unfit to donate

I hate throwing things away.  One of my favorite things about the town where we live right now is curb side recycling. I'm a huge fan of donating - food, used clothing, whatever.  I dream about being amazing at re-purposing.  When I do my dishes I ponder over tupperware vs. plastic bags.

This morning I was putting away laundry and realized I have a ton of stuff just hanging out in my closet because I don't know what the heck to do with it.  Old layering shirts hang beside their new replacements, and their new replacements.  Shoes that have holes in the bottom and haven't been worn since before I was married are gathering dust.  I can't make myself throw them in the trash.  It seems like such a waste.  Am I sick?  Am I hording things that are unfit to donate?  I wouldn't dare take these things to the D.I. (like Goodwill, in case you don't live in UT).  So I'm asking you: what do you do with stuff when it's unfit to donate?  Are you an amazing re-purposer?  I don't need one more cleaning rag.  Help!

a pebble in my shoe

I've been thinking about this off and on since the Monday morning after the General Relief Society Broadcast.  It's been kind of like a pebble in my shoe.  Sometimes it moves around to an empty space and I don't notice it, other times it gets stuck by a toe and I notice a lot. 

I loved President Uchtdorf's talk at the broadcast as much as the next gal.  Sitting in the conference center I diligently wrote down the 5 things I should not forget.  Making special note to remember the "why" of the Gospel, as the Spirit whispered to me that in my checklist driven life, I could definitely use a little more focus on the why.  I thought about how remembering these things could help me improve my discipleship as I had committed to do after listening to Sister Beck.  I felt committed to really remember these five things.  To internalize them.  To truly forget them not. 

By the time Monday morning rolled around all I could see everywhere I looked was the 5 things I should not forget.  "Now, Kayce" you're certainly saying to yourself right now, "that's a good thing, isn't it?  Having a constant reminder of what you said you wanted to remember?"  And I guess you're right.  But here's the pebble: I can't shake the feeling that the talk that inspired so many women had been reduced to nothing more than home decor.  Not even two days after it had been given I could purchase countless different vinyl cuttings of five phrases to put on a freshly painted board and hang on my wall.  Did it even have time to sink in yet?  Was the first thought after the talk to apply the principles to our lives, or to think how cute they will look on the blank spot on the wall?  What font?  What color?  Will I get to purchase a new cricut cartridge?  Will it sell at a boutique? 

I'm not trying to judge or condemn.  I don't think there's anything wrong with giving ourselves visual reminders in our homes of gospel principles.  And I don't think it's bad if these things look nice, either.   We have even been encouraged to have a picture of a temple in every room.  I am a firm believer that what hangs on our walls, sits on our tables, and adorns our shelves, are reflections of who we are and what we value.   I just wonder sometimes if our culture has gotten to the point that the focus is on the craft and not the thing the craft is supposed to remind us of.  I want to do better than that.

fear not

In Relief Society we have been having lessons on the signs of the times, the Second Coming of Christ, and the Millennium.  We've been talking about a lot of scary things but the conversation has been hopeful, optimistic, and uplifting.  I saw this video on a cousin's blog (thanks for sharing, Tabbi!) and had to share.  Even when times get scary, perilous even, we can overcome our fears through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.

Charity: part 2

We don't typically talk about having charity in our families or marriages.  Charity is always the love we have for someone else.  The kind of love that prompts a person to give their coat to a stranger or donate money to relief causes, not the kind of love I have for my husband.  It's hard to admit that I can love my husband more, or differently, than I do now.  Because I love him a lot already.  And I don't want that love to be the same as the love I have for everyone else.  And it feels like saying that I can have more means that I don't have enough now.  What a clever way for Satan to try to prevent me from making my great marriage even better.

Scott and I dated for a long time.  Long enough to have Valentine's Day traditions.  When we finally got engaged I could hardly believe it.  I was so grateful for this gift that my Heavenly Father was giving to me that I prayed and prayed to be worthy of it, to see him and love him the way my Heavenly Father and Savior see and love him.  I thought I couldn't love him anymore, but I was wrong.  My love grew when I prayed to have charity for the man who would (after 27 short days of engagement) become my husband.  Over the years (not that many, really) I forgot about that special experience and Charity went back to being the kind of love I'm supposed to have for strangers.  My love for Scott didn't stop growing, so I became complaisant about having charity.

But the more I read about charity, the more I realized that it needs to be in my home.  It is the perfect love to bind relationships together.  The Proclamation to the World on the Family states:
"Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children.  'Children are an heritage of the Lord.' Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs, and to teach them to love and serve one another, observe the commandments of God, and be law-abiding citizens wherever they live.  Husbands and wives-mothers and fathers-will be held accountable before God for the discharge of these obligations.
Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities."
I never noticed before how many times the word love is repeated in this document.  To me this looks like a beautiful description of having charity in our homes.
Moroni tells us that charity "suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things."

But what does this really look like in marriage?  True to the Faith admonishes: "In your relationships with family members and others, look to the Savior as your example.  Strive to love as He loves, with unfailing compassion, patience, and mercy.  As you continue to receive the Savior's perfect love and as you demonstrate Christlike love for others, you will find that your love increases."  I know that to be true.  Christ is our perfect example of charity and what it looks like to love each person equally but differently (I don't have to love my husband, children, and strangers the same way, even when I have charity for all of them).  Again from True to the Faith: "His crowing expression of charity was His infinite Atonement.  He said, 'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends'.  This was the greatest act of long-suffering, kindness, and selflessness that we will ever know."  It is my testimony that this sacrifice was not an impersonal suffering for strangers.  Elder Bateman said, "...For many years I thought of the Savior's experience in the graden and on the cross as places where a large mass of sin was heaped upon him.  Through the words of Alma, Abinidi, Isaiah, and other prophets, however, my view has changed.  Instead of an impersonal mass of sin, there was a long line of people, as Jesus felt 'our infirmities' '[bore] our griefs,...carried our sorrows...[and] was bruised for our iniquities'... The Atonement was an intimate, personal experience in which Jesus came to know how to help each of us."  I don't believe Christ loves me more than you. I do believe he loves me differently than you.  Think of the way he tailored his ministry to meet the unique needs of all he came in contact with.  Even as he hung on the cross he showed great love for his mother, but that love was surely different than the love he had shown earlier in his ministry for the adulterous woman.  Having charity for my spouse does not have to look like having charity for a stranger, although I should have both. 

On My Mind: Charity

A few weeks ago the husband, M, and I were sitting the Stake President's office making nice small talk wondering who was getting what calling.  "Kayce, we'd like to ask you to speak in Stake Conference in two weeks."  Relief.  It didn't matter what he said next.  Topic: charity.  More small talk.  "Any specific direction you'd like me to go?" I finally think to ask realizing charity is a HUGE topic.  "Charity in marriage" he replied.  I was on such a relief high (last time we were in that office the husband got put into the Elder's Quorum presidency...well, 2 times ago, last time he was released because I was just called to be the Relief Society president.  Hope that helps you understand the level of relief I was feeling) that I just wrote it down without much thought and off we went.  And then on Monday, when I typed charity and marriage into the search on lds.org and my search yielded no results, reality hit.  I'm not going to lie, my talk didn't come together until Saturday afternoon (I was speaking Saturday night).  But I studied and studied and learned a lot and it came together (the topic, not so sure about the talk?) in a really profound way for me.  I can't stop thinking about it.  So I'm going to recreate it here for you.  I also want to flesh some ideas out that I didn't have time for in the talk, so I'm going to do a few posts so as not to bore you to death with pages and pages of a church talk in one sitting.  Feel free to read or not.  And it's still applicable if you're not married, this is about relationships here.

The first thing I realized on this adventure was that I really didn't really understand what charity is (embarrassing to admit?).  I know it's the pure love of Christ, but what does that really mean?  I know that it never fails, but never fails what?  I've spent so much time hearing and talking about what charity is not (an organization or merely an action) that I never spent much time thinking about what charity actually is.  Come to find out there are a myriad of definitions of charity that helped me understand it's depth and importance.  Like any internet savvy girl, I felt compelled to see what Google and Wikipedia had to tell me.  Come to find out Wikipedia thinks there are tow types of charity: the practice of charity and the virtue of charity.  Interesting.  I like to the think developing the virtue of charity leads to the practice of charity, even if Wikipedia means something different.  Here are some of the great definitions I found:

1- Charity is the pure love of Christ. Mornoi 7:47
2- "Charity is a gift of the Spirit which must be gained if one is to have salvation" Mormon Doctrine
3- "And above all things, clothe yourselves with the bond of charity, as with a mantle, which is the bond of perfectness and peace." D&C 85:125 uh, wow.  Think about that in the context of any important relationship- I want that.
4- "And above all these things, put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness" Colossians 3:14 -so great I had to include it twice.
5- "In Spanish the word chairty menas 'the love that never ceases to be.' In Micronesia the word love translates into 'the power to change lives.'" Barbara B. Smith
6- "Charity is our love for the Lord, shown through our acts fo service, patience, compassion, adn understanding for one another." I forgot to put the citation for that in my talk, if you really want it let me know and I can dig it up.
7- "Charity is 'the pure love of Christ,' or, 'everlasting love.'" True to the Faith
8- "True charity is love in action." Thomas S. Monson

I don't want to say too much about how any of the specific definitions impacted me as I was studying because I hope that they can mean something to you personally as you read them.  I don't want to taint your personal application. 

Charity never fails because it isn't finite.  There's no cap to the love that Christ has for me and there's no limit to my ability to tap into and share that love.  It never runs out.  Charity can never fail, I can only fail to have charity.

From the Polls

I voted yesterday.  I should be excited and proud.  I studied political science.  I take my rights seriously.  I enjoy politics.  I keep my "I voted" stickers.  But this time I'm kind of ashamed. 

I realized yesterday about noon that it was election day.  "Shoot" I thought to myself, "who's running?"  So during nap time I jumped online and found out who was running.  My motto: whoever can win me over in five minutes or under gets my vote.  I found my candidate.

I went to the church around the block after dinner to do my civic duty.  I was thrown off when I had to go to some other room at the end of the hall instead of the gym where voting usually takes place.  There were two kind women sitting at a table and one man in front of me.  The election booths looked pretty tired, not like they were holding high tech computerized voting equipment.  Because they weren't.  Ok, I can do the punch the hole in the ballot with the little stick thing.  Nope, not that either.  After kind lady number 2 practically had to rip my wallet from my hands because I forgot to actually show them my driver's license when I got it out she handed me a slip of paper folded in half.  I walked to a booth.

This is the part that should be easy.  Marking my choice with the provided red pen and walking back to the table.  But on the instructions rather than mark 1 it said to mark 3.  I quickly marked my first choice.  I chose that candidate because s/he was the only person I found in less than 5 minutes who said something real.  Everyone else just said, "I'm committed to the city, I love it, I want to be a public servant, I'm so cool, vote for me."  How could I choose two more?  I picked a woman because I feel like we need more representation in politics and want to encourage women who get involved.  I have no idea what she believes.  My third choice I picked because it seemed like everyone else was doing it.  And everyone else has lived where I live longer than I have, so they should know. 

I walked back to the nice ladies at the table but didn't dare make eye contact fearing they could see through my eyes into my uniformed voting soul.  One took my ballot and ripped a part off and handed it back to me.  "Do I put it in here?" I asked pointing to the box that obviously holds completed ballots.  Only if you want to vote she said, laughing.  I put my ballot in the box because it was the least embarrassing option.  "It's been a long day and I've never voted this way before" I quipped and almost ran out of the room.

The whole time I was cleaning up dinner and doing the dishes I thought about how ridiculous my decision calculus was and argued with myself if it would have been better to have just stayed home.  On a positive note, I now have an "I Voted" sticker in my new wallet.

An Education On Low Income

During the school year my family is a low income family (side note: sometimes it's still weird to write "my family" and not mean my parents and siblings.  Am I really old enough to have a family of my own?).  During the years of living under this socioeconomic label I've gained a pretty good education of what it means to be "low income," or at least what it means for my family.  And, unfortunately, I feel the need to share my education with a bunch of people who have clearly been miseducated about this label.  Pardon my rant.

Lets start out with some synonyms (I am, afterall, licensed to teach English in the state of Utah).  Low income is not synonymous with low intelligence, low education, low morals, low responsibility, low respect, or low self respect.  According to thefreedictionary.com, the phrase low income is defined as "Of or relating to individuals or households supported by an income that is below average."  Low income should not denote an unwillingness to pay bills or work hard, laziness, the mismanagement of money, the inability to have children on purpose or the knowledge of how to plan a family, bad parenting, bad budgeting, or "mooching."  

In my family "low income" means that we are sacrificing now so we can have a better life later.  It means that our vehicles are 15 and 18 years old, but they don't belong to the bank.  It means that we don't eat out or shop at the mall.  It means that we budget like mad.  It means that we work and save like crazy during the Summer so we can have enough during the school year.  It means that we don't take elaborate vacations or have a flat screen TV.  It means that we live in cheap apartment that we can afford.  It means that we choose not to pay for cable.  It means that I actually read books from the library.  My home is clean.  We pay our own rent.  Our bills are paid on time and in full each month.  We eat healthy food.  We wear clean clothing.  We have fun as a family.  We are abundantly blessed with much more than we "need."  My choice to not work is a choice to forgo some of our wants now so I can raise my daughter.  It is not a choice to be lazy or not take care of my family.  It does not mean I don't respect or desire to use my degree. 


Class dismissed.

no small miracle

I've often wondered why it is no one can visit my house when it's clean.  My house is frequently, even mostly, clean.  But whenever someone stops by unexpectedly, it's a disaster.  There is always a pile of dirty diapers to greet them at the front door, toys and cereal strewn on the carpet, and something has inevitably just died in the garbage can.  If they venture past the front door, and then past the living room, they'll find lunch still on the table, last nights dinner remnants still under and around the highchair, and a sink full of dirty dishes.  Oh, and did I mention the smell radiating from the garbage can?  But the funniest thing is, if they just would have come the day before, or even a few hours before, the house would have been clean.  No dishes, toys put away, floor swept, no gross garbage smell.  What gives?  Am I the only one?  Does Murphy just hate me?

But last night a miracle occurred.  M and I were sitting down eating dinner (the dad was still at school, lame) when I heard some talking just past our back fence.  And then I heard a chain saw.  So I looked out and saw that our amazing (not even being sarcastic, he really is amazing) landlord and his wife had come to trim the trees in our backyard.  After dinner we went out to say hi and he mentioned that the water needed to be turned off.  If it wasn't a bad time for him, I told him it was fine for him to do it then.  After the tree trimmer (or butchering, really, but that's another story) he came in to the house just as we were leaving.  Toys put away, floor vacuumed earlier that day, the only smell to greet him was from dinner.  No dishes in the sink, no ancient meals under the high chair.  And it wasn't even sprint cleaning because I knew he was there.  He just came when the house was clean.  You may be laughing, but really, that's no small miracle.

Monday isn't a four letter word

I know it's not really politically correct to admit that I love Mondays.  I'm supposed to whine and complain that the weekend is over and I'm dreading the next five days.  But here's the deal: I do love Monday.  Especially Monday morning.  On Monday morning I'm an optimist.  Nothing has ruined my week yet.  I'm still thinking about uplifting church talks.  I'm refreshed from the weekend and ready to dive back into my routine.  My to do list seems more doable.  On Monday I'm certain I can be kinder, read my scriptures more, keep my house clean all week, make dinner every night, save money; on Mondays, I can do anything.  Maybe you can just do me a favor and keep it a secret that Monday happens to be my favorite day of the week.  Or maybe you can come out and just admit it: you love Mondays too.

From the Kitchen Sink: it could be happening

I think my brains may be leaking out of my head.  I no longer think about water vs. wasteland usage when I do the dishes.  I don't think about how much time I spend in the kitchen.  I don't think deeply about the gospel or wonder what backyard I'll look at when we leave Logan.  Nope, I sing the Baby Signing Time songs.  Over and over and over.  And we don't even watch it that much.  And we've only even seen one DVD because I'll only get them from the library.  Make it stop.  Please, make it stop.  But don't be too alarmed.  I have been thinking about other things in other places.  I just haven't had (made) much time to write lately.  Maybe next week.

From the Salon

I finally got a hair cut last night.  If you've seen me lately you're probably as grateful as I am.
An hour is a long time to think when then girl cutting your hair isn't very chatty.  Here's some of the randomness:

• When I'm old I want to get a pedicure once a month.  I'll sit in the chair and chat with the young girls and sip my Diet Coke.  Maybe I don't want to wait till I'm old.
• Why is it that every girl I've found in Logan to do my hair that I love moves to Vegas?  Will this new girl get married and move to Vegas too?
• Why is it that a hair cut from a fancy salon always feels better than a haircut from a cheaper salon?  Even if the quality is the same?
• I'm a salon snob.  Even if I can get a cheaper, just as quality cut, somewhere else, I want the fancy decor.  And I'm generally fine paying for it.  When did that happen?
• What determines what we talk about with people who are close to us when we know complete strangers are privy to the conversation?  
• How in the world does she get her hair so big?
• Fluorescent lights always make me look awful, but the girl doing my hair always looks great in the mirror.  What gives?  Is there some trick they teach at hair school?  Do I really just look like that all of the time?
• I think I look like a mom.  When did that happen?
• It's gotten much harder to leave M with a sitter now that I don't do it all the time.  Ironic.
• The amount of dye and product on that really huge, blonde blonde blonde hair must be poisoning her baby.

Jacob was a good dad

There are a lot of things I enjoy about Jacob, the brother of Nephi, in The Book of Mormon. But perhaps my favorite thing I have learned about Jacob is: he was a good dad.  And I didn't even learn it from reading his teachings.  I learned it from reading about his son, Enos.  Don't worry, this isn't a lengthy post about scripture, but rather some things I've been thinking about parenthood, and childhood for that matter.  But the story of Enos helps me get there.  So stick with me for a minute.  Thanks.

We often read the story of Enos as an example of the power of prayer, the miracle of forgiveness, or an example of perfect faith.  It is all of these things.  But it's also a lesson in parenting, and childing (just made that up, you like it?).  In verse 3 Enos says, "Behold, I went to hunt beasts in the forests; and the words which I had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life, and the joy of the saints, sunk deep into my heart."  This tells me that Jacob talked to Enos about the gospel (and probably a lot of other things) a lot.  It also tells me that Enos didn't get it right away.  Maybe he was a typical(ish) teenage boy who rolled his eyes, or maybe he pretended like he wasn't listening or didn't care.  Maybe it was many years before he showed any signs of internalizing the things his father taught.  Maybe Jacob got frustrated, but he kept teaching (often!).  And when Enos finally did get it, he wasn't sitting at the dinner table with his dad.  He didn't tell his dad, "guess what I just figured out!  Thanks for teaching me all that stuff."  He was by himself, in a place where he could commune with God. 

I wonder how often my parents became frustrated thinking I just wasn't getting what they were trying to teach me.  But let me tell you, I think all of the time about the things my parents taught, and still do teach, me. Whenever I see a pile of stuff at the bottom of the stairs needing to go up, I think of my dad telling me how much easier it is to just take it with me when I go instead of stepping over it 800 times.  And sometimes I even take the pile when I go.  My dad may never believe that.  My mom taught me, mostly though example, that cooking isn't rocket science and yeast isn't going to explode and take over my kitchen.  She never saw the fruit of that labor at home.  There are a million more examples, but I'll spare you.

M is only one and I already worry about what I'm teaching her.  Do I talk to her enough?  Do we read enough books?  How can I teach her to share? (Seriously, if you have any ideas on that one, let me know).  Am I teaching her good eating habits?  Does she even know we're reading scriptures?  Worry, worry, worry.  But, Jacob's experience parenting, and my own experience childing, tell me not to worry so much.  Maybe she won't get it now, but she is getting it.  One day we prayed before dinner and she folded her arms, all by herself.  I was so proud.  

I'm thankful Jacob was a good dad and Enos took the time to write about it. 

Count Your Blessings

Sometimes I'm a whiner.  And sometimes it's easier to blog about things that are whiny or hard.  Just easier to write about I guess.  But these things are only a part of my life.  I'm grateful for lots of things too.  And I've been thinking about those things a lot lately.  Thought I'd share some:

I'm thankful I have a baby who:

• Showers me with hugs and kisses.
• Occasionally humors me for a good snuggle.
• Likes books as much as I do.
• Is developing normally.
• Is (typically) not a picky eater.
• Is happy more than she's sad.
• Likes to be outside more than in.

I'm thankful I have a husband who:

• Loves me.
• Respects me.
• Supports me.
• Is home for dinner every night.
• Was there when our baby learned to walk.
• Is happy to come home everyday.
• Changes diapers.
• Does the dishes.
• Loves being a dad.
• Supports our family.

I'm thankful I:

• Have the choice to be a stay at home mom.
• Get to spend my days with M.
• Have a husband who would support me working or staying at home (and live in a time when that's ok).
• Have so many educational opportunities (and a husband who supports me in that...catching a theme here?)
• Have the opportunity to serve in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
• Have never known what it's like to really go without.
• Am blessed to be able to have more things than our apartment can hold.
• Have friends.
• Have parents who taught and still teach me good things.
• Have amazing in-laws (like I can actually say (and mean) I'm excited when they come visit).
• Learned how to use a library so we don't go broke.

There are a million more things, but I'll stop now.  I guess I live a pretty charmed life.  And I'm thankful for that.

Clueless

It's no secret that I'm typically behind the times in trendy technological developments.  I just got my first iPod last Christmas; I didn't join facebook for an internet eternity, and then waiting a year to actually use it; I didn't even know what a blog was when all of my friends started reading and writing them; I finally gave up using floppy disks in 2006; and I didn't have a cell phone in high school and didn't start texting till, well, that's embarrassing to say. 

Even though I'm generally behind the times, I eventually figure things out and catch up.  But I have to admit that there's one trend I just can't figure out.  What the heck do @ and # mean?!?  So I get that you put @ before a person's name in facebook or a blog comment to signal you're responding to that particular person.  However, I don't see why this is at all necessary.  So I don't do it.  Call me old fashioned.  But the lack of # in my facebook statuses is not a statement (although I don't ever see myself using it), it's a complete lack of understanding.  I don't get it.  I can't figure it out.  I need someone to explain it to me.  Help!  I must be getting old.

Paralyzed

When I worked at the insurance office I would go to work everyday with a specific set of tasks that needed to be performed.  I knew exactly what needed to be done before lunch, by the end of the day, and what could be put off until tomorrow if I was too busy.  I knew I was getting paid $10 an hour to do those things (and I thought I would do anything for 10 bucks when I was a kid).  I knew if those things didn't get done, no one else would do them.  We would get in trouble with underwriters, clients would be upset, and I could lose my $10 job.

When I was a student I knew what I had to do each day to get my work complete for school.  Everything had a specific due date with a specific amount of points attached.  I knew what was most important and what could be put off till later.  I knew I was earning grades that would eventually earn me a piece of paper that would allow me to pay for another piece of paper from the state that would say I was legally qualified and background checked enough to get a job at a school that would pay me more than $10 an hour.  I knew if I messed up I would get bad grades hindering my ability to earn said pieces of paper.

Now I'm a stay at home mom.  I know what needs to be done everyday.  But there aren't enough hours.  I'm not getting paid $10 an hour and no task has a point value attached.  Sometimes I'm paralyzed.  My work is never finished so I don't feel like I can do anything else.  But I don't always feel like working (read: doing the dishes).  So then the work's not done and I'm not doing it and I'm not doing anything else that I want to do.  I had to overcome said paralysis to even write about it (although the my kitchen and living room are clean to total cleanliness right now.  Wait 10 minutes, it will change).  I love structure.  I love having a work day with set hours.  I love due dates and prioritizing with points.  I'm learning how to prioritize and balance a day when I have charge over my time.  Although I've been tempted to set point values to housework I've resisted.  But it's hard.  And it can be discouraging.  And redundant.  And super awesome at the same time.  I guess this whole balance thing is something we have to work on forever.  Because something will always change.  Something else will always need to be done.  And needs and wants will fluctuate till the second coming.

Maybe this is part of the reason my time budget experiment failed.  Because time isn't exactly like money.  You can't save it for something big.  It just keeps going even if you're not doing anything.  You can't predict when you'll be sick, or when a baby just needs to be played with way more than the dishes need to be done.  And some days you'll just spend the whole day in the kitchen.  Or be busy all day and look back wondering what you accomplished.  Or ditch everything and play at the park instead.  And there are no receipts to keep and track.  No accounts to balance and reconcile.  And sometimes you do so much at once you don't know how to write it down.  There is no time credit card or signature loan.  And it's beautiful.  Because it's not the time that matters, it's the people and relationships.  I'm really rambling now and wondering into different posts.  But my brain can't wrap this up all neatly yet.  Maybe it will all come together neatly later, but not right now.  So I'm going to stop.  Just like that. 

From My Pillow

I think I may have solved world hunger, or even cured cancer, this morning.  I was lying in bed after M woke me up to change her diaper at 4am and couldn't get back to sleep.  I do some pretty deep thinking in the dark on my pillow.  And this morning I swore I would remember it all.  I thought my thoughts repeatedly and clearly so as to burn them into my tired brain.  I knew when I woke up at the regular hour this morning I would be full of good things that needed writing.  I guess I need to start keeping a pen by my bed because when I did wake up all I remembered was the need to remember.  Maybe next time. 

p.s.- my time budgeting experiment failed.  Did any of you participate?  Were you successful?  More on that later.

From the Kitchen Sink

Lately as I do the dishes I've been pondering how much time I spend in the kitchen each day. Some days it really feels like an eternity. Wake up, get M some milk, go jogging, feed everyone breakfast, clean up breakfast, make lunch, eat lunch, clean up lunch, sweep the kitchen, mop the kitchen, load the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher, disinfect the counter tops, make dinner, eat dinner, clean up dinner, think about cleaning out the refrigerator, holy cow the microwave could use a good scrubbing, and have you looked in the oven lately? Does it ever end? Nope. As soon as is sparkly it's inevitably time to eat again. I get why people in America eat out so much. I think the reason we're supposed to cook on the Sabbath with "singleness of heart" isn't about the cooking, but the amount of cleaning up after. I've been thinking about this a lot. Which snowballed into thinking about what I really do all day anyway. I like to think I budget my time fairly well, but how do I know if the things I do all day are undone by the end of the day?

I've decided that budgeting time must be like budgeting money. Right? Both are finite(ish) resources that are necessary but we never seem to have enough of. And what's the first step to budgeting? Finding out where you spend your money. So I'm doing an experiment. For one week I'm going to track on paper what I do with all of my time during the day. I started this morning. It's been awesome. When I started tracking my money at first I realized I wasn't as great with money as I thought I was. When I started tracking my time this morning I realized that I do a lot more in the day than I give myself credit for. By 10am I had showered, made the husband lunch, eaten breakfast, fed 2 babies breakfast, cleaned the kitchen (not to total cleanliness), started sorting through two bags of amazing hand me downs, played with babies, read books with babies, unpacked from a trip, put the laundry away, picked up the living room, patched a pair of pants, changed three diapers, and put two babies down for naps. That's a lot. And it also turns out that my perception of how long things take me is also totally skewed.

I'll give you an update at the end of the week. My tendency to organize and analyze is kicking in and I'm planning on sorting my time into categories and percentages. I can't wait.

Wonder where you're spending your time? Experiment with me!

perspective

Sometimes you read something and you know right then that you are changed. 
I just read these paragraphs by Chieko Okazaki in her book Being Enough.  My perspective has changed.  I hope forever.  I know it's long, but read it anyway, it's worth it.

"In most Mormon gatherings, if I were to ask you who you are, particularly what your eternal identity is, many would answer, 'I am a child of God.'…But that is not enough.  Every living person is a child of God.  But that's the beginning point, not the ending point.  The ending point is to become peers of God.  He wants us to grow up, not remain children.

"I think that some of us sometimes regress to being two-year-olds of God and have tantrums when things don't go our way or when we get tired or scared.  Some of us get stuck being teenagers of God, who just got a driver's license and are out to see how fast we can move our lives from one lane to the next and play some pretty reckless and heedless games with this precious life God has given us.  Some of us jump ahead and are Alzheimer's patients with God where our short-term memory is disappearing and we keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again because we can't remember that the exact same thing we're right now didn't work before either.  Some of us are junkies of God and go from one spiritual book or speaker or Education Week to another without ever thoughtfully sifting and sorting and laying out the pieces of our lives before God and asking him to help us shape these pieces into something meaningful.  Some of us are workaholics of God.  We plunge into our callings and our service projects and our personal gospel study and our genealogical research and God becomes somebody we meet at the drinking fountain or the copy machine long enough to gasp out a quick report before we rush off to the next project.

"Well, I hope that somewhere in your personal definition of who you are that there are descriptions such as 'lover of God' and 'disciple of Christ' and 'handmaiden of the Lord' and 'servant of the Most High' and even the term that Christ himself used: 'friend' of God."

I read the sentence about the "junkie of God" and felt a little sick in my stomach (in a good way).  My focus needs shifting.  It's about the relationship.  Knowledge and actions benefit me as they help me come closer to, not just know about, my Heavenly Father and Savior.  

Who are you?

bubble therapy

Sometimes when the babies (my own and the one I babysit) get restless and we just can't be in the house anymore, but we have nowhere to go, we sit on the porch and blow bubbles.  Here's what it looks like.  I open the front door and prop the screen door open, the stoop becomes my seat.  I sit and blow bubbles.  M (my almost 1 year old) crawls around on the cement because she prefers it to the grass.  A (the 18 month old I watch and love everyday) runs around or backs her little bum up to sit next to me on the door stoop (is that the right word?  If I had time I'd look it up).  We don't say anything.  The front porch area (we have a detached garage in front) becomes filled with bubbles.  No one cries or says 'no' (well, mostly).  It's heaven on the porch.

Here's what I realized today.  Most of the time the babies could care less about the bubbles.  That means the bubbles are for me.  Who knew that 27 year old college graduate moms still like bubbles?  But I do.  I love how they look so magical when the air is filled with them.  I love how they blow with the wind, no plan or destination.  And I especially love when the cement is wet and the bubbles melt half way and then stretch till they can't stretch anymore and pop with the best cartoon pop sound I've ever heard.

But the most profound thing I realized today is that blowing bubbles is a good as yoga to calm me and help me feel centered.  Not just watching the magic, but the actual blowing of the bubbles.  In through my nose and slow and controlled out of my mouth.  Just like yoga without the workout.   Amazing.

God isn't a bully and we aren't ants

Sometimes it can be easy to picture God as a bully over an ant hill, picking out unsuspecting and helpless ants to burn with his giant magnifying glass. Especially as women, we almost always think most (or magnify) all of the things we don't have or do or do well enough. My house isn't clean enough. I don't read my scriptures enough. I don't spend enough quality time with my kid. The list goes on and on and on. We feel frustrated and judged. After all, God is the ultimate judge and He expects perfection. And we all know that Jane next door has already achieved perfection with her spotlessly clean home and charming family home evenings. So that means God must be looking at me through his magnifying glass and seeing all the dirty laundry and potentially inappropriate media in my living room.

While I don't believe that God will turn a blind eye to my shortcomings, I do believe the perception of Him as a bully spending His time in the heavens tallying up every mistake I make and waiting for the next one, laughing as I squirm under his magnifying glass, is also wrong.

John 3:16 is perhaps one of the most famous and oft quoted scriptures in all of Christianity (I'm totally making that up, I have no evidence). "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Hallelujah! But that's not all. John 3:17 (by my uniformed estimation probably the least famous and least oft quoted scripture in all of Christianity) tells me God's motivations. "For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved." I am not an unsuspecting and helpless ant. God is not a bully with a magnifying glass. He is my loving Father who wants me to return safely to Him. He watches me, not to burn me on my mistakes, but to make sure I'm ok. He gave me a Savior because He knew I couldn't do it alone. I mess up every day and that's ok. He does expect perfection. But not right now, and not by my work alone, and certainly not perfection compared to Jane next door.

I probably spend a little too much time thinking about all the things I do wrong and how I can fix them. I need to do plenty of repenting in my life, but not alone, and not out of fear of punishment, and not so I can live up to Jane next door! God loves me so much that He sent me a savior, my older brother, to help me. He loves me so much that he sees the good with the mistakes. His work and glory are to bring me back to Him to receive immortality and eternal life. There are plenty of bullies on the earth. God certainly isn't one of them.

Birth Story of a Blog

Every time I do dishes I wonder about two things: 1- is it better for the environment to use Tupperware or plastic bags? and 2- do I use more water hand washing dishes or using my dishwasher? I'm not an overly environmentally cautious person, but I wonder about these things. And I wonder if you wonder about these things too. A couple of years ago I was standing at my sink thinking about water versus landfill usage and thought maybe if I blogged about it I could make up my mind and stop thinking about it.
So I started a blog. And it became my family blog. And I still wonder about water and landfills every time I do the dishes.

At the end of my student teaching I decided to not pursue a full time teaching job, but to take advantage of the time I have to stay at home with my daughter. I began to worry that if I wasn't working or going to school my brains would start leaking out of my head and I would forget everything I learned in my K-college education. I specifically worried that my writing skills would suffer. But let's be honest, writing just isn't the same without an (potential) audience. So I started wondering (are you catching a theme here?) what I could blog about. I read lots of blogs, and I like them, but do I have something unique to offer? Or would I just be another Mormon mommy blog. I have nothing against Mormon mommy blogs. I read a lot of them. And I like them. I guess that's kind of the point. Could my voice be unique in that vast community? Would writing exclusively about my mommyhood satisfy my brain? If people actually started reading would I be obligated to them in some way?

One day I was preparing to teach "I Stand Here Ironing" and tried to introduce the story by asking students what they think about when their hands are occupied but their brains are free. You know, like when you're doing the dishes. I explained to them the conversation I have in my head every time I do the dishes. They may have thought I was crazy. But at the end of the day my cooperating teacher told me, "that's it, that's what you should blog about." She wanted to read the things I think. And I think about plenty. As evidenced by the delay in my actually starting this blog. (What will the title be? What we address will I use? What font do I write it? Do I include pictures? What do I say in the "about me" section?)

So here I am. And here you are. So how about it. What do you think when you're hands are busy but your mind is free?