Becoming Something

SickKids saved my life in 1981-- help say thanks.

I should have died. 

I was somewhere between one and two years old.  My mother says I was a baby but my aunt says I was talking and my grandfather confirms this.  Somehow, somewhere I found a large safety pin.  It was likely open when I swallowed it.  It didn't just puncture my throat; it went straight through to my jugular vein.  You know, the vein that takes the blood from your heart to your brain. 

Blood was leaking from my jugular.  I wasn't eating or drinking much.  I was crying a lot.  No one could tell what was wrong until my grandfather noticed that my neck was swelling a large bump.

They brought me to the local hospital where after I was flown straight to the Hospital for Sick Kids, in Toronto.  They removed the pin and sent me home, 6.5 hours north, not knowing that my jugular vein was leaking. 

I still wouldn't eat.  I was coughing up blood onto my pillow.  My mother knew something was still wrong.  Once the local hospital had an idea of what might have happened I was put on a plane so quickly, on my way back to Toronto, that my mother barely made it onto the plane. 

I was cut open from my ear to my chest and the vein was repaired.  I still sport scars from the blood transfusion on my ankles, wrists and my right breast (which really just blends in with the stretch marks).  So swollen was I and attached to so many tubes that when my mother went looking for me in the ICU she didn't recognise me.  Then when I was pointed out to her, she became so hysterical that she needed restraining and drugs administered to her to calm her down. 

The wound later got infected, opened up, and was mistreated by our family physician, causing the scar to be so wide.

I still remember my neck hurting for years.  I didn't eat a lot and was really skinny with a huge head.  My half-sister will confirm this.

When I was 10 years old and seeing a doctor about some extra cartilage that needed to be removed from my knee, my mom casually asked him about plastic surgery for my neck.  "Sure, that can be done," he said.  "We can take some skin from her bum and use that to make two very thin scars instead of this wide scar."  "No!" I said.  Just the idea of some men doing anything to my naked bum while I was unconscious made me feel instantly victimised.  Plus, at the age of 10, the thought of having a piece of my butt on my neck grossed me out.  Dude, I eat near my neck. 

But besides all that, my scar didn't bother me.  With long dark hair, people didn't even notice my scar for months after meeting me.  My scar was a sign that I was alive and I believed that it was for a special purpose.  This scar reminds me that I could have died at less than two-years-old.  This in turn reminds me of the time I narrowly avoided drowning at age 6, and of all the other precarious situations I was put in as a child, or that I placed myself in. 

My scar reminds me (as Destiny's-Child puke-worthy-corny as this is) that I'm a survivor.  And besides, some people find it sexy.  Okay, so just the prison inmates to whom I occasionally write, but still. 

* * *

I haven't shared this story earlier because it's missing so many details that are in conflict between what different family members have told me and no one wrote anything down and despite being my mother's only child and almost dying, she doesn't even remember how old I was. *eyeroll* :-) 

I'm sharing it now, though, to explain why I'm choosing Sick Kids Foundation in Toronto as my charity for CanadaHelps. If you know me in real life or if you're even just a casual observer on Twitter or here, you probably know how passionate I am about health care.  And clearly, I'm grateful to Sick Kids for saving my life. 

Please ** click here to see my CanadaHelps Giving Page **.  I've set a modest goal to raise $3000 by my next birthday (which I can adjust, if people delight me with their generosity), however, there's more to this. 

CanadaHelps has issued a Giving Challenge for people to use social media tools to raise money for the Canadian charity of their choice.  The contest ends December 20th at 12 noon EST.  If I raise the most money or get the highest number of donations, GivingHelps will donate $5000 to Sick Kids.  I'm already entering a bit late.

For participating, I get entered into a draw every week for an iPod Shuffle-- hardly a big deal.  I have no use for a music player I can't obsessively control according to my every whim, and anyway, can't you pick them up for like, $40 these days?  If I do win an iPod Shuffle, I will raffle it off to a blog reader who donated.  So, I'm not in it for the prizes.

Clearly, I'm in it for the glory. 

Kidding.  No, actually, with my last business I sold I had intended to set up a Sick Kids fundraising page and never got around to it.  Then a media rep contacted me about the contest, so it was kismet.

So, for all you blog commenters who've thanked me for a post, for all of you who said I helped you in some way, or made you cry, or made you laugh, please consider donating.  Those of you who read here regularly, consider it being like the cost of a magazine subscription.  For those who say that coming here is like a therapy session, what are those fees running nowadays? 

Let's take a look at the benefits you get from Becoming Something:

• a feeling of superiority for every time I embarrass myself, beknownst to me or unbeknownst to me
• new fantastic music suggestions for your playlist
• information about Mormonism and other stuff
• inspiration and encouragement
• humorous stories
• yummy recipes
• Daily Gratitudes
• commiserating
  
• the opportunity to help out those in need

I'm thinking that's worth at least a yearly $20 donation. ;-)  $50?

You will receive a tax receipt and you can choose to not have your name displayed on my page's list of contributors, if you'd prefer to remain anonymous. 

Jude has kicked things off with $100.  Small gesture of thanks to Sick Kids for having me as a wife.

Thank you, in advance!  I love you!

 

Daily Gratitudes

1. Had a lovely weekend full of love for my family and friends.
2. Bronchitis is gone.  No signs of brain cancer or chlamydia. (Facebook friends would get that joke.)
3. Okay, I really, really don't want snow this year but the fat flakes coming down right now are kinda pretty.
4. My kids go to good schools with good teachers and principals.
5. Jude let me sleep in a bit this morning, making breakfast and lunch sandwiches.

Trauma clean-up in aisle 11

I've finally figured out the cycle of trauma recovery:

1. Life is lovely.  It's annoying and tiresome but still overall delightful.  When the day is done, you laugh about the mishaps and the messes on Facebook, diffuse frustration via wise cracks on Twitter.  You go to sleep with a few longings but no angst.


2. A trigger occurs.  Someone says something, a scene in a movie happens, a song, a smell, a feeling happens.  You're annoyed or critical.  You may not know what you're really upset about.  That's why you need to talk about it with someone.  Or think a lot.  But talking to someone smart who knows you well is preferable.  (I'd lend you Jude but he's a bit exhaustified* by me.)


3. Once you realise what ancient hurt is gnawing at you, you may feel like you've been kicked in the stomach.  You might get angry because you thought that you had sorted all this out.  But here's what you didn't understand:  God doesn't give you everything to chew on at once.  You might know that ya, your daddy abandoned you, or that your brother ran over your pet chimpanzee with his BMX repeatedly while you watched-- whatever.  And you might think those are the only issues you have, but there are usually more.  Or you might think the damage is straightforward but there are usually many deep layers to the damage.


4. You sit with the pain because you don't have any choice.  It comes upon you like labour pains.  You are birthing yourself into a full consciousness of who you are and why you feel and do the things you do.  You're making connections between past trauma and the way you've lived your life to avoid any reminders of that trauma. OR! (and this is more likely) you make the connection between past trauma and the way you've been living your life, seeking out that same trauma so that you can deal with it differently.  It's like having a nightmare and trying to get back into your nightmare before you fully awake so that you can change the outcome.  If you can change the outcome of this new situation that mirrors the trauma of the past, you feel the victor instead of the victim.  Bye bye victim mentality.
   
   You sit with the pain you thought you'd healed and you sit with the embarrassment of your self-delusion and näiveté for thinking you'd healed it.
   
   It's so raw that inside you're screaming, crying out for relief, and this reminds you of childbirth.  You are birthing yourself into what you hope will be a purer, higher version of yourself.
   
   You want an epidural for this birth and you don't care what your birth plan said, how stupid were you to make a birth plan, you had no idea how bad the pain would be, just give you the freaking epidural already.  You're angry that your support people aren't more sympathetic.  They're acting like this is a totally normal process when it can't possibly be normal to be experiencing this much pain!  No one is listening.  "This is not normal!  Put me out!" you scream.  You wish they knew how bad you felt.  You turn to those who have a pretty good idea of how you feel:  your doula, or nurse, or mother.  (You still following the analogy?  You seek out people who can empathise because they've experienced the same thing.) 
   
   How terrible if you get stuck with support staff who tell you to keep the wailing on the down low because you're scaring everyone or stressing them out.  You want to murder whoever minimises your pain and put their skulls on a stick in your front yard.
   
   If you're smart, you do know that all this pain is necessary and comes with the territory.


5. However necessary, you want anything but to feel this.  You don't want to take a hard look at yourself.  You don't want to have to change.  You don't want to follow this intense pain with the work of change.  After pain like this you should be on a beach somewhere being massaged with coconut oil. 
   
   You want to numb this now.  You might consider hard drugs, inappropriate sex, suicide.   You might turn to music.  You might turn to food or shopping, whatever your favourite vice is to distract yourself.  But if the trauma is really bad, you will consider doing things you'd never before considered.  If it's really bad you won't care about the consequences.  You'll gladly trade one problem for this one.  Considering these things is understandable.  Just don't be fooled into thinking they'll help anything.  You won't heal anything and you'll have a new problem on your hands.


6. After crying and mourning, after anger and rage, you reach a point where you can't feel anymore.  You're just tuckered out.  You've made it through the worst of it.  Your crazy coping thoughts are distant, silly memories.  You utter a lot of inward, "Whatever"s and "I guess it doesn't matter"s and "Whew, that was weird"s.  You think that because you've sat with your pain and acknowledged it and figured out what you can change, and accepted what you can't, and forgiven everyone who's hurt you, that you'll never have to go through this again.  At least not for THIS specific trauma. 


7. You put on some music to help drag yourself out of the lingering depression.  You start a conversation or a project.  Anything to distract yourself.  You'd like to move on to Fully Functioning Normalcy, thank you very much.  You say, "Heh heh, sorry about that, heh," to everyone you brought into your trauma breakdown.  You resolve to not let it happen again because you're so tired of feeling dysfunctional and even when you explain yourself, no one REALLY, totally understands.  You'll prove yourself healed and normal.


8. Everyone is comfortable for a while.  Your spouse, your friends, yourself.  You're healthy, happy, and productive.  Life is so great.  Whew!  What a relief that you're no longer that crazy person crying in bed and fantasising about drug addiction, huh?  


9. A new trigger occurs.  See step #2.


10. You realise that there's even MORE to your past trauma that has been hurting you and hindering your personality/development.  Greeeeat.


11. Repeat steps 4-9.

Ahhh.  Life is great, ain't it?

At least I've finally figured out that this is the way it is.  I've finally figured out that I may never escape the triggers.  The scars may remain pinkish purple, never disappearing to white in this life.  But hopefully, I can experience shorter recovery times.  Hopefully, my friends and family will recognise what's happening and be patient with me and help me through it.  

Why do we go through this pain?

Because God is refining us so that we can be stronger, happier.  He's refining us to be of better use to Him by being more useful to people around us.  Precious metals are not mined immediately usable.  The impurities that surround the precious metals must go through a fiery refining process and the refiner must sit with the metals to make sure the timing is just right.  Christ said he would "sit as a refiner and purifier of silver: and He shall purify the sons of Levi, and purge them as gold and silver." (Malachi 3:2)  The language used here is important:  He would sit "as", meaning "like", a refiner.  He will sit and watch carefully to make sure the timing is right and that we're not destroyed by the process.  It feels like we'll be destroyed.  It feels wretched.  But when it's all done, we're stronger and better and we see the wisdom in it.

Too many people resist this process and stall their own progress, stuck in the angry stage, and abandoning all faith in God because if God loved them he'd just take away their pain.

Anger is so easy.  Faith is so hard.

* (I just love it in Little Women when Amy, who's always messing up her words, says, "I'm exhaustified of playing the boy!")

Daily Gratitudes

1. I'm almost done with this bronchitis.
2. Holy carp, do I ever need a weekend!  And voila-- here it is.
3. November 27th, Alberta, Canada, and NO SNOW! (Frost, but it's NOT SNOW!)
4. Jude made a cranberry-pear crisp last night from scratch and it was a nice breakfast change of pace.
5. That True Colours number on Glee last night was SO beautiful!  I can't emphasise that enough.  Was so much better watching it, though, rather than just hearing it.  Wasn't the tv version a capella?  Anyway, here's the available version:

Family Armor: Discipline through fear and compulsion?

Sorry Kimball family, but you willingly provided a really good topic for discussion and, not surprisingly, I have an opinion.  I think this is something people will want to think about and discuss.

I just finished watching the premiere episode of Family Armor.  I had watched only a portion and put it aside until a friend's husband said on Facebook, 

"Caught five minutes of it but turned it off when I saw the sicko owner/father had a video camera in his "live in daughter's" bedroom to "keep an eye on her". Way to teach trust, control freak. Poor representation of Mormons if you ask me."

I hadn't got that far and my thought was, Carp.  Didn't I tell people to tune in to see what Mormons were like?  I'll have to comment on this.  I'm sure my non-Mormon friends will know that I would not agree with this tactic but silence is ambiguous. 

So, I finished the episode and to Trent's credit, that's not exactly what he said.  The point he made was logical, I'll give him that.   He basically said that the cameras he put throughout the house were a reminder that wherever you go, even when you think you're alone, Heavenly Father is watching you. 

However, this portrayal of Heavenly Father was a little bit too 1984 for my liking. (I casually mentioned this to my Stake President yesterday at our ward conference and he immediately said while grimmacing, "Ooh, that sounds like Big Brother."  Uh huh.) It's true that in some way Heavenly Father is always keeping tabs on us.  But does that make surveillance of your family proper and right? 

The Kimball's 16-year-old niece Jessica was brought to the Kimball's home because she was skipping high school classes, partying with her friends, and maybe for other reasons that were not divulged to protect her privacy and reputation.  There might very well be things that we don't know that could make it understandable how her father could say that as much as he wants her to come home, he would leave her in Texas the rest of her life if he had to. 

Unfortunately, the way this was edited, it looks like a girl was sent away from her family and was not allowed to even talk to them on the phone for six months because she was skipping classes and partying with her friends.  It's probably not what Jude and I would do but she was told repeatedly that this would happen if she kept it up and she kept it up.  So, the way I see it, she chose this for herself.  And I agree with Trent that she needs to get love and self-esteem from home and family, not from boys.  But not talking with her family for six months?  That's not something Jude and I would ever do.  When does Heavenly Father say that we're not allowed to pray to him?

Once she was contrite and wanted to be with her family, she was not allowed.  Trent doesn't think she's ready to go home because... she accidentally damaged a hidden water main with a golf cart?  A teenage girl wants to be with her family and said she was ready to follow the rules of the house.  I'd call that success, wouldn't you?

As I see it, the Kimballs and Jessica's parents risk her transitioning from contrite to just outright pissed off.  And if she gets to that stage, what exactly is stopping her from taking off?  I left home at 15, for good.  (In a totally reverse scenario where I was the responsible one and my parents were the irresponsible ones, but self-sufficiency is my point.) 

The only acceptable reason I can think of for kicking a child out of your home is if they are endangering themselves through drugs, or by some other drastic behaviour like anorexia or cutting, or if they are endangering other family members.  And of course in these instances you'd get them professional help.  Or, if they've dropped out of high school and refuse to get a job and pay you rent.

The teenage years are a transition for parents as much as kids.  They are just a few short years away from having the freedom to make all the choices they want, no matter what their parents say or think.  To use those years trying to force behaviour is a waste of precious time.

It seems like some Mormons think that the worst thing we can ever do is sin and their job is to prevent their kids from sinning, almost at all cost.  If they can raise children who are as obedient to gospel principles as possible they've done their job.

But what if your kid is only obedient out of fear?  What if your kid is only obedient because they don't want to disappoint you or they don't want to disappoint God?  Do you call that a success?  NO!

To compel your children to rightness is to act like Satan did in the preexistence.  It's LDS belief that there was a council before we came to earth and in that council Satan offered to be the saviour of mankind and somehow he would compel us all to choose the right way and not one soul would be lost and the glory would be his.  Jehovah offered to be the saviour, to let us choose for ourselves, and the glory would be Heavenly Father's.

I know a family who very much reminds me of what I saw in this Family Armor episode.  The dad was even very physically stiff, tense, like Trent appears to be.  The mom was more warm, like Courtney, but also had the same beliefs about obedience, discipline, organisation, and rules as Courtney alluded to.   Here's what happened:  Their first son was always very obedient and good.  The mom told me he never broke rules, never acted out.  He served a mission for our church.  He came home, got married in the temple, then left the church.  I think he may have even asked to have his name removed from the record, which is very serious.  Their second child went on a mission, then went to school far away and still lives there.  Their next child drank and got into trouble in her teens, then got married almost as soon as she was a legal adult.  Their next child went through similar teen rebellion and I don't know if she's currently active in the church.

The strict method of parenting works well for little kids but it usually backfires for teens.

When we impose strict obedience and run our families like we run businesses, we teach our children that we don't trust them to choose for themselves.  We see our role the same way Satan saw his role.  If our kids grow up fine, we can pat ourselves on the back for doing such a good job.  If they struggle, we torment ourselves over what we did wrong.

Parents who teach their children to think and act for themselves, to choose the right not because they're afraid of disappointing their parents and their God, but because they see the value in righteousness for its own sake, are parents who know that if their kids are great successes or terrible failures, it's because of their kids and not because of themselves.

It's not the end of of the world, or the end of my daughters' salvation if they make bad choices and get pregnant at 16.  I definitely don't feel like it's my job as their parent to use whatever tool or threat I have in my arsenal for "their own good". 

I plan to raise my teenagers like Heavenly Father raises me.  As Joseph Smith said, "I teach them correct principles and let them govern themselves."  Heavenly Father does this.  This is what I plan to do, generally speaking. There are usually natural consequences to our actions.

I don't want to shelter my kids from unrighteousness.  I don't want to keep them innocent as long as possible.  I want to be the one to tell them about all the possibilities in this world, all the potholes, all the evil, while they're still young enough to be more interested in my perspective than the perspective of their friends. 

I want to influence their thinking while they're young.  Then I want to let them make mistakes and learn from them. 

And here's why:

I have faith.  I have faith in them that they'll figure things out.  I have faith that they can make things right.  I have faith in Jesus Christ that he'll make up the difference.  I have faith in God's forgiveness and love.  I have faith that no matter what happens, it's not the end of the world or the end of their salvation, or the end of their self-worth.  EVERYTHING can be made right, even in this life.  God can turn the worst situation into something beautiful.  He can make strong things weak.  He even says that he GAVE us weaknesses so that they can become strengths. 

When you put video cameras up to compel kids to make right choices lest they be caught and disciplined, you don't give them room to flex the muscles of their conscience. 

Kids need to feel like we have faith in them.  They need to feel like we think they're so smart and so good and so capable.  If we send them that message not just in what we say but in how we treat them, they will live it. 

I don't believe that kids do bad things because their parents don't put up enough safeguards for them.  They do bad things because they're not taught otherwise, or when they are taught otherwise, they do bad things because they don't feel love and/or they don't have enough self-confidence and self-love.  Self-confidence and self-love is not something we can guarantee, even if we do everything perfectly.  But it is something we should always be trying to give in everything we say and do with our kids.

Kicking your kid out of your home might be the best decision because it's all you can do, because you don't have the faculties, the ability to do anything else.  But, it's Jude's and my opinion that it's rarely the ideal response.

Take away privileges but don't take away food, shelter and your love.  Not talking to your child on the phone for six months because phone privileges have been taken away?! 

I'm sure there are exceptions to this rule I just pronounced about kicking out kids.  I'm sure there are exceptions to letting our kids make bad decisions and having to live with the consequences.  And I definitely believe that families are able to receive revelation from God that is unique to them and I don't know all the details of this situation in the Kimball home.  Hey, maybe the teen even chose these consequences for herself!  Maybe she was asked what she thought was fitting and in a moment of humble honesty, she agreed this would be best.

Also, I know that 500 hours of footage was whittled down to a 40 minute episode and I'm sure that the producers of this show sought to showcase the Kimballs in this way knowing exactly how it would be perceived, knowing that it would cause controversy.

I also know that there are different ways to reach the same goal and that some are better than others.  I had already written this blog post when a talk was given in church on Sunday at our ward conference about this very thing:  Obedience.  The speaker did a great job explaining that we can do what's right out of fear or out of love.  We can do everything right that we're supposed to out of a sense of responsibility and still not be better off than someone who only does half of what they should but does all of it out of pure love for God, themselves, and their fellow man.

The entire episode of Family Armor had the theme of responsibility, discipline and obedience.  Even their family motto was something like, "We the Kimball family believe in fulfilling all of our responsibilities."  Or maybe that wasn't their family motto, maybe it was just their family theme for the year, influenced in part by Jessica's visit.

Still, it prompted me to ask Jude, "If our family had a motto, what would it be?  What do you think it should be?"  He said, "We believe in loving God and loving others."

You can't have a better motto than that.  Those are the two greatest commandments.  If I'm going to get my kids to repeat something until they know it by heart, it's going to be that.  I don't care about them finishing their homework or doing their chores as much as I care about them befriending a disabled kid that no one plays with, or helping each other clean their rooms without being asked.  I do care about all of it but if there's something I'm going to emphasise over and over, dude-- it's gonna be love. 

Trent said, "It's not about Big Love, it's about tough love."  That upset my husband, my high priest priesthood holder. He jumped on that and said, "No, it's not.  It's about love."  Just love.  

With all due respect, that's what Jude and got out of the episode and that's what we get out of Mormonism.

  Daily Gratitudes

1. I love my bishop and stake president.  They have a very warm, loving, genuine air about them.  My bishop had no reason to come up to me and say, "You have cute children.  You really make very cute children.  I'm not just saying that to be polite.  You really do have cute children."  He was very sweet about it.  I love it when people dole out compliments unexpectedly like that.
2. Jude has gotten so much better at listening and not trying to give advice. 
3. It's cold but still no snow.
4. Um... Modern plumbing and electricity.
5. Food.  

Interpret my apparent ego-themed dream

A car pulls up and in the back seat is Barack Obama.  He wants me to get into the back seat with him and I can feel this warmth and affection between us, like he's an old friend.  We have some sort of connection and he trusts me and I trust him.  As I bend over to look in the window, I'm caught off guard by my reflection.  I look like me only the genetically modified version of me:  My hair is blond, my eyes are a sparkling light green, my smile is broad and super white, and I'm really, really pretty.  I'm glowing.

I get into the car and I see that Obama has a bit of lipstick on his lips and eyeshadow and the driver, who's on the right side of the vehicle, not the left, is also a black man and he has plenty of red lipstick on and teal-coloured eyeshadow.  I raise my eyebrows, contemplate this, but I don't say anything.  I don't really care what's going on and as we're driving through the town I can feel within me an understanding, as if he's talking to me telepathically, that he asked for me to accompany him because he knows I'm not going to judge him or care if he's really gay and hiding it.  I wonder if Michelle knows but then the knowledge comes to me that she does and I shrug and don't care.  I'm just blissfully happy and in the moment and pleased to be his company.  I don't want to ask any questions because I don't want the answers.  All I know is that he's dear to me.

He asks where I want to go, if I want to go to Edmonton to meet his father (or was it a friend? an adviser?).  I've already met him and he adamantly doesn't like me but in that way where I think he actually gets quite a kick out of me, and I say sure.  I'm at peace with the world, I'm in the  moment. 

As we drive I note details around the town. The town is Peace River, where I used to live, except it looks much more eccentric.  I note through the back window some totem poles that serve as corners to a building.  I note some burning potato bags at the top of a large, travelling kiosk.  As we keep going I note some large framework structures, that were going to be buildings, knocked over and left on the ground, with some of their foundation attached.  I explain to Obama that these were going to be apartment buildings but I guess the owners ran out of money and they're being ditched.   I do see a large hole dug for another apartment building that will be going in.  It's going to be a low income home/counselling facility.  I'm happy to know it will still be going up but it occurs to me how far it is from the town centre and grocery stores and there's no bus in the town, so I silently worry about how easy it will be for people to get their groceries, and I remember being single and having to walk a long way carrying my grocery bags.

As we're driving, Barack Obama turns into Michelle Obama except that she has lighter skin and age spots like Barack.  She is president of Canada and I am vice-president.  Which is weird because we have "Prime Ministers" in Canada.  Ya, that's the only thing weird about that.  So, I'm sitting beside Michelle and I'm so happy and I marvel at the power positions we've just been given and think, "We're really going to change things."  I also marvel that I am vice-president because I feel so normal.  I think of how I'd expect a vice-president to be and seem: older, more political, more dishonest, more scheming, less genuine.  But here I am sweet and sincere with no personal agenda, just a desire to serve and I have a vague feeling that people are going to attack me but mostly I feel like everything will be fine and through my ability to communicate and my lack of fear at being honest they will trust me.

So, it's just Michelle and I and the driver, and she wants to ask me about my depression and how long I've had it and how it's affected my marriage.  And since it's really just us in the vehicle I don't mind telling her whatever she wants to know. I start to tell her that I was depressed as a child and that I think when you're developing and you're sad and lonely and afraid a lot, it messes with the wiring of your brain and it's harder for you to have normal emotions later in life.  That's just my theory.  And I start to tell her about how our marriage used to be worse but it's so lovely now, almost perfect. 

Then there are people in the seat ahead of us, one guy and two young women, younger than me.  We're no longer alone.  I am confused but I shrug it off.  The one woman is lamenting that we're on our way somewhere and she looks awful.  I lean over and take a look at her.  She looks a bit disheveled and natural-looking but I tell her she looks cute and I mean it.

I sit back down and to my left comes some guy in a suit, in his 30's. I've never seen him before.  He's cute enough.  I ask him his name.  He says, "Gabe Ba...on".  I repeat it.  He tells me again.  I tell him that I can't make out what he's saying, that it sounds like, "Gabe Ba...on", some mumbly gibberish.  He smiles, grabs my face and kisses me, closed lipped, on the mouth while laughingly saying, "You are SO very adorable." Then he says, "GABE," then kisses me, then "BARTON", and kisses me again, like you would kiss some stranger after finding out the war in your country is over.  I'm flustered, blushing.  I'm the vice-president!  How dare he say I'm adorable and kiss me?!  I'm married!  And yet, I'm also flattered.  But what kind of person kisses a total stranger like that?  I'm also bummed out that it's no longer just Michelle and I.  Now we can't really talk.

Then Jude woke me up to tell me it was time to get ready for church and that he brought me French toast, which I ate in bed. 

I can't believe I remembered the dream in all that detail without writing it down right away!

The delightful thing about aging

Getting older sucks in many ways:  slower metabolism, more wirey hair, sagging skin, fading memory, maybe the need for more fibre?

But a delightful trade-off is the acceptance you find for all the things you tried to change about yourself to fit the portrait you composed in your mind in reaction to all the embarrassing moments, all the incidents of insecurity.

I used to be embarrassed by how terrible I am at retelling stories, telling jokes, or even reiterating something I have myself written.

When I retell anything that has a beginning, middle and end, there's a lot of,

"Wait. I can't remember."

and

"Oh!"

and

"Wait, wait. Okay, I remember. First... THEN..."

and

"Then I said something like... uh..."

And always the listener has a patient look upon his or her face and I know they're like that doctor on Scrubs, you know, the really cynical, mean doctor who tunes people out and goes to his happy ocean place and then when he's done he tells them he wasn't listening to them?  What's his name?  Well, they're like him only they wouldn't be so rude as to tell me they were busy at the ocean while I was trying to piece together a story that's getting more and more un-funny by the second.

When I sit at the computer, I can usually just write something and there's not a lot of pausing.  Usually my thoughts come to me clearly and strongly.  But talk to me in person or on the phone and I sound like a 13-year-old who's been sniffing permanent markers.  Not always.  Only a lot of the time. 

I used to feel self-conscious about this and I'd try to measure my words, giving myself more time to think.  Then, later I'd go over in my mind all the ways I sounded stupid and I'd resolve to do better next time.

Now?  I call it "quirky and adorable".  It's been my mantra-like self-definition for a while, instead of "weird and annoying".  There's always two sides to every coin, right?  

I used to think it was a sign that I was deep and intelligent that I didn't give away my laughs too readily.  (Really, I was depressed and when I'm depressed I'm really critical.)

Now, I'm so easy.  I noticed a couple of weeks ago that I preface an awful lot of comments on Facebook and Twitter with "LOL".  Once I noticed I, well, LOLed because it occurred to me how ditzy it looks.  For a nanosecond I was embarrassed but I really am laughing when write "LOL", if not an outward, "Heh" then at least an inward giggle.  So, it's just the honest truth. (Well, except for the "out loud" part.)

I giggle at lot.  I giggle at so much of what Jude says. Tonight, we went to see All About Steve with Sandra Bullock and Bradley Cooper and we laughed a ton, which probably makes us very uncool.  At one point I noticed that while other people were chuckling, we were laughing REALLY loud.  And I thought that at least one person in the theatre was probably thinking, "Hey, dummies.  It's not THAT funny."  Then I giggled some more on the short drive home, at things Jude said, at things I said.  I really amuse myself. 

But you know what?  I'm just really, really happy.  Most of the time, not all of the time.  I'm in love: with my husband, my kids, my friends, my music, and the nuances of life.  I'm... giddy.  And the best part is that I feel calm about it, not manic.  It's a happy way to be!

I think what I liked most about All About Steve was that even though otherwise brilliant Mary (Sandra's character) was annoying, didn't know when to shut up, and probably had Non-verbal Learning Disability, if not Asperger's, she found people who loved her the way she was.  Jude and I felt a bit gushy about these characters, they were just so sincere and weird.  And at the end Mary realises it's no great achievement to be "normal".

I have a few friends who love me the way I am.  They accept that I'm ditzy some days and I ramble on and on and I'll tell them, "Just one more thing!" before hanging up on the phone;  I'm arrogant some days and argumentative;  I'm a lot of seemingly conflicting things and they still love me!  I think.  I'm pretty sure.  They put on a good show.  It's fantastic! 

I think the older we get, the more accepting we get.  That's why the last child gets away with more than his or her siblings did.  We don't sweat the small stuff in ourselves and others.  We panic less about what things mean;  we need fewer definitions;  we can live happily in the greys.

The lines on my face I really don't mind so much.  I hate the sagging around my mouth.  I love that swine flu was the best thing that ever happened to my fat face.  I'm not particularly fond of the double eyelid I have from my sagging eyebrows.  I hate that I can't remember phone numbers and statistics like I used to.

But I laugh more. I make myself laugh more.  And I don't mind saying so.

Daily Gratitudes

1. It's a beautiful, sunny, zero-snow day.
2. Jude is bringing home a surprise for me from the town he's visiting briefly to drop our daughter off at an activity.  I hope it's food.  Or a hot British celebrity. 
3. I'm liking the Christmas decorations.
4. Debbie-who-I-wish-was-my-friend invited me to her house to learn together how to put genealogy on the Family Search website.
5. I'm so happy!

♥ ☀ ☻

(Check out the swine flu weight loss.  The first yucky photo is from August.  I pranced about Lampeter, Wales with no make-up and nothing done to my hair, despite knowing there'd be a lot of photos taken.  When I was 18, I wouldn't have even ventured to the gas station without make-up.  Partly because I didn't have a driver's license but that's a story for another day.  The next photos are from this week.  Note:  Cheek bones!  No double chin!  And also, I can so totally raise one solitary eyebrow.  That was a bit of goal of mine.)

 

A confession of pent-up frustration-fueled immaturity

Immature, sure. But funny.

First, you'll need some background info.

Jude and I built a house almost two years ago.  It was a spec house but I was able to choose all the finishing materials and change the layout without charge so it ended up being a custom house. 

I had a really good rapport with the project manager, the carpenter, the electrician, the designer lady at the tile place, and overall it was such a good experience that I wanted to have a party once we got into the house, and invite all these people as a thank you.  I told the project manager at the outset that I was high maintenance in that I'd want a lot of changes, but very agreeable and easy to work with.  When the house was built, he admitted that I was one of the easier homeowners to work with.  I was never shrill or demanding or rude or expectant, if that's a word.  I can neither confirm or deny purposely turning on the charm so that these men would feel bad to make me sad.

Once we got the house, once we signed those papers and moved in (way late) and the company got their money, I had to deal with the warranty guy (whom we'll call... Alf).

The warranty guy's job seems to be to let the builder get away with fixing as little as possible.

The worst situation we had, which stressed Jude and I out to the max, was when our roof shingles flew off for a second time in the first year of our ownership, well within our warranty.  They did not want to fix the roof, calling the damage "an act of God".  I replied to Alf that the wind gusts were less than what the shingles were warrantied for, and when they consulted Environment Canada's website they had to concede this fact. 

To make a long story short, they continually tried to get out of fixing our roof and our neighbors' roofs until we rallied together (I went knocking door to door) and started emailing the company about all of our findings, carbon copying each other on the emails.  We had a lot of evidence that our roofing wasn't done right.  They had none.  They said they sent someone to inspect the roof shingles.  In fact, someone only drove to our street, looked up at a couple of roofs, and left.

Jude and I were furious. Furious! (It deserves repeating.) It was obvious that they were trying to avoid fixing one roof because it would lead to fixing all the roofs in the neighborhood with missing shingles and that might lead to lawsuits from owners in other cul-de-sacs who had completely replaced their roofs in the past 2-3 years.

The home builder went ahead and replaced our shingles but said this would be the last time.  So, we took photos of our shingles for the next time a hard wind would blow, knowing we would totally be suing their heinies.  I WAS REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO IT.

Then one day a guy knocked on our door and told me he would fix my roof for free.  He had been hired by the manufacturer of my roof shingles.  The manufacturer had a problem in their facility that led to the production of over a million tiles of defective roof shingles. Something about the glue.  The manufacturer voluntarily had been sending people to homes across the country to glue down these roof shingles.  The guy assured me that my shingles would need a tornado to take them off. 

Had we not put up a stink, the home builder would not have contacted this company and Jude and I would be suing the home builder.  Fun, sure, but also stressful and all this while I'd been dealing with poor health, chronic exhaustion and numerous other stresses.

Okay, so that was a long story I told so you could get an idea of how frustrated I have been with my home builder.  It was only one of MANY issues.  (Don't even ask me about my kitchen back splash or book shelf doors.  *shudder*)  The whole while I had been respectful, cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.

Then I sent an email detailing outstanding issues.  One of the issues was the gap between my front door and its framing.  Even with the weather stripping, we had lots of frost building up on the inside of the door. We had to put a towel in when closing the door, to keep out the draft. The man who came to replace my front door (long story) said the framing was wrong and the door should be much more snug. They sent two guys to inspect the door and they said they would take the casing off and put shims in the framing, to fix it.  At the time, Izzy was a puppy and we'd been "toilet" training her out the front door. When she wanted in, she would scratch at the door and weather stripping.

Then, I got an email from Alf basically saying, didn't I know they don't warranty pet damage?

The patronising and outright lack of integrity-- ah! I was so annoyed.  I sent my reply that it had nothing to do with pet damage, and explained why not.  I never got a reply back.

Then, just the other day I came across this email and decided to pester Alf about when they were going to get around to fixing this, knowing full well they never would.  I admit, I just wanted to annoy him.  At this point I really had nothing to lose by way of service from them.  The only reason I could have for not being sarcastic was my Christian conscience and because it's been working really hard lately, I gave it an afternoon off.  In other words, I'm immature and have some repenting to do.  Despite that I feel so... satisfied.

So, I give you the series of email exchanges between me, Alf, and Tom, with editing just for brevity's sake. I've only quoted the most important parts of the first few emails and then it's full quoting.

Alf, paraphrasing by me: "I checked with the company that installed your door and they didn't have anything written down about this and I checked with Tom, the project manager and the guys I sent to your house and they all say you're cuckoo for cocoa puffs. Lastly, I was told your door issue is related to homeowner neglect and/or abuse, and as such, is not a warrantable item."

Me:  "The hole for the door is too big.  Would just loooove for you or Tom to explain how a home owner could change the size of their door hole through wear and tear or abuse.  PLEASE enlighten me oh wise ones.  Should be very entertaining." (Note, this is the most sarcastic I'd ever been with him.)

Tom, who had been CC'd by Alf: "Natasha, Its always a pleasure hearing from you!!

How about you help me understand how you think there is a framing issue with your home. Gaps around exterior doors in all homes, do vary from house to house.

Two of my guys went to your home well after you living there, and both witnessed severe damage to the front door weather stripping, inside the door jamb and lower part of your interior trim from your dog. Why would [home builder] be responsible for fixing a damaged door, caused by a pet, which has now created a large gap for cold air to travel through on a daily basis??"

Me: "So glad you asked, Tom!  Though I have made this abundantly clear already, I'll explain it like I would to my five-year-old daughter.

The door is made of metal.  My dog can only wreck the paint on the door, which she did and which has been repaired.  Paint doesn't affect door framing no matter how much it's scratched off.   My dog cannot make my door smaller.  She cannot dent the sides of the door in so that it's farther away from the door frame.  I conclude this from the fact that my door is intact, despite my having a puppy.  Who knew a puppy was incapable of affecting the size of an entire metal door, huh? AMAZING.

My dog tore off the weather stripping.  Weather stripping takes seconds to replace and costs, oh, maybe $8? 

My dog did scratch up the interior casing.  Like paint, this is a superficial issue that can't possibly affect the gap between the door... and the door jam.

My dog did not dent, change the size of, or the material of... the door jam.  This would be impossible, seeing as my door is always shut and she has no access to the interior of the door jam.  Perhaps if we left the door open and she was wielding a hammer and really went at the door, I would say you have a point.  But we were putting off the hammer-wielding training another year until she masters "down" and "sit" and "fill the dishwasher".  I'm sure you understand.

The gap between the door and the frame is well over 1/4 of an inch for most of the way, except the top where it is nice and snug. Even with the weather stripping, cold air pours in and frost collects on the inside of the door up to four inches in.  When it's especially cold, we have to put a towel between the door and the jam, or pin one up, to keep the cold air out.  Two of your guys told me that they would take the casing off and put shims between the framing so that I did not have frost on the inside of my door.  I have always had frost on the inside but it was not until Stephan from [window company] came and balked at my door that I decided to bring it up to [home builder], after all the other issues were attended to.  But there were oh, so many other issues.  Like my roof.

The ONLY reason that [home builder] failed to fix my door, though it was inspected before the warranty expired, though your "guys" said it would be fixed, is because you all have gotten mad because I put up a stink about our roof.  Our roof WHICH HAS BEEN FIXED BY BP because BP said that the glue on their shingles were defective and they're going around the country fixing roofs for free.   Our roof which [home builder] repeatedly insisted was fine because it didn't want to have to lose a ton of money by fixing all the roofs in the neighborhood-- our roof that the manufacturer said was defective.  I guess that means that [home builder] was wrong, huh?  And I was right.

So, because of sour grapes, because some men who are used to fudging info and pushing homeowners around got some persistent, hard-nosed chick emailing them and threatening to sue, [home builder] doesn't want to fix my door frame.  NOT because of integrity.  NOT because of my puppy scratching paint off the door.

Do what you will but don't think I don't know that you all have let yourselves believe that it's okay to be dishonest and it's okay to get away with whatever you possibly can, because it's industry standard to point the finger at EVERY other trade but your own.  Yours is an industry where you make mistakes, know that you do, and say nothing until the owner notices. 

But if you want to believe it's because of my dog or because of leprechauns riding miniature unicorns farting rainbows, have at 'er.  Wouldn't want to strip you of your delusions that keep you warm at night.

Take care, Tom!"

Tom: "You expect me to take this email serious? Really!! This has nothing to do with sour grapes and your roof.

Owning a home clearly comes with a certain amount of responsibilities, which clearly you can't accept. Its called maintenance and up keep! No builder is responsible for changing your light bulbs forever.

Since your dog chewed your $8 weather stripping, go pick it up and install it!! That's where the real problem lies Natasha. The 1/4" gap that you mention is normal, and has nothing to do with the problem.

P.S. I look forward to your next intelligent response!"

Me: "The weather stripping WAS installed.  I guess I shoulda got all Kindergarten on that point too:  BECAUSE it only took seconds and because it was so cheap, I DID fix it, ages ago.  That's how I know the issue is with the door frame.  Maybe the big lugs should come look at problems themselves, then they can't say, "Oh, my guys said something completely different to me than what you're saying they said to you."  Come yourself.  Communication problems solved.

Maintenance and upkeep:  New door frame every year?  New shims after a few months of possession?  Huh.  Didn't know that.  I'll be sure to spread the word.  And if you're not willing to come change my light bulbs, does that mean you won't finish that parging job, too, that was never done around my front porch?  Ya, I knew you never would, so I planted shrubs to hide the bare plywood.  But what about when I get a kink in my neck?  You don't have a guy on call for that??

The door is now fixed.  Aw, shucks, that means these emails have been a complete waste of yours and Alf's time, huh?  Gee, that wasn't my intention at all....

Have a nice life!"

Tom:  "Thanks for your well wishes on me having a nice life!! Not sure you've heard the news, but you and me will soon be neighbors!

Maybe when I'm all settled in, we can get together, in hope we can resolve the bad blood.....

Cheers neighbour!!"

Me: "Sounds fun! You like Cranium?"

Tom: "I love that game!"

Me: "Well, when I run into you at the mailbox I'll be sure to regale you with all the fun my friends and I had while playing.

And I don't have bad blood. I'm A+ and that sounds pretty excellent to me!"

Tom: "Aww! Are you saying I'm not invited?"

Me: "That depends.  How quickly can you change my light bulbs?

Which house are you moving into?"

Tom: "I'm handy with a lot of things!"

Me: "Oh, I've heard. Small town.

You didn't answer my question. I'm beginning to think you made that up!"

Tom: "Don't believe everything you hear completely!

I'm sorry, I can't lie, I did say it to give you a hard time. Thought maybe you would of got more upset with the thought of me moving over there? Ha ha."

Me: "And I was all looking forward to flashing you mocking grins.

You thought I'd be... intimidated?  Did we just meet?"

You could say I'm not afraid of confrontation.  I so hope to bump in to Alf one day, after which I will smile bewitchingly and offer him a cat to eat.

I haven't heard back yet. Ya. He was totally flirting with me.  "I'm handy with a lot of things!"?  I bet he has dominatrix fantasies.

You know how the LDS church talks about us believing in anything that's "lovely or of good report"?  Well, this wasn't.  But it was funny, so there's that.  And I feel so much better about how things ended with my home builder.  I probably will no longer fantasise about torching their head office building. 

Daily Gratitudes

1. My antibiotics for my bronchitis are starting to help.
2. My kids helped tidy this morning without complaint.
3. Daisy and Lulu think that washing dishes is fun!
4. My dog lifts the toilet lid and gets her hydration from there. It's so convenient for me. (But the spit bubbles when I go to pee are kinda gross.)
5. My Christmas tree is so beautiful.  (Yes, it's up already. For the kids.)

Family Armor: If you've ever wanted to spy on some real Mormons

Ever wanted to spy into the homes of Mormons, especially cute ones?  Ever wish you had a sexy, maybe slightly dangerous business, servicing royalty and celebs and possibly some strangely paranoid folk?

You might want to tune in to Family Armor on TLC, November 19th at 10/9 Central, after American Chopper.  I've never heard of American Chopper but I assume it's about a serial killer and so you'll want to follow that up with tv from God.  Because they take the camera into the temple and showcase temple ceremonies!  Ha, just kidding.* No, but the show does showcase two Mormon families-- one with six children, one with one child-- who together run Texas Armoring Corporation, a business that makes bulletproof vehicles.  You'll get a glimpse into what Mormons are really like instead of what mocking depictions would have you believe they are like.  There's also some blow-up scenes and other footage sure to make NRA members weak in the knees. It's kind of a little bit like Alias meets The Gospel, and who doesn't share that fantasy of mine??

After all the Jon & Kate drama it might be nice to see a happy family on tv. (Spread the word!)

*All you need to do, to see the temple ceremonies is be Mormon and live worthy of a temple recommend. No biggie.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Jude impersonating Avril Lavigne this morning: Skater Girl.  He's not silly like this enough so I lurve it when he is.
2. Singing Loving You by Minnie Riperton this morning with Jude, he in the bedroom, me in the ensuite bathroom.  "La, la, la, la, la.  La, la, la, la, la.  La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, laaahhh. Do dood do dum dee doo. Ahhhhhhh!!"  (He started it.  He probably thought I didn't know the lyrics.  Please.)
3. Indian leftovers for lunch. If I was a dog, and I was guarding something really important, like... Barack Obama, or the Hope Diamond... all you'd have to do is throw some Indian food at me.  I'd let you do whatever you want.
4. I finally got set apart for my calling in our church as Family History Consultant. I know almost nothing about how to do genealogy (I don't even know how to spell it-- thanks red underline Spell Check and multiple tries).  Today, I'm excited to try and figure this thing out.
5. Twitter followers for always being quick to answer my family history or other questions, thereby enabling me to laziness.  I can't tell you how grateful I am for laziness.  Thanks, Twits.

Because I crazy-love you and always will no matter what

I love you.

And you.

But most of all, you.

Pretend this is the new live version where he says "god intended" (which makes sense) instead of "god forsaken" (which makes no sense).

Love, love, love.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Jude was able to come home at lunch with Booster Juice today.
2. People on Twitter were very sweet to me tonight.
3. New music.
4. Lots of hugs and "I love you"s from Daisy.
5. Naps.

A Michael Chabon reading: The Memory Hole

Daily Gratitudes

1. When Lulu spilled strawberry soy milk all over my supper and my freshly washed and dried favourite clothes, and I sulked upstairs in baggy jeans and Jude's shirt because all my long sleeved shirts are too tight or have strawberry soy milk on them, Jude brought me a plate with a new fajita on it and listened to me blubber about a Michael Chabon essay.
2. Hot water.
3. Still no snow.
4. My little camera.
5. Freedom and people who gave and continue to give their lives for Freedom's cause.

The Judgmental Mormons

Remember when I used to blog? Okay, wasn't that long ago but sure feels like it.

I have had nothing much to say here lately except for some pensive possible-grumpiness posts that I know are favourites for some of you but I haven't been able to piece my thoughts together, mostly because I just don't wannna give the effort, mostly because I've been sick with swine flu and have been around all my family 24/7 for two weeks and that's not the way I fly.

Even though I haven't figured out yet what I'm going to say here, I'm going to say it anyway.  Because that IS the way I fly.  It's a genetic disorder, I can't help it.

Lately Segullah has given me reason to be grumpy. Not because of the website and blog itself but because of the Mormon commenters.  Most are sensible.  Most get the whole Spirit of the Law thing.  But inevitably there are some who rankle my sensibilities.  And it takes effort and strength of character (which, let's be real, I don't always HAVE handy) to not silently say things like, "Ah, it's Mormons like these who make me want to leave the church and become a gay Communist magical vegan genealogy-eating drug dealer and be all up in their suburban faces JUST TO BUG THEM."  Being naturally rebellious is a hard way to be, you know.  Have sympathy for me.

So, I think these thoughts and I have to squelch them because they're stupid thoughts that turn me into a hypocrite.  No one can make me feel annoyed about anything I'm not already sensitive about.  So, thoughtless comments shouldn't bother me.  It's my fault I let them bother me. 

But let's pretend for a moment that this is not true.  Let's pretend it's the commenters' faults for creating a hostile environment for me to live in.  Let's just pretend because this creates a larger space in which I can vent and I feel like venting right now and it's my blog so there.

The very lovely Carina (Azúcar) wrote a blog post for Segullah, about how she finds it difficult to not watch R-rated movies.  (See, a late prophet once told Mormons that they shouldn't watch R-rated movies.  This doctrine is now outdated and has been trumped by the more wide-sweeping doctrine to not watch anything that promotes or encourages, explicitly or implicitly, violence and immoral sex (as opposed to the good stuff) and other bad things.  So, basically almost every movie ever made, even some Disney fluff.  Also, it was a US-centric doctrine because hello! only the US of A uses the US of A ratings system!  Your R-rated stuff is my "yeehaw! let's party!" stuff.  Guess that means I get to be more wicked than you, right?  No.  See, that's why it's a defunct commandment.)

Anyway.

Some commenter left this gem.  Her name is Carrie.  Anonymous-then-not-Carrie.  I've highlighted the parts that interested me.

"These conversations appall me. Why don’t we talk about how many of us have sipped some alcohol or who has a tattoo or how many times we went ‘too far’ with our high school boyfriend? Conversations like this have absolutely no merit. I said it, and now the next 50 comments are going to disagree with that. Whatever.

I really dislike how Mormons (women especially) sometimes use their past or current indisgressions as a badge of on honor once they’ve justified and rationalized it loudly and adamantly. I completely and one hundred percent agree that the rating system is “capricious” and that the MPAA is harder on low budget, independent movies. But I personally think there are very few PG 13 movies that Pres Benson would think appropriate for his viewing. And I’m guessing that means we probably don’t need to be watching it either, since we are ‘trying to be like Jesus’ and a prophet would be much closer to that ideal than little old me.

As you can probably tell, I’ve never seen a rated R movie. There have been MANY PG 13 movies that offended me and I turned off. I can’t imagine how I would feel watching something that was R rated. There are VERY few things in the gospel that I can do perfectly. I can pay tithing perfectly. I can not smoke perfectly. I can avoid alcohol and hot coffee perfectly. And I can follow Pres. Benson’s counsel perfectly and not see an R rated film. I can’t always be selfless. I can’t always be patient. I can’t always be charitable. I can’t always say the prayer that I should, or even remember to pray when I should. (I guess, potentially, I could do those things perfectly, but I personally find that VERY difficult) The counsel that I can follow 100%, I do, because those types of commandments are few and far between in the church. The latest Coen Brothers movie is most certainly not worth my salvation, and that is what we are putting on the line. Call me dramatic, but that’s just the way I see it.

Have you ever served in the Young Women organization? They counsel leaders there not to discuss in lessons wrong choices they’ve made and how they repented and it all worked out okay in the end with a temple marriage. I love this counsel and feel like it applies to every gospel conversation that occurs in a large group setting. Inevitably there will be someone reading this that will use this post to justify a future indisgression, thinking that others do it or that they can repent later. You think our thoughts and thought processes are more elevated than that, but I’m not so sure. I don’t think an organization like Segullah should assume that, having the large audience and public forum that they do.

In the mission statement, Segullah states that “[they] publish insightful writings which explore life’s richness and complexity while reflecting faithfulness to the gospel of Jesus Christ.” This doesn’t explore life’s richness. It’s a Hollywood movie! I don’t care what the topic is and how many awards it’s won. Any individual could have an extremely rich life and NEVER watch any movie, ever. And it certainly doesn’t reflect faithfulness to the gospel to out our sins in a somewhat public forum."

Okay.  So, Carrie makes some good points, absolutely.  Still, here are my point form thoughts on this comment:

-I was taken aback when Carrie said, "As you can probably tell, I've never seen an R rated movie."  Wow.  Doesn't that say a ton about Carrie?  She is assuming that we're judging her.  And why is she assuming that?  Because she's a judgmental person herself.  I mean, that's safe to say, right?  The whole comment oozes judgment in its tone, as well as in some things that are said. She probably can't imagine my answer that, no, I could not tell.  How could I tell what she's done in her past?  Didn't even occur to me to wonder if she's ever seen an R rated movie.  All I know is that now, today, she is quite adamant that they're avoidable. Tells me nothing about her past.

-Carrie is appalled by Mormons having conversations about struggling to live certain commandments.  I guess if we don't find it easy, if we don't struggle with the logic behind certain commandments, if we're tempted, then we should just shut up about it and put on a good face.  Because conversations like this have "no merit".  Whatsoever.  None.  Except that's not really what she said, is it?  No, she lumped Carina's post into a category of conversations glamorising and confessing past sins for the purpose of... glamorising and confessing past sins.  Except that's not what Carina did.  Way to stomp all over Carina's conscience and feelings which she laid out so generously. 

-There are many PG 13 movies that are way worse than R rated movies.  So many teen movies are raunchy-gross. There are plenty of R rated movies that are rated that way only to entice a mature audience, not because the rating is deserving.  So, Carrie not being able to imagine what an R movie is like?  Imagine a PG 13 movie only not as bad.

-Carrie, how do you know for certain that God is not going to ask for a Fargo impersonation as currency for the Celestial Kingdom?  How do you know?  If anyone is under the impression that there's a strict checklist or that watching a movie or saying a bad word is going to keep them out of the Celestial Kingdom, then they're not paying close enough attention.  What you do is less important than WHY YOU'RE DOING IT.  We're judged on our hearts too, dummy.  (If you got the irony there for humour's sake, good for you!)

-Anyone who thinks they can do Y because Carina does Y and admits to it with some mixed feelings, or because I do Y without regret and put on a good Mormon face otherwise, is either ignorant, in which case they won't be held accountable, or IS AN IDIOT.  And if they're truly idiots, then God will probably be lenient on them. Because it's hard to be smart when you're an idiot.  In which case, there's nothing for me to feel responsible for because it's all good. Thank God for mercy.  Anyone who isn't an idiot and uses someone else's sins for permission for their own knows exactly what they're doing deep inside and the real sin is lying to God about it. 

But what bugged me, the main thing that bugged me, was the way Carrie flaunted her indignation.  I could just imagine her saying, "I can't understand why you act like this is so hard! It's easy!" 

Then, we have this blog post.  Check out this portion:

"Angie and I both stood in the church hallway, bouncing our fussy babies on our hips. Our conversation turned to temple attendance. I sighed, “I’ve been going once a month to do sealings. I should probably go more often, but I’m doing the best that I can.” Angie stopped bouncing and looked at me, ”You’re not doing the best that you can. You could go more often. The temple is only five minutes away. I have two more kids than you and I go every week.” I was flabbergasted. I barely knew Angie. How dare she say that I wasn’t doing my best? But I thought about what she said for months. Was I doing my best?"

GROOOOOOAAAAAN.

Okay, it's possible that Angie could be right and that the blogger is NOT doing her best.  But there's no way in Hades that Angie can properly know that!!  Imagine how embarrassed she would have been if the blogger would have responded, "Well, actually, I've been dealing with recurring yeast infections and the temple sessions are so long."  or  "I have an anxiety disorder.  People in white remind me of that time I died and while the spirit world was peaceful and all, it reminds me that I could go at any time and that scares me because I have kids to raise."  WHO KNOWS?!  Who freakin' knows what the blogger's issues could be?  There are like, 534 possibilities for why she's not going to the temple as much as Angie. 

People who think the gospel, Life, and human beings are cut and dry make me want to reassemble their brains.  Here's a list of things that are cut and dry:

-mathematics
-the hotness of Jude Law

That's pretty much it.

Things that are not cut and dry:

-commandments
-salvation
-psychology
-forgiveness
-pretty much everything else

There are always exceptions and there are always things that you nor I can't know.  Yes, it's rare for there to be exceptions to commandments (like, Nephi killing Laban despite the commandment Thou Shalt Not Kill) but just because a commandment exists for the whole population doesn't mean that God expects you to keep it the same way he expects me to keep it. That is why we're given the gift of the Holy Ghost and the ability to receive personal revelation. 

And because nothing is black and white, generally, there's no point in debating the rightness or wrongness of someone else's decisions, really.  I mean, it's pretty difficult to not fall into that trap, but we must continue to avoid this trap with all our might.  Because to properly judge, you would need to know so many details.  The facts are never enough; you need to know hearts and that's impossible to know perfectly.

And that is why, whenever I rub (accidentally, of course) up against someone who sees things in black and white, like Carrie or Angie, I think to myself, "And praise God Almighty that you will not be our Saviour and judge!  Funny how that worked out, huh?"

Now, Mormons probably aren't more prone to being judgmental than any other demographic.  But it's the demographic that bugs me the most because I figure they should know better.  But then, I'm judging.

I just have to come to accept that, generally, there are Letter of the Law Mormons and Spirit of the Law Mormons.  The Letter of the Law Mormons like rules and wish for more rules because then it would be easier to judge other people and would be easier to govern themselves.  They wouldn't have to rely on maturity and conscience and faith in God's mercy and atonement.  The Spirit of the Law Mormons understand that the principles are more important than the practise.  

I also need to remember that I used to be a Letter of the Law obsessive, that I used to judge others all the time-- like, practically as a hobby, and that I used to think the gospel was so easy to live because I hadn't really run up against temptation yet and I didn't even know who I was. 

I need to remember that for every time someone opens her ignorant mouth to say, "I am appalled that we're having this discussion! We should follow the prophet, period and that's all there is to say about it!" I can always open my mouth and say, "Speak for yourself.  It's not so easy for some of us and we're okay with that.  Because it makes our living of the gospel, and our attendance here today, all the more impressive.  In the meantime why don't you make yourself useful and bend over so I can warm my cold hands on the warmth of your fiery righteousness."

I need to remember that even if I feel like I'm in a minority amongst Mormons, it doesn't necessarily mean that I'm the one in the wrong.

If you find it easy to be Mormon, good for you.  I don't.  And that's why I'm so extremely awesome:  Because I choose to be Mormon anyway.  If you're nice, I might ask the Relief Society to make you a quilt to keep you warm as you sit there in my shadow.

Daily Gratitudes

1. I can't believe I'm writing this and not lying:  Everyone but Lulu ate and loved the bacon shrimp butternut squash risotto I made for dinner.  Cue Handel's Messiah.
2. It still hasn't snowed.
3. I'm almost back to normal after this swine flu.
4. I still get to sleep in all week. At least that's one good part about the kids being off another week.
5. I had a lovely conversation with my dear friend Pam today.  She's a significant blessing to me.

Deep (fun) theological questions

Did Adam and Eve have belly buttons?

Will we eat in heaven and if so, a) will we eat meat, and b) will we poop?

Will there be refuse in Heaven?  Will there be a super high-tech recycling program?

WHAT DO YOU THINK??

Daily Gratitudes

1. Having people to cherish and dote upon.
2. Lulu cuddling with me and lightly dancing her tiny hands upon my face and kissing me.
3. Jude did a bunch of laundry and cleaned off the kitchen island.
4. It was sunny today and I slept better today than I have in days.
5. I'm really groggy and drained but feel better overall, than I have in 7 days.

9 ways to survive H1N1 + Swine Flu Soundtrack

1.  Load up on painkillers and immune boosting stuff like oregano oil capsules.  And I know it was just Halloween and you probably have an over-abundance of candy laying about, but don't surrender;  sugar makes your immune system shut down for a while (research it) and dude-- you're totally going to be sick for a while in the best of circumstances so why draw it out?

2.  If you've been considering installing an on-demand water heater, DO IT NOW.  In Canada you can get a tax credit for this (something about saving the planet, blah blah blah).  I've discovered to my surprise that it's possible to curl up in a fetal position in a stand-up shower.  Just curl up and pee to your heart's content.  This is why God made hot water.

3.  Melon.  It's about the only thing that won't hurt your throat or make you want to hurl. 

4.  Because you'll be eating so much melon:  flushable wet wipes.  For that hey-if-I'm-going-to-be-near-death-and-visiting-the-bathroom-this-often-at-least-I-can-be-fresh feeling. 

5.  Get some baking soda or something for brushing your teeth.  Just the fumes from the mint in your toothpaste will burn your throat ravaged from dry coughing.  Actually, you might reach a point where even drinking water hurts and when you cough you taste blood.  Vampire chic.

6.  If you don't have anyone to take care of you, you should hire someone.  Even if all you can find is a nice girl from an escort agency and you're worried that people might find out you hired her and get the wrong idea, do it anyway, because otherwise you might be tempted to off yourself.  No one should have to go through H1N1 alone.  Do what you have to do.  I'll defend your honour.

7.  Have a bell handy so that you can alert your significant other/friend/escort to your need for more Motrin, a blanket, lip balm, Twitter, your iPod.  Or make sure they have their cell phone on them and that you have a phone next to you.  Because if your person can't hear your hoarse, weak "yelling", it will really make you mad.  You need that energy to feel sorry for yourself.

8.  If you think you can spare enough attention span for a movie, I recommend Shaun of the Dead if you don't mind language or you have one of those naughty-word-filter dvd players.  Not only is it hilarious but it will help you to look on the bright side:  at least you're not a flesh-eating zombie;  you have the gift of consciousness.  (Or you will again once you get over this swine flu.)

9.  If you do have to go out in public, I hear the N95 masks are best for filtering germs and such but you should be aware that it's very difficult to draw or paint mustaches on them.  Something to consider.

If you don't yet have swine flu, Harry in When Harry Met Sally gives a good lesson on practising your moaning for when you do get sick. FYI.

That's really all I've got.  It's just something to live through and you'll probably be out of commission for at least a week.  One long, excruciatingly boring week. 

Now, if you have swine flu, here is my playlist for you of relatively perky songs that are easy listening because this is not the time for Pink Floyd or Black Eyed Peas.

Click here for my Swine Flu Soundtrack.  You can drag just the songs you like to the bottom into the little squares, or you can remove one that you don't like from the squares after you click "play".

Have your own suggestions for recuperating from H1N1 or for easy listenin'?  Leave them in the comments.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Shelly offering to take Izzy.  However, if Izzy hunts and eats muskrats I'm not sure letting her around a bunch of cats is the best idea.  ??
2. The kids are healing up.  Just some coughing.  Judging by their regular requests for candy, things seem to be returning to normal.
3. My cushy bed.
4. My laptop, old and dying though it may be.
5. Jude bought me some French Onion Soup.  He's a genius.

Funnyish Q & A with my husband

I am sick with swine flu, or H1N1 for those picky proper-terminology people.

It's strange to be congested in my chest and to be coughing without any drippy nose.  All my skin hurts.  I'm pretty tired and yet can't sleep.  I just bought some new books (why I never finish Les Miserables):  Super Freakonomics, Manhood for Amateurs by Michael Chabon, and The Voice of Knowledge by don Miguel Ruiz.  And yet, I'm too tired to read any.

Everyone in our family is sick to different degrees.  It all started with Daisy and Montana on Sunday.  I didn't get sick until Friday.  I'd been having some stomach pains for a week so I thought that was the extent of my swine flu but really I hadn't got it yet.  Why did it take so long for me to get it?  Weird.

We've all been quarantined for a week.  We're going a bit stir crazy. 

So, I called Jude up to bed with me and decided now was as good a time as any to Q&A him about some funny stories he has, to give me something to do.  (Literally "called". I had to call him on his cell phone because he couldn't hear my croaks.)

* * *

Me:  What about that story from when you worked at a restaurant and some rock star guy came in?

Jude:  It wasn't a rock star guy.  It was the band Trooper who came in for breakfast.

Me:  Well, you know how terrible I am at remembering story details.

Jude:  So, Trooper comes in and they order pancakes.

Me:  How old were you?

Jude:  I think I would have been like, 13.  And it was a very busy Saturday morning.  I had to clear the table for them as their waiter while they were sitting there.  They had to sit at a dirty table.  And I accidentally wiped some toast crumbs on one of these guy's laps.  I don't think he said anything about it.  So, then they order and I bring them their pancakes and I asked them how the food was and they said it was fine but they weren't happy with the flies as big as turkey buzzards.

Me:  Is that it?  That's n--

Jude:  That's not a funny story.  The funny story from that restaurant was the cheeseburger deluxe story.

Me:  Right. I just remembered that.

Jude:  So, same restaurant, flash forward a year, me and my 14-year-old twin brother are THE cooking team on the 8-4 shift on Saturday and Sunday mornings.  Looking back on it, how irresponsible were these owners? Two 14-year-olds as the cooks.  So, we'd do the breakfast and lunch rushes.  And it was a pretty busy restaurant because it was right on a main highway.  If a Greyhound bus or a bus full of tourists--

Me:  Wait. A bus full of tourists?  This is central Alberta, where are they going?

Jude:  I don't know. Who cares?  It doesn't matter.  So, one Saturday we had two buses stop so the restaurant was full and people were lining up outside, waiting to come in and the waitresses were freaking out.  My twin brother had picked a bad time to go get high just before the buses came in.  And so in an effort to cook as much as possible as quickly as possible, so what we'd do is we would cook all the same type of order at one time, instead of cooking per table.  We'd cook all the steak sandwiches and move on to another type of order.  By the time I got to the cheeseburger deluxes, we were working very fast and getting a little disorganised.  We had about 18 cheeseburger deluxes to cook at one time. 

Now, in this restaurant, when the cooks had put a meal together they would place the plate of food on top of a counter on top of the grill and the waitresses would reach from the other side and grab the plate of food.  We were about halfway through the cheeseburger deluxe batch and as my twin brother is raising the cheeseburger deluxe plate up to the ledge, the cheeseburger fell off and went down the back of the grill, into the garbage chute.

Me:  *giggles*  I didn't remember that.

Jude:  And in his besotted state, Cheech decides to grab the cheeseburger out of the garbage, from underneath the grill, and slap a new bun on it.  I was horrified, but I was 14, we were in a rush, and it was hilarious.  I was laughing so hard that when I was raising my cheeseburger deluxe plate up to the counter, the cheeseburger slipped off the plate into the deep fryer. 

Me:  THAT'S what I remember.

Jude:  Doubled over with laughter I said, "What the heck? Give me a new bun."

Me:  Did anyone complain about their order?

Jude:  No.  But there was every possibility that up the highway, two people on a bus, had very unsettled stomachs.

* * *

Me:  Okay, tell me the fire rescue story.

Jude:  Alright. So, I'm in law school in Toronto and one evening I'm going over to a fellow student's place to study with him and I'm about to knock on his door when I see that the house next to his that shares the same driveway has got a lot of smoke coming out the window.  So, I ring the doorbell and tell him to call the fire department while I quickly go and check to see if everyone is out of the house.  I go over and I realise that the building on fire has an upstairs and a downstairs apartment.  So, I start on the downstairs apartment and I'm yelling and pounding on the door.  And I wasn't sure what to do but it was night time and I thought maybe they were asleep and I could see a lot of flames coming from upstairs so I thought, What the heck the place is burning down anyway, so I kicked in the door and ran into every room to make sure there was no one there.  There wasn't but on the table was a large, freshly cooked Hawaiian pizza.  As a student, you notice these things.  I almost grabbed a slice on the way upstairs but I thought rescuing someone while eating pizza is not the classic way of doing things.

So, I'm back outside, and I'm pounding on the door and there's no answer, and I see more flames coming up so again, I kick in the door.  Once that door was open, I had to go up a set of stairs to get to the living quarters and I couldn't get up to the top of the stairs because of the burning flames and smoke and I realised that if there was anyone there I couldn't do anything for them anyway.  

So, I ran back outside which is when the fire department came.  I ran over to the guy who looked like he was in charge and explained to him that I'd gone into the basement and didn't see anybody and that I tried to go into the other apartment.  Then I explained to him there was a pizza in the basement.  His only question was, "What kind of pizza?"  So, I see some guys go knock some windows out with the ladders, as casually as you or I would eat an apple, and two guys went into the basement and got the pizza.

* * *

Jude:  There's the beaver hunting story.

Me:  You'd tell that on my blog?

Jude:  It's actually not that funny.  It's just a little... anecdote.

Me:  It was funny to me.  But I'm your wife.  Okay, tell it.

Jude:  It was about 11 o'clock in the morning, court was wrapped up because an accused didn't show up, so I went to the court clerk's counter to ask about some documents and to kill a few minutes.  When I got there the clerk knew what had happened and asked me what I was going to do for the rest of the day.  There was a woman also at the court clerk's counter who was obviously listening, which I didn't really know at first.  So, I told the clerk I was probably just going to go back to my motel room and do a little work on some files.  The unknown woman piped up to say coyly that I could pass some time at her place... beaver hunting.  My initial reaction was that I wasn't interested in shooting giant rodents, until I clued in to what she was saying.  Then I just said something lame and got the heck out of there.

Me:  You said something about how you had a policy to not go... I don't know.  Into the woods with strangers and guns or something?

Jude:  That's right.

Me:  How come stuff like that never happens to me?  I need to be less sheltered if I want to get hit on.

* * *

Jude:  I guess I could tell the story about the guy who puked in the courtroom.

Me:  Which guy?

Jude:  This was in Nothern Ontario and I was conducting a day-long trial and my second witness is a guy who was a no-goodnick and reluctant to testify.  I told him to just tell the truth, tell us what he honestly remembered, and just get over the fact that he had to testify.  When he took the stand after he was sworn in, he tells the judge he's not feeling good.  The judge asked me if I knew that and if I wanted an adjournment for this witness.  I thought the witness was just trying to weasel out of testifying.  So, about six questions in, the guy throws up.  The judge is upset and turns to me, about to yell, and I say, "Look, I went to law school, not med school.  How was I to know he was telling the truth about that?"

Me:  That's your story?  You have better court stories than that.  Okay, what about that guy who got run over three times.  Can we tell that story?

Jude:  No.  Can't tell that one. 

Me:  Why not? 

Jude:  Because it's still fairly fresh.

* * *

And so, that's the best we could do while too sick to want to do anything or to care about much.  And all his best stories will have to remain offline for now, until maybe one day in his retirement when he writes a book. 

Daily Gratitudes

1. Daisy reading The Cat in the Hat to me tonight in bed, using at least 13 of her 100 expressions. 
2. Jude being someone I can talk to about nearly anything.
3. The actual sleep purring of Lulu beside me in bed right now.
4. The view of the field and highway and sunset from my bed.
5. Painkillers.  Imagine life without them?  I think I would have killed myself by now.  I'm sturdy like that.