Just What I Think

I've been disturbed lately. Well, by lately I mean the last few years or so.

Disturbed by loving, devout, wonderful people who love God and Jesus and his word and use their interpretation of that word as a hammer. Or a measuring stick upon which they judge others.

Here are a few examples of things that have disturbed me:

1. I have a friend that I genuinely like and think well of. She believes that no "good" mormon (since that's what we are) could be a Democrat. Now, I'm not a registered Democrat, but neither am I a Republican and I certainly can't understand members of the LDS church who follow the Republican party the way they follow the prophet.

2. My sister's roommates told her that since she voted for Obama that she was a "baby killer". I voted for Obama. And as far as I can tell I love babies and think they should be given the chance at life.

3. A kid in my sunday school class said that since the demise of "don't ask don't tell" that he wouldn't risk his life for a gay member of his platoon. If, that is, he ever joined the armed forces and there was a gay man in his platoon and they were in a life-and-death situation.

To which I responded: "Even if this gay man was a good man? An honest, hard working and loyal soldier who would be willing to risk his life for yours?"

Then another boy piped in and said "No gay man could be a good man. That's a contradiction in terms."

I was flabbergasted. How could he think that one facet of a person's identity completely defined him and negated all his other qualities?

Yes, the scriptures say homosexuality is a sin. But they also say that we should love our neighbors like ourselves. When we hate a person for something he is how is that any different from hating the Savior? "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." Right? Don't we believe that part of the Bible too?

What about the bit about "judge not that ye be not judged"?

And don't forget that when the Savior was asked what the most important commandment was he replied "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself."

Now I don't know about you, but I believe that God created all of us. And I believe that he loves all of us. ALL of us. Not just middle-class Christian White Americans like me. He loves the Jews. He loves Muslims. He loves Blacks. He loves fat people. He loves homosexuals. He loves Republicans. He loves the French. He loves the poor. He loves drug addicts. He loves porn stars. He even loves those Enron guys, Dick Cheney, and Bernie Madoff.

I don't have a lot of answers. And I'm sure glad that I'm not the one to judge the wrongful actions of others. But this much I know: I am to love my neighbor as myself. I am to refrain from judgment. I am to worry about the kind of person I am and the way that I treat others. Anything that divides us as the children of Christ ought to be eschewed. We ought to be One.

So when I support gay marriage and any other legislation that protects the civil liberties of my brothers and sisters under Christ, don't judge me.

And I'll try to return the favor.

For additional reading of one of the most thoughtful and articulate essays I've ever read, check this out.

My Days

The days slip by.

Happy days. Angry days. Pain days. Productive days. All part of the experience we call life. Right?

Sunday was a happy day.

(Aside: They are happy now that my husband no longer has to attend many hours of meetings all day, leaving me to bathe and dress three bodies, blow dry two heads of hair, prep three lesson plans, assemble lesson props and materials, keep the three dressed bodies relatively grime-free, and get the three bodies and the bag or two of props down to the church unassisted. Oh, it's so nice to have a husband with a non-leadership calling.)

After church and after naps my children were starting to get on each other's nerves. They were screaming at each other about the darn jingle bells. I've only got about 30 bells. Somehow that's not enough to share. So I shouted in a sing-song voice "Who wants WAFFLES!" That made Jenny stop screaming and she jumped up and down saying "I do! I do! I do! I want HELP you, Mommy. I do! I do!"

So we made breakfast for dinner. I turned on some Christmas music. And I twirled in the kitchen while I waited for each waffle to brown. James laughed and laughed each time I twirled. We sat down at the table and my children actually ate without incessant prodding. (Eating something covered in syrup usually goes down a lot easier than meatloaf does.)

That night my house fulfilled the measure of its creation by being the perfect holiday setting for a fun family dinner.

Yesterday was a pain day. I was up most of the night before in pain. My husband woke to the sound of me puking. That was a relief, because once he got up I was finally able to put on my favorite migraine movie. I watched nearly the full 5 hours of Pride and Prejudice before my children even got up. Well, I didn't actually watch it. The bludgeoning of my skull affects my vision so I can't actually stand to watch anything. But I listened to it to keep my mind off the pounding pounding pounding.

My children watched netflix streaming Blue's Clues, Dora the Explorer, Caillou, and pbskids.org Super Why videos all. day. long. It was great. I spent the time laying on my bed whimpering. That was not so great.

When my husband FINALLY got home (he came home early. 30 whole minutes early.) I began weeping in relief. Then the tears just wouldn't stop because I was so exhausted and in so much pain and so unbelievably sick of these damn migraines. Then Brent told me he had to go to scouts in 30 minutes. I cried harder. Then he told me he'd take both the kids with him. I cried in relief again.

(For the dear women in my life who are feeing bad and wondering why I didn't call you to come help, it's because Jenny was coughing and snotting the whole house up and I didn't want to expose Mom-who-cannot-afford-to-get-sick or any of the babies that you all have. Otherwise I would have. Next time I will. Assuming Jenny's not sick.)

Today has yet to be defined. I have a sneaking suspicion it's going to be an angry day. It's only 10:00 a.m. and already Jenny has dissolved in tears or tantrum half a dozen times. James was up for about 4 hours in the middle of the night last night, so he's cranky. I put him down for a nap, but I hear him banging his crib against the wall so I doubt he'll fall asleep any time soon. At least his crib-time separates the children and so their mutual screaming is on pause for an hour or so.

I have not lost my temper yet. But it's only 10:00 a.m. And I still am suffering from Headache Hangover.

The salvation of this day will come in the form of my sisters. Lunch with the girls at a place that isn't here is what I need. A change of scenery. New faces to look at. Grown ups to talk to. A room full of Polly Pockets for Jenny to get lost in. It will give me the emotional nourishment I need to carry on carry on carry on.

Meow

Things They Do

Jenny often wants to wear my diamond ring. When I refuse she gets a small hair elastic and wears it on her finger and calls it her wedding ring.

Jenny likes to pick out her own outfits

James likes to feel the skin at the edge of clothing. He often fingers my arm just underneath my cuff or the skin at my neckline as we cuddle during his lullaby. He also does it to himself whenever I lay him down for bed or a diaper change.

Delicious. I could just eat this kid.

Jenny grabs the camera whenever she sees it. She can operate it pretty well. She turns it on, looks through the viewfinder, and then tells me to move a little bit this way or a little bit that way and then orders me to "say cheese". She has taken many many many exceedingly unflattering pictures of me. And several of the floor and her legs and her toys.

Jenny's still life photography

James shrieks. Loudly. All the time. Jenny shrieks back. Then they scream at each other at precisely the same pitch and with the same timbre with a blend only siblings can create. At times I can't tell them apart.

"Look Mommy! We're in a bathtub!"

Jenny enjoys drinking straight lemon juice. She also likes to taste salt and pepper. She shakes it into her palm and then licks it. Over and over until I stop her. She also likes to eat butter. She dips her finger in it, just like I did as a child. She'd eat spoonfuls of it if I'd let her.

Jenny tried to apply mascara

James crawls down the stairs halfway, then pauses, then comes back up. Then back down. Then back up. Then he swings the baby gate back and forth. Shrieking in delight and pride all the while.

Playing together instead of screaming at each other. A rare and delightful thing.

Jenny cries out every night for me. Her scared little voice sobbing in the darkness for her mama. I go in. We snuggle. I tell her I love her. She goes back to sleep.

Bear Lake 2010

James giggles when I kiss him on the chest. He also likes it on the neck. Kissing him on the belly doesn't do much for him. He also likes it when I nibble his toes.

Still hanging on. No walking yet.

Jenny wraps towels and blankets around her body and then says "Look Mom, I a princess!"

Bear Lake 2010

James generally won't let me take pictures of him. He immediately makes a beeline for the camera and grabs it from me or screams if I don't give it to him.

Can you resist that smile? I didn't think so.

James likes to put his hands in my or Brent's shoes and then crawl around, pushing them along in front of him.

Super Rainbow Girl

Jenny likes to put on my stilettos and sling-backs and walk around, heels clacking loudly on the tile. Often she's wearing nothing else.

I remember doing this as a kid. Only the shoes of my choice were my mother's cream colored open toed pumps.

Neither of my children will let me shower or bathe alone. If they hear water running, they find me and scream until they are in the water with me.

The most fun they ever have together. 

Both of them like to mow the lawn with Daddy. At the same time.

A favorite Saturday morning activity

I love my kids.

Another Prayer

Dear Heavy Fadder,

Fank you for Shelley to come over.
Fank you for Benjamin to play . . . wif me.
Fank you for to help Jenny not be whiny.
Bless us to sleep good.

In de name of Jesus Christ,

Amen.


Are we seeing a theme already?

Jenny Prays All By Herself

Dear Heavenly Fadder,

Fank you for Noelle to play wif me.
Fank you for us to sleep good tonight.
Please bless Mommy to be patient.
Please bless James to be not scream and whiny.
Please bless Jenny to sleep well.

In the name of Jesus Christ,

Amen

A Rite of Passage (for both mother and daughter)

It's official. I'm a total failure.

I've failed at a lot of things in my life. Not one to brag here, but I've got some pretty good failures on my curriculum vitae. I wouldn't call myself a champion or professional failure, but I've definitely walked the road of defeat.

Today I failed in the capacity as a mother. That's right. I'm a bad, bad, bad mom.

Today was my first-born child's first day of school. And not just the first day of the year. The first day of school in her whole life. In her entire 3.5 years of living she has never been to school until now. And can you believe it? I didn't take a picture of her in all her first-day glory before dropping her off.

No picture for the blog, for her scrapbook, for her memories. I failed her.

A successful mother would have planned ahead. A dedicated mother would have remembered last night that a certain little girl had smudged the lens of the camera with her grubby little fingertips and would have had the forethought to do a load of laundry so a clean microfiber cloth would have been handy to clean said lens.

A competent mother would have imbued such a sense of excitement in her daughter about her first day of school that the daughter would not have had an emotional breakdown right as it was time to get in the car, thus making the mother late.

A proper mother would have found some way to more effectively stem the tide of tears that ensued after explaining that it was against the rules to take any toys to preschool as she heartlessly removed them from the Hello Kitty backpack.

A decent mother would have made sure to capture the moment of departure appropriately, as is its due as a rite of passage, and immortalized it for all time on a pink and green paisley matted scrapbook page.

Alas, one more thing to add to my list of personal failings.

On the up side, I DID make the time and had the patience to paint my daughter's fingernails and toenails the colors of her choice while dressing her.
I DID remember the teacher's instructions to put the daughter's bathing suit under her clothes and pack a towel.
I DID remember to pay tuition on the first class of the month, thus qualifying for the $5 early-pay discount.
I DID remember to put the baby in the car before we left, rather than leaving him alone in his crib for the 20 minutes it would take me to return.
I even succeeded in sufficiently distracting my alternately writhing/screaming and wiggling/giggling daughter during the drive over with talk about farm animals so that her socks and shoes remained on her feet until arrival.

Phew.

Maybe I can do this after all.

Does a picture after-the-fact still count? Even if it's blurry with finger smudges?