when I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide

A couple of kids in our ward are in the Mandarin immersion program at a nearby school, and I thought for a while about putting Willa in it, but then I despaired at the thought of having to run her back and forth every day for the next five years.  I am a lazy mom.  But also one of the moms is a giant drag and I don't want to have the forced intimacy of a carpool schedule with her.  Besides, I think that Spanish is as much the Language of the Future as Mandarin, and I can actually converse haltingly in elementary Spanish, so I think I'll just buy some textbooks and teach the kids a Spanish class once a week or something. 

Grant got on the basketball team he wanted, he is surviving middle school and getting excellent grades despite some of the teachers doing all they can to squash his love of learning, he is sometimes a jerk to his siblings, he doesn't practice his trumpet, he has been doing slightly better at getting up on time and feeding and watering the goats.  So, a mixed bag.  We take what we can get. 

Emmett loves school and life and is almost always happy except when I am making him eat cream of mushroom soup.  He does a slapdash job on his chores and incurs frequent fines for letting the chickens run out of water.  But because money actually matters to him, when we showed him the hole the fines had dug into his savings he got very wide-eyed and repentant. 

Ike is a child of contrasts.  Monday he was a turd and getting him to practice his piano was infuriating.  He sulked the entire afternoon.  Tuesday he came home and did his chores and practiced his piano right away without any nagging.  This morning he took 45 minutes to put on a shirt and barely caught the bus.  His two settings are happy and angry.  Hey--he must be my son! 

Willa is getting her claws out this afternoon.  I think we've finally succeeded with her.  It took a long time of wearing the mitten at night, but I think she's cured.  It helps that she's busy at school all day--it's when she gets bored that things get ugly.  I wonder how she'll do on our long drive to Mexico, since the car is like the most boring place you can be, and that's always been her hardest fight. 

John interviewed for and was offered a job at a different company but ended up not taking it.  It would have been fun, but there really are some very nice work/life balance benefits to working for the church.  Plus I like him working downtown--who wants to go out to lunch in West Jordan or whatever?  Not me. 

I love not being the PTA president.  It's nice to have only YW to worry about, because that is plenty of worry by itself.  Thankfully my Laurels are bright and inquisitive and happily engage in discussions during the lessons.  A couple of them are planning on serving missions, which is an exciting prospect.  I'm interested to see how the role of women in the institutional dealings of the church is going to evolve over the next little while.  My advisor Wendy and I do our best to disabuse them of incorrect notions regarding doctrine vs. custom, and hopefully it will help them find a space in the church that they can be comfortable and faithful in. 

keep smiling until then

We said hasta la vista to my sister tonight.  She's headed off on her mission for the next eighteen months, and we will miss her something fierce.  She's the first missionary out of all my sisters and me, partly because she's the first one to have the juevos to do it.  She made enough money to pay for her whole mission by selling cinnamon rolls every summer for the last nine years.  She came out of the womb just plain better than most people, and I am proud to know her. 

I can't show you any of the pictures with me in them, because I looked vomitrocious tonight.  But believe me, I was there.  Right before we went to the airport we stopped at the Rancho Market, which is a glorious wonderland of Mexican groceries, and we bought some stale chicharrones, a chocolate concha, and a weird ball-shaped thing covered in butter and sugar and filled with some kind of goop.   

 

We saw those guys who got flash-mob engaged in Home Depot last week and wondered if they were heading somewhere to get married.  I just want to make sure you all know that I disapprove of flash mobs to the utmost.  It seems like everyone in the video is part of the flash mob, so I'm wondering, who are they performing this for?  The only one that does not earn my undying ire (by which I mean it makes me cry) is that one where they play Peer Gynt on the train. 

 

Justine and Cannon brought cookies from Paradise Bakery, which were delicious.  Everybody took one, and there was just an oatmeal raisin one left, and someone asked, "Does anyone like oatmeal raisin?" and I pointed to my mom, and she said, "Oh, I thought everyone liked oatmeal raisin."  No, mom.  Just you.  Because oatmeal raisin is the worst cookie.  Can you even think of a cookie worse than oatmeal raisin?  A real cookie, not something made up like a barf cookie with poop frosting?  I don't think I can. 

I almost got into a fight with a child

I was out at the school this morning helping in Ike's class, and I was playing a spelling game with a little girl who lives up the street from us.  The word was "fawn," and I explained that it meant a baby deer, and a kid sitting at the table next to us horned in and said, "No, a baby deer is called a cow . . . alf."  I said, "A calf?" and he said yes, and I said, "No, that's a baby cow.  A baby deer is called a fawn."  Then he said, "My dad is forty-five, and he says it's called a calf."  And I, because I am twelve, said, "Then he's wrong."  I felt bad about it, because first of all, I'm guessing that his dad does know what a baby deer is called, and second, does it really matter, even if he does call it a calf?  Then I said, "A baby elk is called a calf--maybe that's what you're thinking of," and he said, "No, it's a baby deer.  My family goes hunting all the time.  We go every day and night."  I said "That sounds fun!" and refused to engage any more, which I think shows tremendous maturity, don't you? 

I just hate it when people are wilfully stupid, even children.  Children are sort of unteachable at times.  It's why when we are advised in the scriptures and other church situations to "become as a little child," I wonder what kind of child they're talking about. 

there they are a-standing in a row

I'm going to type this post all in one paragraph, because it enrages me how Chrome and Blogger interact and double space the first paragraph and single space the following paragraphs.  I will delineate paragraph breaks with asterisks.  ********  Oof, the setup for this story is disproportionately complicated for the payback, but I accept the challenge:  Our speakers on Sunday were a departing missionary and a husband and wife who have had one son serve a mission and another son who likely will be serving a mission as well.  The missionary is one of those young people you meet who make you feel a little bit embarrassed about how well they've got life figured out, compared to where you were at that age.  He's an incredible young man: hardworking, responsible, polite . . . I could go on.  I just admire the heck out of him.  Anyway, the husband of the couple converted to the church some time after they were married, and he was comparing himself to the missionary, and said, "My goals at that time of my life were so shallow," and John leaned over to me and whispered, "Boobs."  Because let's be real:  that's what many, I dare say most young men are preoccupied with at the age of 19, missionaries or not.  ********  Ike has a musical program at school today, and it promises to be a lot like Emmett's recent musical program, which is to say that Ike will only be participating begrudgingly, because he feels that the music and actions are demeaning to him or something.  He's in grade school; what kind of refined musical palate can he even have?  ********  Grant was tardy to one of his classes yesterday, which is one thing, but what I want to talk about is this:  his teacher doesn't allow backpacks in the classroom.  There are a few teachers like that at his school--why?  Why can't they have backpacks?  I do not understand.  Are they worried about theft of sticky notes and markers?  Are they worried about terrorism?  ********  I gave Willa a haircut and it wasn't a disaster.  ********  Emmett never has any homework, which makes me a little suspicious until I remember it's Emmett.  ********  We had our New Beginnings program on Sunday night, and my remarks were useless, but thankfully the bishop batted cleanup for me and said all the right things.  I think this calling is making me neurotic and unsure of myself.

I wonder if the dog can tell where the goat has been

We had stake conference last week and got a new stake presidency.  I had to speak in the Saturday meeting.  All of the moisture left my mouth until I felt like a raisin, but thankfully I didn't make that smack-smack sound into the microphone.

John and I spent an hour sitting on couches until I remembered that in most cases I am morally opposed to buying new furniture.  

Grant's science experiment is to determine if margarine can support microbial life.  We don't think so, but so far neither does the butter.  

Emmett's science experiment is to determine if temperature affects a magnet's field of attraction.  I don't think so, but stranger things have happened.  

Ike wanted to do a science experiment to determine if glass cleaner or shower cleaner is better at cleaning.  

Willa is not doing any experiments, but she is playing school with her Rosie O'Donnell and Beach Glam Steven Barbies.  

just touch my cheek before you leave

I read an obnoxious comment on a blog the other day, in which someone made a comparison between a Mormon temple and the sorts of earthy temples you find in other countries, in which all are welcome, and snidely commented that the latter were closer to reality, reminding you of the spirit and inspiration to be found in everyday life, not just once a week, not and then said those sorts of temples were "inclusive, not exclusive."  I almost had an aneurysm, I was so annoyed.  First issue:  who ever implied that one can only feel close to God within the walls of a Mormon temple, or that feeling inspiration there precludes feeling inspiration elsewhere?  And yes, if there's one complaint I would have about Mormonism, it's that it only affects my life one day a week.  Give me a break.  Second issue:  yes, Mormons are very exclusive.  We don't want anybody in our temples.  That's why we send our young men and women out in droves to pester the living daylights out of everybody in every country of the world, trying to get them to join our church and get temple recommends.  Look, do you want to be in our temple, or do you want us to leave you alone?  Do you want us to try to involve you in our lives and culture, or do you want us to ignore you?  Because I keep hearing complaints from people who are mad that we try to make friends with them, but then when we stop they rant about how isolationist and priggish we are.  Make up your freaking minds already.  The Mormons I know, myself included, don't really care if you convert or not.  We just like talking to people.

Sorry about that, everyone.  My complaints do not represent the official views of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

All the youth of the temple district did a huge cultural celebration on Saturday night.  It was cheesy as can be, but so inspiring.  The kids worked so hard to get the program ready, and to see their bright, shining faces as they participated in something unlike anything your typical teenager would be doing, to see a complete lack of cynicism as they sang and danced, to see their total unity and dedication to doing their best, was awesome.  It was beautiful.  I was so proud of them.

We had our temple dedication on Sunday, which was wonderful.  If I were being flippant, I would say how nice it is that we no longer have to share our temple with the unwashed heathens who think they are as holy as we are, but I'm not flippant, so I won't say that.  I finally found the bumblebees in the peach blossoms on the ceiling of the sealing room.  It took me forever.  I can't tell you how much it tickles me that there are bumblebees in the sealing room.  The dedication was beautiful, and it was a very unique and moving experience to be inside the temple for the occasion.  To feel such a sense of camaraderie and again, unity, with the people all around us--it brought tears to my eyes.  Mormons can be jerks, just like everybody else, but at our best, we're also people who are struggling to overcome our human failings and become better servants of Christ.  It's cool to be with my people in a room that reminds us of our purpose.

but you don't need to use the claw when you pick a pear from the big pawpaw

My friend Jennifer, whom you may know better as the Tipsy Baker, was here this weekend with her father to go on a tour of the temple.  I am quite fond of our little temple, and I was excited to share it with her.  I'm glad we've been able to usher and clean and take care of it, because it's made me feel much more proprietary of it, like that fish with the bubbles in Finding Nemo.

Saturday was Ike's baptism, and it was delightful.  When John finished saying the prayer and started to dunk him, Ike just started to do it himself, without plugging his nose or anything, like, "I've got this, Dad.  Just let me do it."  John was pushing Ike's hand up to his face to get him to plug his nose, and Ike kept pushing his hand away, and they sort of struggled back and forth like people in movies when they clash swords, until Ike figured out what was going on.  It's always an adventure when we have a baptism.  When Emmett was baptized John forgot to confirm him a member of the church, so we had to do it over.  A bunch of our family was missing from the baptism and/or luncheon, so I hate them now.  I will not be leaving any of them a goat in my will.  Well, maybe Steven and Elizabeth, because they were valiant and came up for the baptism even though they had to leave right after.  Half a goat for them.

Grant got a spot on our neighbor's basketball team, which is a relief.  Todd (we call him Toddles, but not to his face, because he might think we are weird, which is not true) is such a great coach, very patient and kind, and since Grant's other coach is moving we were sort of at loose ends.

Emmett is on the student council at the elementary school, which means he's one of the kids who turned in an application.  He's already beginning to see that the majority of the people have no interest in self-governance!

Willa's rake fell out again, but I think she's fixed.  She hasn't been putting her hands in her mouth at all.  Hopefully she'll be busy enough writing letters and cutting out shapes that she won't have time to regress.

taste the soup

Our lesson this Sunday is on dating and living a virtuous life, which is fraught with danger, but I feel fairly secure in the hands of my Laurels adviser.  She's a smart, good lady who agrees with me in large part about how and what we should teach our girls.  I get awfully tired of people thinking that our  responsibility to do right by each other means that we are then responsible when people choose to misbehave.  I get tired of girls being told not to give in to peer pressure, except when "a worthy young man" tells her how she should act and dress. Why should his opinion matter more than her other friends', or hers, or Heavenly Father's?  Answer:  it shouldn't.  Pfft.  I get tired of immodesty being explained as how someone dresses, not how they behave.  I get tired of the idea that a young woman should strive to be virtuous for the benefit of young men, not herself. There are some weird folk doctrines that bounce around in our youth curriculum, and I'm going to do my best to replace them with truth.  Wish me luck.

We're doling out fines and bonuses for this week's pay period.  It may surprise you to learn that all of the children tend to earn more fines than bonuses.  Some of this week's fines include being creepy to siblings, licking toys, and lazy dishwashing.

Last night I was ushering at the temple, and I got to be in the Celestial room with my parents for a couple of hours.  It was very nice.  I've got to say, the Brigham City temple is one of the most beautiful I've ever seen.  It reminds me in places of the Salt Lake temple.  I feel so bad for the Logan temple, because it's so incredible outside, and just awful in places on the inside, with terrible ceiling tiles and bizarre traffic patterns.  I've always wanted my kids to be sealed there, because so many generations of our family have, but the Brigham temple would not be a bad substitute.

dad is great, give us the chocolate cake

I am giving a lesson in YW on Sunday about nutrition/Word of Wisdom and substance abuse.  I am so stoked!  Oh boy, I am going to make those teenage heads SPIN.

wherein I vainly brag about my family's ability to feed ourselves

On Saturday night we had a dinner to celebrate John's parents' 50th wedding anniversary.  The food was not that great, to be honest.  We are some pretty talented cooks in John's family, and so we were not impressed by the breaded chicken cutlets topped with deli ham and congealed Swiss cheese, the Hollandaise sauce that tasted like it had been made with Miracle Whip, the grocery-store rolls, and the dry, bland chocolate cake with frosting that tasted like it also had been made with Miracle Whip, sitting in an ill-considered puddle of half-heartedly smashed strawberries.  The beef was okay, if a little tough and Gravy Trainlike in appearance.

But the mediocrity of the food ensured that we didn't sit around making indecent grunts with our mouths filled with food, exclaiming thickly, "Oh, this is so good" (as would usually be the case), so that we were free to focus on the purpose for the gathering, which was to celebrate my in-laws' marriage.  Daniel and Sarah had put together a video of pictures from their lives, and we watched as they grew up, got married, and proceeded to have eight difficult, exhausting, brilliant and ultimately fantastic and delightful children.  They are incredible people and I'm so thankful to know them and to have been welcomed into their family--our family.  I've told this story countless times, but the first time I saw John's dad was in my college choir.  He was the assistant director at the time, and I looked at him and thought, "What a handsome grandpa.  I need to be in his family."  I looked around and saw John and thought, "Okay.  This will work."  They are the other half of my family I didn't know I was looking for, and I can't imagine life without the whole shouting, laughing, pontificating lot of them.

We went to church together on Sunday in their ward, and the guy who gave the closing prayer in Sunday School was killing me.  I was elbowing John like, "Are you listening to this guy?" First of all, it was so long, more like a talk than a prayer, and then he was using it as a forum for airing of grievances.  Like, he actually said, in the prayer, that we are thankful to not be like "those other so-called Christians" who don't understand things like "individual responsibility."  As Daniel pointed out, we barely finished reading about the Zoramites' Rameumptom prayer, and talk about an apt object lesson.  Then there was a lady whose toddler was a hellion and was running up and down the rows screaming and shouting and it was impossible to hear anything that was going on (except the conceited prayer, obv), and the mother just sat there and beamed at him and tickled him until he guffawed whenever he passed her.  I told myself that she'd struggled with infertility and it took forever to conceive him, so every noise he makes is a jewel to her.  That's how I kept from pointedly glaring at her with my eyes bugging out with annoyance.  Look, my kids are loud.  You know that.  I don't care if a kid is loud, as long as you participate in the charade that you are trying to subdue them somewhat.  You have to at least pretend.  It's part of the social contract.

and I will always be that way

Last night we went to The Secret World of Arrietty at the dollar theater (excellent film, highly recommend, especially if you have girls who you worry about having their brains eaten by the princess culture, shut up princess culture).  Then we got some "food" at a "restaurant;" we will not speak of it.

We came home to our filthy house--filthy because I had been working outside and birthday shopping (for Emmett) while the kids were at school, and also because we are pigs--and on the counter was a plate of cookies from Emmett's primary teacher.  Now, this is not about me, this is about the people in our ward, but I do feel sad that the scene that greeted Yvonne, who is a very neat and collected person, was three overflowing baskets of laundry on the living room couch and a kitchen in which every horizontal surface was covered in dirty dishes.  But I love that we came home to cookies.  What a wonderful place to live.  What wonderful people!  I just want to squeeze Yvonne to pieces.  She is so great, and writes letters to thank people who speak in Sacrament, and birthday cards to the children in her Primary class, and she bears a humble, insightful testimony almost every month.  On Sunday I was sitting in church listening to people bear their testimonies, and I had an overwhelming sense of the goodness of my friends and neighbors.  We are surrounded by such kind, selfless, hardworking and generous people.

Yes, I know, I was just saying on the other blog that I hate my town.  Well, that day I did.  Believe me, I did.  But on Sunday I was reminded how much I love it here.

and under the steak is a scabby bandaid

Once while teaching a RS lesson I was trying to say that it's unfair to marry someone who can't take you to the temple, and then move the goal posts on him and expect him to change into a faithful member of the LDS church. What seemed to come out instead, according to the heated responses I got in class, was "if you marry someone who can't take you to the temple he'll never change and you'll never be happy." It was a real mess. I still feel awful about the whole thing.

The Sunday before last we had a surprise stake conference. We were stoked, because what if they were telling us to pack up and head to Missouri? We'd get all the good houses, score! What if the prophet came? Or at the very least, an apostle? The YW second counselor and I told our Beehives to be sure to go to stake conference, and Ellen said it would be an experience they'd never forget. Well, we got a couple of seventies. They gave good talks, as did a girl from Honeyville First Ward, but I'd be lying if I didn't say it was a bit of a letdown. I felt bad that we oversold it to the Beehives so bad. Oh well, at least they didn't group-excommunicate our stake.

I wish moms would stop buying skanky clothes for their daughters.

The end.