, immodest clothes made far away in ugly places we don't have to think about to show off our time-consuming bodies. Suburbs filled with homes that would have been seen as mansions just a couple of generations ago. Cell phones that allow us to stay constantly connected to everybody and everything while simultaneously distancing us from true relationships . . .

As the surface gets showier, we die a little bit more inside.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not pointing my finger at you, or even really at Cute Hair/Mean Face. My musings here are to point the finger at me, to juxtapose my own sense of entitlement against Father-in-law's encouragement to consecrate. Aren't these two things, after all, the antithesis of one another? Entitlement says, "What do I deserve because I'm better than others?" Consecration says, "What can I give back because I'm equal with all of God's children?"

The manager visited Cute Hair/Mean Face in the lobby just as we were packing up the kids to leave the breakfast area. With much apologizing for the Great Nampa Bacon Shortage of 2010, she was given a free room next time she condescended to stay with Hampton Inn again. The first time I saw her expression change was the horrible smirk she gave as the manager walked away. I wondered momentarily if she was a con-artist. Maybe. Or maybe just overly-entitled.

Maybe there isn't actually much of a difference.

Stars Are People Too. Sort Of.

Last Friday Night, Plantboy and I watched the Hope For Haiti Telethon. The DVR has kept awards shows from being nearly as much fun as they used to be, as now we skip the awful performances instead of watching purely for mock value. Still, now and then we can't resist and we tuned in real-time to see who turned up at George Clooney's request (Oh! Pick me!), and if the iTunes $7.99 album price was really going to be worth another avenue for donating to organizations who are helping in the aftermath of the Haitian earthquake.

Of course you understand that any snark that follows here is not meant in any way to make light of the horrors still being experienced daily in Port Au Prince and surrounding areas. And I actually think that this kind of benefit concert-thing is one of the best uses of star power/influence/world domination/money. Still, it doesn't change the fact that when famous people get together, their self-importance borders on the ridiculous. Scratch that. It doesn't BORDER on ridiculous. It sets up camp right in the middle of Ridiculous. Or maybe permanent settlements.

If you missed the show, even better. You will come with no pre-conceived opinions and only listen to mine. (And so my own plan for world domination gains traction.)


And speaking of world domination, we should perhaps address Taylor Swift first. Nearly everybody wore black or gray or some variation on being appropriately somber. Ms. Swift wore white. I think she was adorable, and white can also be a color of mourning as well as hope. I liked it. She did a cool cover of a song by an alternative band, which is very interesting. Nothing to make fun of here, though Plantboy did say, "Do you think she ever actually eats?"



All right, all right, perhaps I should have saved the best for last, but I just couldn't help it. Kid Rock, Sheryl Crow and Keith Urban's cover of "Lean on Me" was just so amazing. Besides the fact that each of these singers has a fantastic voice, the harmony was sublime. Loved it. Worth the cost of the whole album, this, though each song is available on its own, too. And yet, as wonderful as it was, I wish the men had taken cue from Ms. Crow and buttoned their shirts up (even your snazzy, snappy, leather shirt Keith. That tatoo on your chest should be for Nicole's eyes only, if you know what I mean.) And who else thinks that Kid Rock might be bald?


While some stars are hairless, others are plainly suffering from a surfeit of hair. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Brad showed. I really expected he and the Angester to be down at the epicenter trying to adopt Haitian quintuplets. Maybe they wouldn't let him into the country on account of the creatures that he might be transporting in his face. Is this for a movie? Or is he making kind of a statement? And if it is a movie, I sat through three hours of him as an old man last year, I really don't think I could sit through one where he sports this disgusting mass this year. Maybe he grew the beard to distract the audience from that hat. Isn't he supposed to be cute? Honestly, what good IS Brad Pitt if he isn't cute?


I think this picture isn't actually from the performance as Mr. Timberlake sat at the piano the whole time. The song he sang, "Halleluja" has actually gotten the most downloads off iTunes. I think it is because this song has never before been released singly on iTunes--you can only buy it as part of an album or it is not available (except as an American Idol snippet from a few years ago), and let's face it, the song is awesome. Even if, I'm sorry to say, Justin, your fedora is not.

In an unrelated note, Justin T. looks a lot like my little brother, who I think is becoming a doctor, but maybe he has been tricking us all these years.



Ms. Roberts, you are just so cute, and though your hair is expertly colored, I really miss your red locks. (You too, Nicole. Why exactly DO women want to be blond?) I halfway wanted to call the telethon so that I could talk with Julia, but then I thought, "What are the odds?" When she gave her speech, she gave the horsey smile a rest and buttoned up that innocent looking coat only to reveal that the line of buttons was totally crooked. Not a pea coat, per se, but the coat definitely looked like something that might have come out of my 9th grade sewing class. Her hair was so disheveled it looked like she'd spent the afternoon in a wind tunnel. Plantboy said, "Oooo, boy, I don't think she went to wardrobe OR the wigmaster before getting on camera."

"Hello, hello. No we don't want your donation. You're Jewish. Isn't this somehow your fault?" Was that over the top? I'm sorry. I used to really like Mel Gibson, but in the last few years I've decided that he is just crazy as a loon. Again, isn't Mel supposed to be good looking? One day you wake up and realize that all of this once-hunky movie stars are older than your parents and it makes you weep.

Do you remember that really annoying shampoo commercial from some years ago wherein the sexy hair model said, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful?" And you were thinking, "I don't hate you because you are beautiful; I hate you because you are stupid." Okay, I have to own it. I hate these women because they are beautiful. *Grrrrr* All women are NOT created equal.

Sing it Coldplay. But give Brad his hat back when you are finished. His beard is lonely.

Yeah, she was awesome doing this song, even if my feeling toward her as a performer has never been anything but lukewarm. We knew a guy in Texas who went to high school with her in Pennsylvania. Every story he told about her contradicted the life story image her publicists have carefully constructed. Oh, and her hair was nearly black. And while nobody should be surprised to learn that shiny white is not an actual hair color, I'm just sayin' that Christina must have her roots done EVERY DAY.



I know that in real life these two are engaged, but it is just so weird to see Jim without Pam, and it is really hard for me to see laid-back midwestern guy with posh British girl. Still they look happy. I bet it lasts . . . . um . . . . four years. Practically an eternity in Hollywood terms.


Sting. Oh, Sting. How I love the Police. Which haven't been around since the 80's. And oh, Sting. How you keep coming back. If You Love Someone Set Them Free was good. Oh! And Fields of Gold takes me back to many spring time afternoons during my senior year of high school. Then there was that song they put on a car commercial a few years ago. Then there was the fiasco that was Friday night. We tried and tried to listen. You are STING after all, and it was a Police song. After about two very confusing and discordant minutes Plantboy said, "You know, his lyrics are really repetitive." Moments pass and then, "REALLY repetitive." We waited and waited while you did your version of wailing on your guitar and then one of us said (it is hard to remember; it may have been simultaneous), "This just really sucks."


When I put in a google image search for "Hope for Haiti Telethon" half of the first ten million hits (roughly) came back with the tortured and brooding vampire boy. Before your heart stops beating, no, Pattycakes refrained from singing. Thank whatever deity pleases you most here. He did, however talk. No, mumble. As if he wasn't hard enough to understand before (even in his native British), he has now grown a beard the size of a small hedgehog, the hair from his back finally winning the war for his face. The jury is still out if the beard is just giving up on shaving every day (this is probably 2-3 days' stubble for Sir Robert), or if his cameo role in New Moon made him realize that most girls prefer werewolves.

And is it ironic that in the books Edward is always referred to as marble smooth and Jacob is the big, hairy werewolf, when in person, these two characters are exactly the opposite? Taylor Lautner couldn't grow hair on his face if Bella's life depended on it.



Though she didn't during her speech on Friday night, apparently Nicole Kidman really CAN smile. But honestly, look who she is sitting with, what's not to smile about? Did I mention that Keith Urban performed? In a black, leather, snappy shirt? I wonder if he and Taylor Lautner see the same pluckist. (That is like a stylist for hair removal.)


And another. How did this one sneak in? I think this is from when he stole the show at last year's Idol finale.

"Want a beer, Keith?"
"No thanks Kid, I'm a recovering alcoholic."
"Cool. I'm just the regular kind of alcoholic."

Madonna only comes out at night. She is terrified of what the sun will do to her face. As Plantboy says, "She DOES take good care of herself."

And as Science Teacher Mommy says, "How much botox can one woman have before permanently paralyzing her face?" Or, "How much plastic surgery do you get before they just automatically enroll you in the witness protection program?"


Is that a stogie? Nice job Leo. What are you like, 60? He looks less like a Hollywood actor and more like someone on Saturday Night Live playing a Hollywood actor.

There is that tatoo. Okay, maybe it isn't so bad.

Another one? It is like somebody took over my computer and just started clipping and posting pictures of Keith Urban. Darn it.




Bono, dude, I love you man, but could you please offer some sort of explanation for why you suddenly cropped up ten years ago with sunglasses glued to your face? Everywhere?


I like me some bangs. So much, in fact, that I cut some into my own hair about a year ago. It was a great move and I have no regrets. I'm really liking Beyonce's bangs. But I wonder if she is? She kept her eyes closed during her entire song and I think it was because her bangs were in her eyes. She also sang one of those songs that clearly had the word Haiti inserted into older lyrics in order to create a last minute, "unique" song, that she wouldn't have to learn. It sounded like it was written in the limo on the way to the studio. Still, she sounded great and I'm really glad she didn't opt for the red lingerie in public look. Which she has been known to do.

Help! They are attacking me!

What is the deal with Anderson Cooper? Is he cute or just creepy looking? Is he old or young? Is he buff or geeky? Is he human or a robot? Liberal or factual?


This signature performance of the night was pretty good. I thought they didn't have Bono's mic turned up nearly high enough, though the sound of this song, with The Edge on guitar, was clearly very U2. Rihanna sang very well, considering how embarrassed she must have been to have forgotten her pants. I don't think she understood that just because you wear black doesn't mean you have actually toned down your look. When Bono held her hand at the end of their song, he started getting really into it and raised her arm slightly. I was convinced there was going to be a major wardrobe malfunction.

Now onto how I spent the rest of the weekend.

Saturday night I put together a meal that will knock your socks off and into the dryer. The preparation is relatively easy, but the result surpasses anything you could buy in a restaurant, if you could even find a meal like this anywhere. Bookmark this page and when you grocery shop before Valentine's Day, just keep in mind this sweet spread. No honey for Valentine's Day? No problem. Just gather your girlfriends close and indulge in this goodness together. You'll be too happy to care. But if the last scenario is the case, I highly recommend the chocolate dessert.

I may have posted one or two of these recipes before. My apologies.

Your preparation for the Meal of the Month needs to start the night before. Yes, I know it sound ludicrous, but it will be worth it, trust me. The preparations here are for four people.

Lemon-Rosemary Artisan Bread

Before going to bed the night before you will do the actual cooking for this dinner, combine three cups of all purpose flour, 1/2 tsp. of active, dry yeast, tsp of sugar, 1 3/4 tsp salt, 2 tsp chopped fresh rosemary and 2 tsp chopped lemon zest in a bowl. Stir in 1 3/4 cup warm water until the dough is shaggy and sticky. Let it raise in a lightly greased bowl, covered with plastic wrap for 18 hours. That is NOT a typo. We'll get back to the bread later.


Rosemary Chicken

Also before going to bed, place 4 raw chicken breasts in a pan that can be covered. Drizzle with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, juice from two lemons, garlic powder, chopped fresh rosemary and black pepper. Do you want specific amounts? Sorry. I also can't tell you to do it "to taste" because I am certainly not going to advocate eating raw chicken. Trust me, this is hard to mess up. If you balsamic vinegar is young, don't use as much because it tastes vinegar-y. If it is older, it will be sweeter and had more tangy richness and you can be a little bit more generous. (Note: Marinades with acid in them, like lime, lemon or vinegar can do a great job of tenderizing your meat if they are given ample time to sit on them.)

With about two hours to go before you are going to eat, turn your bread dough out on to a surface that is lightly floured and dusted with cornmeal. Do NOT knead, just shape it. I like to cook mine on a baking stone, though many similar recipes tell you to use a Dutch oven of some kind. I also like to divide my loaf in half and shape them long and skinny--somewhere between a baguette and a loaf. This makes them cook faster and easier to limit ourselves to just eating half the recipe in a single sitting. Place loaves (or loaf) on the the cooking surface, Cover with the plastic for another 90 minutes

Now you are going to make your first side dish--Cindy's Perfect Pasta Salad. This a shout out to my friend who gave me the recipe. She said this serves eight, but who is she kidding?

Boil 2 cups small pasta until tender. Drain and run with cold water. Combine 2 chopped large ripe tomatoes (or a pint of grape tomatoes), 1 diced red pepper, 1 small, slivered purple onion (or 4 green onions), 3/4 cup fresh cilantro (the ingredient that makes this dish unusual and wonderful), 1 large cucumber chunked up, and 1 can of black olives in a large bowl. In a small bowl combine 4 ounces of feta with 2 cloves crushed garlic, 1 1/2 Tbsp dried oregano and 2 Tbs fresh lemon juice. Whisk in a tbsp of olive oil until just blended. You still want much of the feta to be chunky. Pour over the salad and stir in the cooked pasta. Refrigerate.

This picture isn't exactly right, but it is close. We ate ours too fast for me to remember to photograph it. Imagine pasta where the tofu is.


Still with me? Heat up your oven to 400 degrees and turn on the grill. Bake two loaves for about 27 minutes--I like mine a little less dark and crusty than the picture below. A large loaf will take closer to 40 minutes.


While your bread is cooking, throw the chicken on the grill and steam some asparagus. (Stir-fried green beans and carrots would work too if your man resists asparagus the way mine does.) Pull the chicken off the grill and tent some foil over it if you don't quite have your table set yet.


Just before serving the asparagus, saute a couple of tablespoons of butter with a handful of pinenuts until golden brown. Pour them over your artfully arranged asparagus spears and squeeze the juice of a lemon over the top. Serve immediately.


For dessert, you should serve chocolate lava cake--which I gave the recipe for last year around Valentine's Day,



or you could make trifle. Kanaboke emailed me for my thoughts on trifle earlier this week and it got me thinking what a lovely contribution such a dessert would be to this meal. So here is Trifle: Science Teacher Mommy Style. (Yes, I know I lived in Australia for a year and a half, but don't kid yourself, this is the all-American version as they used Jell-O in Oz. I avoid Jell-O every chance I get.)

You need four ingredients for my trifle:

Pound Cake
Family Sized Vanilla Pudding Mix
Quart of heavy whipping cream
Mixed berries (Fresh if you have them. Frozen in you must.)

Cut your pound cake into cubes and set aside. Make your vanilla pudding with a mixer, using half milk and half cream. Put the milk in first until the pudding is all blended in and then add the cream slowly while you continue whipping. It will be super rich and fluffy. It doesn't soak into the cake as much this way and has more of a mousse-like texture. Actually, you should probably make two boxes worth, you want some left over for the trifle when you are done licking the spoons. Whip up a cup and a half of cream with just enough powdered sugar to barely sweeten. The pudding makes this plenty sweet, you want the cream to make it rich.

In a pretty glass bowl--a trifle bowl if you are awesome like that--layer cubed cake pieces on the bottom with pudding on top. Add a layer of berries then whipped cream. Repeat at least once (depending on the size of your dish and the number of people you are serving) and finish with the whipped cream layer. I like to smooth my creamy layers so that the end result is flat instead of lumpy and holds together a little bit better when you dish it out. Garnish with berries.

Die happy.