Or at least that's what my cousin suggested I should name a new blog...
I just received an email from her about an upcoming trip her family is planning to the Magic Kingdom. As the 'Happiest Place on Earth' is about our favorite place on earth, she thought I might know something. This fall will be our sixth trip there as a family, so I've learned a thing or two in the last decade we've been traveling to Disneyland. Our favorite time to go is mid-to-late August right before school starts. Typically,with school around the corner, most people have gone home and the crowds have died down. We've rarely had to wait more than 30 minutes for anything. Perhaps I shouldn't let the secret out...
Anyway, here are my best tips to her questions: "Where do you stay and where do you buy your park tickets?" I thought it best to just copy-paste the response I sent her. Maybe it will be of help or interest to someone else too.
Hey Cousin!
How very fun! :) So...do you want the long version or the short version? ;)
First off, Desert Palms Inn & Suites is the BEST hotel we've found. http://www.desertpalmshotel.com/
1. They have rooms that sleep up to 8, so it's one of the few places we CAN stay for a reasonable price.
2. They have the best breakfast in town. Not just a pastry & juice, but I'm talking about eggs, bacon, biscuits & gravy, yogurt, fruit, waffle maker, cereal, toast...fill up the kids before you head out. It's awesome!
3. They're located on the same block as the theme parks (a 5-10 minute walk) so you don't have to buy the shuttle pass for $3/person/day. It's fun to eat breakfast outside on the roof that looks out over California Adventure Park.
4. They don't charge for parking. When our former favorite hotel started doing that, we fired them.
Secondly, we have booked with Getaway Today Vacations http://www.getawaytoday.com/ since our first trip in 2002. I haven't found better prices anywhere...
Until this year as I researched cruise prices. Then I stumbled upon Small World Vacations http://smallworldvacations.com/ and their prices were unbeatable. (But admittedly not by much for the Disneyland portion.) Would you believe the travel agent assigned to us is named Minnie? Really! She said there's a Daisy that works there too. On top of that, she's LDS (located up in Oregon, I believe) and we had a delightful conversation when we first talked. So far, I've been really impressed with their company, and I don't switch loyalty easily.
We've actually booked our trip with both companies this year. Small World Vacations booked the cruise and our Disneyland Package, but the one thing they couldn't do was book us a room for two more nights after the boat docks again when we'll do the third day on our pass. Getaway Today could.
I really love Getaway Today. You pay up front & they send you a voucher for your hotel & your park passes, which you then exchange when you get there. They also send you little gifts like lanyards, pins, and coupon books too. Small World took a deposit and will require the payment of the balance in a couple of weeks. Then they'll mail us our park tickets. I'm a little nervous about that, but I think it will work out OK.
A couple of other thoughts that may save your sanity.
1. Stop at Guest Services before entering the parks and ask for an ID sticker for your younger ones. Three years ago we lost two different kids & when our youngest was found, they put a sticker inside her shirt with our cell phone numbers inside.
2. Consider getting a locker (also between the parks) for $10/day. We'd pack our lunch & throw it in so we didn't have to carry it around. It was also a nice place to stash any souvenirs, jackets, extra drinks, or other things. With the money we saved on lunch, we ate dinner in the park.
3. Take lots of snacks. We gave each of the kids a fanny pack (or just let them fill their pockets with granola bars, gum, beef jerkey, etc) because blood sugar is EVERYTHING when it comes to keeping kids from getting burnt out halfway through the day. And it's too expensive to buy churros & frozen lemonades for everyone.
4. If you plan to do any meals in the park, Rancho del Zocalo (located by Big Thunder Mountain) has the best food, biggest portions, and most reasonable prices out of both parks. At $10-12 a plate (for an adult meal), we'd spend that much at Denny's across the street and you have both the atmosphere and the proximity of the park. We figure we pay a lot for those tickets, so we soak up every minute of it.
That's probably put you past your saturation point now. Sorry, I could ramble on all day about how much I love that place. Guess you got the long version after all. But if you have any more questions, I'm happy to send you opinionated answers. ;)
Hope you have a FABULOUS time!
Love ya'
Liz
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Especially for Youth
Every once in a while, I have an inward sigh of relief that I’m really doing OK as a parent. Ironically, it tends to happen most when my kids aren’t actually here. My girls were deemed polite, courteous, and helpful by the families they stayed with during Youth Conference. My youngest son seemed most happy and independent when he spent two weeks with his grandparents attending a math camp at BYU. He hardly used the phone we got him as an early birthday present so he could keep in touch with us. And this week I saw a spiritual growth and maturity budding in my two teenage sons from their time at Especially for Youth.
Every day when I picked them up, they’d be bursting with excitement from the things they learned in gospel study or a devotional. They shared insights on the scriptures they’d had. They talked about the many friends they’d made. I could tell how much more outgoing they’d become when put in a position where they needed to be so. They grew daily more comfortable with themselves and others, secure in the good choices they’re making.
I’ve taught and trained them for many years, hoping that they would find good friends and personal strength when they hit their formative teenage years. Times like this give me hope. They love the associations they have with other youth that are striving to do the right thing. Even when they come home and squabble with their siblings, bang around the house, or leave thoughtless messes wherever they go, they’re “getting it” where it’s most important and eventually (I hope) the rest will fall into place.
John and I have often talked about “buying memories” for our children by going to the movies, the zoo, out to dinner, or taking family vacations. In much the same way, when our children are navigating the rocky waters of teenage years, we find ourselves now “buying spiritual experiences.” Or more accurately, “buying opportunities for spiritual experiences.” Gifts of the spirit are just that—gifts—and the recipient needs to be prepared to receive them. However, with teenagers, it often helps to create the right backdrop for youth to open themselves up to feeling and recognizing the Spirit. It is no wonder that the church spends a great deal every year for camps and conferences for our youth. That’s where they tend to grow the most. It’s a small investment in training our future leaders.
Seeing the caliber of my sons’ new friends, how much they’ve grown in the course of this week, and their renewed commitment to live up to high standards, I realize with a contented smile that there are some things in life you really can’t put a price on.
Every day when I picked them up, they’d be bursting with excitement from the things they learned in gospel study or a devotional. They shared insights on the scriptures they’d had. They talked about the many friends they’d made. I could tell how much more outgoing they’d become when put in a position where they needed to be so. They grew daily more comfortable with themselves and others, secure in the good choices they’re making.
I’ve taught and trained them for many years, hoping that they would find good friends and personal strength when they hit their formative teenage years. Times like this give me hope. They love the associations they have with other youth that are striving to do the right thing. Even when they come home and squabble with their siblings, bang around the house, or leave thoughtless messes wherever they go, they’re “getting it” where it’s most important and eventually (I hope) the rest will fall into place.
John and I have often talked about “buying memories” for our children by going to the movies, the zoo, out to dinner, or taking family vacations. In much the same way, when our children are navigating the rocky waters of teenage years, we find ourselves now “buying spiritual experiences.” Or more accurately, “buying opportunities for spiritual experiences.” Gifts of the spirit are just that—gifts—and the recipient needs to be prepared to receive them. However, with teenagers, it often helps to create the right backdrop for youth to open themselves up to feeling and recognizing the Spirit. It is no wonder that the church spends a great deal every year for camps and conferences for our youth. That’s where they tend to grow the most. It’s a small investment in training our future leaders.
Seeing the caliber of my sons’ new friends, how much they’ve grown in the course of this week, and their renewed commitment to live up to high standards, I realize with a contented smile that there are some things in life you really can’t put a price on.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Mom on Strike!
I will first confess that I am not OCD when it comes to cleaning. I love having a tidy house, workspace, desk, and so on, but I don’t get overly uptight when things aren’t in impeccable order. Honestly, I just have more important things to do with my time. I’d rather be blogging, scrapbooking, sewing, reading, or any other variety of things than scrub down my bathroom. But even I have my limits.
I hit that wall on Tuesday night. I had been gone all day after volunteering at the school, grocery and clothes shopping, picking kids up and driving them around, and even managing to throw a satisfactory meal together for everyone in less than 20 minutes. All I asked was that they have the kitchen tidied up before I got home from a temple trip with their dad that evening. Was it done three hours later? Did they even start? An emphatic NO to both questions. In fact, it was worse than when I left. So the question I really needed to ask myself was: How long am I going to tolerate it?
Admittedly, I started a bit of a mom rant/guilt trip upon those within earshot. I informed them that I would not be cooking them dinner the following night if I had to clean up all their dirty dishes, school papers, and debris they left on the counter and all over the living room. John rallied, “Yes! Go on strike. I’ll be your union. Don’t do anything until they can keep this place clean.” With my only appreciative patron behind me, that’s exactly what I decided to do.
And the stakes got higher. I had just enough time to clean the disastrous kitchen before the kids came home from school Wednesday afternoon. When they asked “what’s for dinner?” my reply was simply “whatever you can find.” Downcast faces and sullen “Oh’s…” revealed their disappointment that Mom had not forgotten her prior evening’s threat. Worse for them, they asked if they would be able to go swimming like they usually do on Wednesday afternoons and I said “have you put away all your laundry from Monday?” A few sighs ensued and they trudged down to the basement to retrieve the rest of the clothes sitting in a pile in the family room. Meanwhile, I set to work making cheese quesadillas and mango salsa, fried zucchini, tomatoes, and onions, and steamed some sweet potatoes for John and myself.
I dropped the kids off at the pool since they met that end of the deal, then came home to eat with John and clean up afterward. When I picked them up, they had a clean work area to start with. Much whining and grumpiness ensued. One child even took off on his bike for a while to blow off his irritation with me. But I stood my ground. Eventually, everyone ate something—mostly thanks to my 11-year-old daughter cooking spaghetti noodles and meatballs with parmesean cheese. A couple of people nuked potatoes too.
But the kitchen remained clean after the evening meal (and a little nagging) so we were off to a good start.
Thursday night was worse. As they’d used up their knowledge of what they could successfully cook, they were left without inspiration as to what to eat for their evening meal. Their agitation at my trying a new recipe my friend sent me—Chicken Chimichurri—and only fixing enough for two resulted in our youngest daughter stomping around the house slamming doors and yelling, our elder daughter curled up in a corner of the kitchen and wept bitterly since she was left with cleaning up dishes from cooking pasta the previous night, Our oldest son grumbled and griped about how he had too much homework to have time to cook, and the other two boys ignored me by playing video games in the basement. As much as I had wondered several days prior if it was wise for us to be gone so late on a school night to attend my brother's debut band concert in Provo, it was the best thing in the world for my own sanity and resolve to hold out. Despite how angry they all were at me, I came home to a clean kitchen and a finished load in the dishwasher.
Friday evening unfortunately proved to really only be a detriment to John. After a visit to the temple for the boys and a workout at the rec center and a playdate at a friend's house for the girls, no one thought much about dinner—including myself after piecing on leftovers in the fridge. But John came home from work hungry and I had nothing for him. It was not a good moment. And we were already running late to go to my nephew's birthday party. I took the younger four and headed to Kaysville leaving John and a last-minute-showering 15-year-old to fend for themselves and meet up with us later. Essentially dinner was cake and ice cream, plus John showing them all how to make a quick pesto from Wednesday’s leftover spaghetti when we got home.
So somehow we all survived it. And we are now heading into day five of people cleaning up after themselves. I still have to issue the occasional reminder to take care of that dish on the counter, but they tend to hop to it a little faster now. They know I mean what I say. It’s been an emotional ride, but one that we’ve all learned from. I think I explained myself and my motives best when I sent a good friend this message Friday morning:
“Cleaning up after people has been a 'staple' for 16 years, though John tends to be naturally tidier and cleaner than me. I have tried to teach my children how to pick up after themselves, but I'm not always the best example myself. If I clean up my own messes, I don't have time to tackle theirs. And if I work on theirs, I don't have time to work on my own. So I'm caught.
This 'strike' was my way of showing the kids what are my messes and what are theirs. I wouldn't mind doing the fine tuning for them if I didn't have to worry about the bulk of the task too. I can never get that far. So our house is rarely ideally clean. Especially when the eldest & youngest leave a wake behind them wherever they go. Sadly, the three in the middle are suffering the most because they're better at picking up after themselves and are most willing to help out, but what none of my children do is simply notice when something needs to be done and pitch in and do it (a tall order I know). By my not doing anything for them and insisting that everything must remain clean or I will remain on strike is opening their eyes a little. I've been a pushover too long and John has suggested I do something drastic like this for quite a while. He's behind me 100% and that has been helpful.
If nothing else, it has proven to me that I still know how to cook for just two people and that when I do it takes me half as long and I can clean up afterward in just a few minutes. That's powerful leverage—to know what you really can and can't do and not just assume. Then I can set my expectations bar a little higher for both my kids and myself.”
Now my family knows too. Hopefully, mom’s strike will prove to be the springboard for positive change
I hit that wall on Tuesday night. I had been gone all day after volunteering at the school, grocery and clothes shopping, picking kids up and driving them around, and even managing to throw a satisfactory meal together for everyone in less than 20 minutes. All I asked was that they have the kitchen tidied up before I got home from a temple trip with their dad that evening. Was it done three hours later? Did they even start? An emphatic NO to both questions. In fact, it was worse than when I left. So the question I really needed to ask myself was: How long am I going to tolerate it?
Admittedly, I started a bit of a mom rant/guilt trip upon those within earshot. I informed them that I would not be cooking them dinner the following night if I had to clean up all their dirty dishes, school papers, and debris they left on the counter and all over the living room. John rallied, “Yes! Go on strike. I’ll be your union. Don’t do anything until they can keep this place clean.” With my only appreciative patron behind me, that’s exactly what I decided to do.
And the stakes got higher. I had just enough time to clean the disastrous kitchen before the kids came home from school Wednesday afternoon. When they asked “what’s for dinner?” my reply was simply “whatever you can find.” Downcast faces and sullen “Oh’s…” revealed their disappointment that Mom had not forgotten her prior evening’s threat. Worse for them, they asked if they would be able to go swimming like they usually do on Wednesday afternoons and I said “have you put away all your laundry from Monday?” A few sighs ensued and they trudged down to the basement to retrieve the rest of the clothes sitting in a pile in the family room. Meanwhile, I set to work making cheese quesadillas and mango salsa, fried zucchini, tomatoes, and onions, and steamed some sweet potatoes for John and myself.
I dropped the kids off at the pool since they met that end of the deal, then came home to eat with John and clean up afterward. When I picked them up, they had a clean work area to start with. Much whining and grumpiness ensued. One child even took off on his bike for a while to blow off his irritation with me. But I stood my ground. Eventually, everyone ate something—mostly thanks to my 11-year-old daughter cooking spaghetti noodles and meatballs with parmesean cheese. A couple of people nuked potatoes too.
But the kitchen remained clean after the evening meal (and a little nagging) so we were off to a good start.
Thursday night was worse. As they’d used up their knowledge of what they could successfully cook, they were left without inspiration as to what to eat for their evening meal. Their agitation at my trying a new recipe my friend sent me—Chicken Chimichurri—and only fixing enough for two resulted in our youngest daughter stomping around the house slamming doors and yelling, our elder daughter curled up in a corner of the kitchen and wept bitterly since she was left with cleaning up dishes from cooking pasta the previous night, Our oldest son grumbled and griped about how he had too much homework to have time to cook, and the other two boys ignored me by playing video games in the basement. As much as I had wondered several days prior if it was wise for us to be gone so late on a school night to attend my brother's debut band concert in Provo, it was the best thing in the world for my own sanity and resolve to hold out. Despite how angry they all were at me, I came home to a clean kitchen and a finished load in the dishwasher.
Friday evening unfortunately proved to really only be a detriment to John. After a visit to the temple for the boys and a workout at the rec center and a playdate at a friend's house for the girls, no one thought much about dinner—including myself after piecing on leftovers in the fridge. But John came home from work hungry and I had nothing for him. It was not a good moment. And we were already running late to go to my nephew's birthday party. I took the younger four and headed to Kaysville leaving John and a last-minute-showering 15-year-old to fend for themselves and meet up with us later. Essentially dinner was cake and ice cream, plus John showing them all how to make a quick pesto from Wednesday’s leftover spaghetti when we got home.
So somehow we all survived it. And we are now heading into day five of people cleaning up after themselves. I still have to issue the occasional reminder to take care of that dish on the counter, but they tend to hop to it a little faster now. They know I mean what I say. It’s been an emotional ride, but one that we’ve all learned from. I think I explained myself and my motives best when I sent a good friend this message Friday morning:
“Cleaning up after people has been a 'staple' for 16 years, though John tends to be naturally tidier and cleaner than me. I have tried to teach my children how to pick up after themselves, but I'm not always the best example myself. If I clean up my own messes, I don't have time to tackle theirs. And if I work on theirs, I don't have time to work on my own. So I'm caught.
This 'strike' was my way of showing the kids what are my messes and what are theirs. I wouldn't mind doing the fine tuning for them if I didn't have to worry about the bulk of the task too. I can never get that far. So our house is rarely ideally clean. Especially when the eldest & youngest leave a wake behind them wherever they go. Sadly, the three in the middle are suffering the most because they're better at picking up after themselves and are most willing to help out, but what none of my children do is simply notice when something needs to be done and pitch in and do it (a tall order I know). By my not doing anything for them and insisting that everything must remain clean or I will remain on strike is opening their eyes a little. I've been a pushover too long and John has suggested I do something drastic like this for quite a while. He's behind me 100% and that has been helpful.
If nothing else, it has proven to me that I still know how to cook for just two people and that when I do it takes me half as long and I can clean up afterward in just a few minutes. That's powerful leverage—to know what you really can and can't do and not just assume. Then I can set my expectations bar a little higher for both my kids and myself.”
Now my family knows too. Hopefully, mom’s strike will prove to be the springboard for positive change
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Three Favorite Books
I can easily say that I prefer children’s books to adult literature. Perhaps I never outgrew all those sunny afternoons I spent as a kid sitting on the couch with my nose in a book. Definitely the 'Children’s Literature' class I took for my Elementary Ed degree in college had a lot to do with my tastes. So did the burnout I felt with the overanalysis of books and poetry in the English department as I pursued my minor there. And then there’s all the years I spent reading bedtime stories to five little children. In my mind, the best books are those that can entertain and capture the imagination of a child and still have embedded meaning that is more deeply appreciated with age and experience. I share here three of my all-time favorite picture books, which in my case went from “frequent library checkout” to “must-purchase for my collection.”
POCKETS
By Jennifer Armstrong, Illustrated by Mary GrandPré
I was first drawn to this book because of the illustrator, who is most well known for her work on the Harry Potter books. Her paintings in this piece are masterful and breathtaking, but more importantly they enhance the beautifully written tale of a lone woman who changes a town. The book begins:
A slim schooner of a woman, driven by strong winds and a broken heart, floundered barefoot across the eastern plains until arriving at the edge of a village. Here she cast out a line and collapsed over the tiller. Some people found her in the morning, asleep in her gale-torn clothes...
The people of the village made known their cautious doubts when she asked to be taken in upon their charity, but she could work, she said, and would ask only for safe haven in return...
She inclined her head gravely and raised one hand in a graceful but exotic gesture. Yes, she answered, she could sew many things...
Her fingers were nimble with fretwork and gimped embroidery, smocking and couching, tucked seams and batuz work...
But the people of the village backed away with downcast eyes. We are plain and simple folk, and wear only the plainest, simplest habiliments...
Because her heart was broken, the woman agreed, and she put on a dress as wan and lifeless as a November pond...
There came a day, however, when the sight of so many plain and unadorned clothes caused her heart a new kind of pain...
The pieces of gray cloth by her side were meant for a dress for herself, and the sight of it made her long for sunny ports. So she took her bearings, and turned the pockets inside out. Then she proceeded to embroider them...
For some time, she was content to keep her adventuring confined to the pockets of her own dresses. But as she continued to sew the ugly, land-locked clothes for the people of the village, she pitied her neighbors...
The woman begins to embroider the pockets of all the clothes she makes for everyone in the village. And remarkable changes take place.
Soon, the entire village stopped working at the weary, endless tasks for long passages of time. Instead of stooping to the plow and the loom, sweating at washtubs and ovens, and hardening their hands carrying burdens from one place to another, they took moments out to stand singly or in pairs, squinting at far horizons in their treasure-laden clothes...
As a seamstress, this story affects me to my core. As a mother, it serves as a reminder that there is more to life than just checklist tasks. As a woman, it touches me as I look around and see the beauty in life. And I believe it would leave nearly anyone asking what it is they keep and treasure in their own pockets.
ZAGAZOO
By Quentin Blake
Instantly recognizable for illustrating all of Roald Dahl's well-loved books, Quentin Blake proves to be a humorous and delightful author in his own right.
Once upon a time there was a happy couple. Their names were George and Bella....
One day the postman brought them a strange looking parcel. They unwrapped it together. Inside was a little pink creature as pretty as could be. On it was a label which said: It's name is Zagazoo. How lovely it was. George and Bella spent happy days throwing it from one to another....AND THEN ONE DAY...
George and Bella got up in the morning and discovered that Zagazoo had changed into a huge baby vulture. Its screeches were terrifying. They were even worse at night. "What shall we do?" said George. "How can we stand it?" But then...
...they got up one morning and discovered that Zagazoo had changed into a small elephant. He knocked over the furniture. He pulled the tablecloth off the table. He ate anything he could lay his trunk on...
Zagazoo continues to transform into a warthog, a bad-tempered dragon, a bat that hangs on the curtains and wails, and a strange hairy creature. Finally when George and Bella are at their wit's end, there is redemption for Zagazoo.
An excellent reminder that raising children is growing in and out of phases, and that is something that no one truly outgrows.
THE KING'S STILTS
By Dr. Seuss
I've always liked Dr. Seuss, but this book is my #1 favorite of his. The good doctor introduces his main character thus:
Naturally, the King never wore his stilts during business hours. When King Birtram worked, he really WORKED, and his stilts stood forgotten in the tall stilt closet in the castle's front hallway.
You see, King Birtram awakes at 5 am and signs important papers of state while he bathes, dresses, and eats.
By seven every morning, the King had always finished more business than most kings do in a month. He had to get all this done before seven, for that was the hour when his Big Work commenced--the most difficult and important work in the whole Kingdom of Binn.
This was the work of caring for the mighty Dike Trees that protected the people of Binn from the sea. The sea pushed against the kingdom on three sides. The kingdom was a low one; the sea was a high one; and only the Dike Trees kept the sea from pouring in. They grew so close together in a row along the shore, that they held back the water with their heavy, knotted roots...Nizzards were always flying about over the Dike Treees, waiting for a chance to swoop down and peck. If nobody stopped them,the roots would soon give way...
But King Birtram did not permit this to happen. He had gathered together in his kingdom the largest and the smartest cats in all the world, and had trained them to chase the Nizzards away. These cats were called Patrol Cats and wore badges that said "P.C."... five hundred guarded the kingdom by day; the other five hundred kept watch through the night."
After a hard day of work, King Birtram finishes his duties at 5:00.
Then the King smiled. "A hard day," he'd say, "full of nizzardly worries. A long day," he'd say. "Now it's time for some fun!" This was the moment King Birtram lived for. When he worked, he really worked...but when he played, he really PLAYED! "Quick, Eric!" He'd shout. "Quick, Eric! The stilts!" Down the slope from the Dike Trees, away from all troubles, the King and Eric would race like two boys-straight to the tall stilt closet in the castle's front hallway. Out came the stilts! Up leapt the king!...
The townsfolk looked on from the walls and just loved it. "A grown-up King on stilts," they'd say, "does look rather strange. But it's hard work being King, and he does his work well. If he wants to have a bit of fun...sure!...Let him have it!"
Of course, a good story like this requires an evil villain. Lord Droon, his advisor, finds the King's after-hours behavior improper, and so steals the red stilts. King Birtram becomes so worn down and depressed without his favorite diversion that it almost destroys the kingdom. Eric, of course, comes to the rescue to help the king restore peace and safety to the land.
POCKETS
By Jennifer Armstrong, Illustrated by Mary GrandPré
A slim schooner of a woman, driven by strong winds and a broken heart, floundered barefoot across the eastern plains until arriving at the edge of a village. Here she cast out a line and collapsed over the tiller. Some people found her in the morning, asleep in her gale-torn clothes...
The people of the village made known their cautious doubts when she asked to be taken in upon their charity, but she could work, she said, and would ask only for safe haven in return...
She inclined her head gravely and raised one hand in a graceful but exotic gesture. Yes, she answered, she could sew many things...
Her fingers were nimble with fretwork and gimped embroidery, smocking and couching, tucked seams and batuz work...
But the people of the village backed away with downcast eyes. We are plain and simple folk, and wear only the plainest, simplest habiliments...
Because her heart was broken, the woman agreed, and she put on a dress as wan and lifeless as a November pond...
The pieces of gray cloth by her side were meant for a dress for herself, and the sight of it made her long for sunny ports. So she took her bearings, and turned the pockets inside out. Then she proceeded to embroider them...
For some time, she was content to keep her adventuring confined to the pockets of her own dresses. But as she continued to sew the ugly, land-locked clothes for the people of the village, she pitied her neighbors...
ZAGAZOO
By Quentin Blake
Once upon a time there was a happy couple. Their names were George and Bella....
One day the postman brought them a strange looking parcel. They unwrapped it together. Inside was a little pink creature as pretty as could be. On it was a label which said: It's name is Zagazoo. How lovely it was. George and Bella spent happy days throwing it from one to another....AND THEN ONE DAY...
...they got up one morning and discovered that Zagazoo had changed into a small elephant. He knocked over the furniture. He pulled the tablecloth off the table. He ate anything he could lay his trunk on...
Zagazoo continues to transform into a warthog, a bad-tempered dragon, a bat that hangs on the curtains and wails, and a strange hairy creature. Finally when George and Bella are at their wit's end, there is redemption for Zagazoo.
An excellent reminder that raising children is growing in and out of phases, and that is something that no one truly outgrows.
THE KING'S STILTS
By Dr. Seuss
Naturally, the King never wore his stilts during business hours. When King Birtram worked, he really WORKED, and his stilts stood forgotten in the tall stilt closet in the castle's front hallway.
You see, King Birtram awakes at 5 am and signs important papers of state while he bathes, dresses, and eats.
By seven every morning, the King had always finished more business than most kings do in a month. He had to get all this done before seven, for that was the hour when his Big Work commenced--the most difficult and important work in the whole Kingdom of Binn.
Then the King smiled. "A hard day," he'd say, "full of nizzardly worries. A long day," he'd say. "Now it's time for some fun!" This was the moment King Birtram lived for. When he worked, he really worked...but when he played, he really PLAYED! "Quick, Eric!" He'd shout. "Quick, Eric! The stilts!" Down the slope from the Dike Trees, away from all troubles, the King and Eric would race like two boys-straight to the tall stilt closet in the castle's front hallway. Out came the stilts! Up leapt the king!...
The townsfolk looked on from the walls and just loved it. "A grown-up King on stilts," they'd say, "does look rather strange. But it's hard work being King, and he does his work well. If he wants to have a bit of fun...sure!...Let him have it!"
Of course, a good story like this requires an evil villain. Lord Droon, his advisor, finds the King's after-hours behavior improper, and so steals the red stilts. King Birtram becomes so worn down and depressed without his favorite diversion that it almost destroys the kingdom. Eric, of course, comes to the rescue to help the king restore peace and safety to the land.
What a beautiful metaphor these stilts create for life. All of us need something bright and moving to lift us from the everyday and mundane. And enjoying good books like these definitely qualify as red stilts for me. :)
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Haystacks
I don't mind cooking, but I do like to get in-and-out of the kitchen quickly. Especially on a quiet Sunday afternoon. Haystacks are one of my favorite meals to make because I can toss it together in 15 minutes or less.
http://intuitivehomemaking.blogspot.com/
I start by setting my rice to cook, then assembling the toppings from their various hiding places in the kitchen. I empty the can of cream of chicken soup into a large bowl and drain the can of chicken into it, then add milk. It's also enough time to make up a quick spinach salad (or the asparagus I happened to have this week). The rice takes 12 minutes to cook, and three minutes to set. The chicken soup gravy cooks in the microwave during those three minues.
All that's left is to have the kids set the table and call "DINNERTIME!"
Two favorites of the week:
Bountiful Baskets Food Co-op.
For $15 paid on Monday, you pick up a basket of fruit & a basket of vegetables on Saturday. Sometimes includes options to purchase other items in bulk. Last week, I bought 9 pineapples for $14! (and split it with a couple friends) The asparagus and blackberries were part of this week's fare.
Pampered Chef Rice Cooker.
Our family eats a LOT of rice. After we blew through our first rice cooker, I tried a microwave version. I can make 3 cups of uncooked rice (to 6 cups water) in 12-15 minutes. And the cleanup is super quick: rinse it out or toss it in the dishwasher.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Pet Projects
I never had a pet of my own. My dad grew up with a little sister who had a veritable zoo—everything from dogs to fish to birds to sheep. Animals were strictly not tolerated in my house, so I guess I never really saw myself as having a menagerie of critters to look after. (Other than my own children that is.) That image was further enhanced when John and I took an architecture class field trip to Seattle and stayed with friends there. When I woke up the next morning, I thought I’d caught some noxious cold because I felt absolutely terrible. If we hadn’t been saving for months to go, I might have opted to stay behind. The funny thing was, as soon as we had been out of the house for about an hour, I felt fine again. Come to find out, I am horrifically allergic to cats, and our hosts had two who apparently used our bed during the daytime.
Every child seems to have at least some period of time where they dream of a puppy or kitty to love and cuddle to their heart’s content. Mine were no exception, but I could readily justify not owning a pet because I had so many kids to housebreak and doing the same with an animal was out of the question. Then came that fateful day in third grade where the crayfish my middle son’s class had been studying were allowed to go home with class members. Guess who accidentally-forgot-on-purpose to send that jar with her son to school? Yep. Thought I was off the hook. Turns out I was wrong. All he wanted for his birthday that year was a crayfish. They don’t sell crayfish in your average pet store because if they did, no one in their right mind would buy one. It took some negotiation on both our parts to settle on a suitable pet. Wil the Hermit Crab joined our family five years ago. He’s had a few other friends share his tank over the years, but he’s outlived them all. Mostly you can find him curled up in a corner, coming out at odd hours to take a saltwater bath or get a drink.
When my oldest daughter turned seven, she wanted a pony. Or a dog. I talked her into a parakeet (remember the cage and fur rule). Lucky has by far been the most loveable, entertaining, and universally appreciated pet of the bunch. She is well trained to hop from her perch to the open cage door to my little girl’s shoulder whenever the invitation is extended. She chirps incessantly when music played or her owner is in the room. Sometimes we have to throw a towel over her to shut her up, but on the whole, this now four-year-old albino bird is quite loved.
My youngest daughter had the difficult task of finding a pet that a 5-year-old could take care of that didn’t duplicate a sibling’s and that fit all of mom’s requirements. Beta fish are pretty easy, but their life span doesn’t compare to some of our other charges. I think the one in her night light tank is #4, and I’m not sure she even bothered to name this one something more creative than “fishy.” Rainbow, Scarlet, and Lavender have all had their respective funerals surrounding a white porcelain bowl.
All in all, having pets really hasn’t been as troublesome as I had imagined. Maybe by allowing my children to have a little responsibility while they’re young will do one of two valuable things: either they will get the need for a pet out of their system or they will have a lifelong love of animals that only caring for one of their own will foster. This has been brought home to me as I’ve watched my children greeted by the friendliest cat in the neighborhood on their way to the bus stop every morning. Leo will lie down in the middle of the sidewalk waiting for a passerby to give his tummy a scratch. They’re always tickled to stop and play with this gentle tabby and are disappointed on the times when he doesn’t show up.
Every child seems to have at least some period of time where they dream of a puppy or kitty to love and cuddle to their heart’s content. Mine were no exception, but I could readily justify not owning a pet because I had so many kids to housebreak and doing the same with an animal was out of the question. Then came that fateful day in third grade where the crayfish my middle son’s class had been studying were allowed to go home with class members. Guess who accidentally-forgot-on-purpose to send that jar with her son to school? Yep. Thought I was off the hook. Turns out I was wrong. All he wanted for his birthday that year was a crayfish. They don’t sell crayfish in your average pet store because if they did, no one in their right mind would buy one. It took some negotiation on both our parts to settle on a suitable pet. Wil the Hermit Crab joined our family five years ago. He’s had a few other friends share his tank over the years, but he’s outlived them all. Mostly you can find him curled up in a corner, coming out at odd hours to take a saltwater bath or get a drink.
“If Mom gave in once, maybe she’ll do it again” must have been the whispers behind closed doors because the next four birthdays would add considerably to our petting zoo. Well, the hermit crab hadn’t been too bad, so I figured if it could live in a tank and not have fur, AND if they could take care of it on their own, then perhaps the lessons in responsibility would be worth the dresser space. My oldest son added Emerald and Jade the firebelly toads as his roommates, later passing them on to his youngest brother (whose hermit crabs were among the unlucky ones that are now buried in our tomato patch). He is now ready to pass them on to another owner, and I will be happy to hold a cease-and-desist on my weekly trips to Petco for crickets.
I have a confession to make. I think having a houseful of pets has softened me up too. You can only resist a friendly furball who follows you halfway home nearly every morning for so long. Allergies aside, even I succumb to his pleading look and pet my first feline friend when he trots out to greet me.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Entering the World of Digital Scrapbooking
Believe it or not, it was my husband who got me into scrapbooking. Nearly 17 years ago, the style of memory keeping that is all the rage now was just a fledgling market. When his brother and sister-in-law asked him what he’d like for a wedding gift, John asked for scrapbooking materials so we could document our new life together. I know, what a find to have such a sentimental guy! :)
He had no idea what he’d started though. My paper, sticker, stamp, and ribbon supply grew from there. It overflowed the limited space I had for it. Still does. I began to wonder where I would actually put all the books I had created at the rate I was going. We were running out of room for them too. And I still had five years and five shoeboxes of printed photos to go.
Then a miracle occurred: digital scrapbooking came charging up on the horizon. I watched it from a distance with a mixture of awe and fear. I had only recently invested in a digital camera and the idea of never having to print another 4x6 only to cut it up had an irresistible appeal. But how expensive would it be to print up an entire page at once?
Despite my reservations, I invested in a laptop and Creative Memories’ Storybook Creator program. (There are a lot of great programs out there, but that's the one I fell in love with.) It is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made and has revolutionized the way I memory-keep. I love the flexibility of resizing and zooming in on photos. I love the multitude of digital packages that abound on the internet. And I especially love the portability of it when I do a scrap day with my friends. One messenger bag and my lunchbox as opposed to several heavy totes to drag in and out of the workshop.
[Favorite designer sites: http://justsoscrappy.blogspot.com/ also http://amandacreation.blogspot.com/ and http://steadfast-and-immovable.blogspot.com/ ]
It took me another year-and-a-half before I finally printed anything though. It took me that long to find a company that would do a portrait 8.5 x11” book. Such a company apparently does not exist, but fortunately, there is one that prints portrait 8x10 and my pages fit. I doubt I could have created an “analog” book (as John calls it) for $65. Not when the final count was 160 pages. My worries about expense quickly dissipated.
[Favorite printers: http://www.blurb.com/ and http://www.artscow.com/]
One of my favorite things I discovered by chance was that I could use photos for my background paper. I end up using that technique a lot when I’m traveling and want to capture a little more of our visited environment. My first album reflects that in abundance. But rather than talk about the wonders of digital, it’s probably best to just throw out a few favorite samples and let you judge for yourself. I will at least add the disclaimer that my style has never been one of much frill—more like “fit as many pictures on a single page as you tastefully can.”
The other remarkable discovery I made about a year ago was the blog book. If you’re a blogger, you can have it “slurped” into a book, photos and all, and have it printed out. I tried it out with everything I’d posted on my family’s blog through 2009 and now have a lovely book on my shelf to show for it. Throughout 2010 I posted to my blog every Sunday night about the week’s events so I could have a quick scrapbook at the end of the year. Trouble is, I’m still formatting pictures in it because I expected it to be as user-friendly as my digital scrapbooking program. Not so. My scrapbooking shortcut seemed to have become the long way around after all.
So this year, I’m trying something new. Instead of having long, rambling “here’s what we did this week” posts, I simply select five highlights from each day and post a few pictures with them on my family blog at the end of the week. I then use the time I saved toward putting the photos in my digital album instead, using my daily highlights for journaling. Now I can use all the cute digital paper and embellishments that my blog book lacked (and not feel as guilty when I buy more). It also helps to have created a selection of pre-designed pages so I can just drag-and-drop my photos into them. Here's a few from this year. As far as 2011 goes, I'm all caught up! (Though two months in doesn't really sound that impressive. ;)
These next two really typify my style preference. It is possible to fit 15 pictures plus journaling on a page. And when it's printed full size, the photos are still quite big. :)
http://intuitivehomemaking.blogspot.com
He had no idea what he’d started though. My paper, sticker, stamp, and ribbon supply grew from there. It overflowed the limited space I had for it. Still does. I began to wonder where I would actually put all the books I had created at the rate I was going. We were running out of room for them too. And I still had five years and five shoeboxes of printed photos to go.
Then a miracle occurred: digital scrapbooking came charging up on the horizon. I watched it from a distance with a mixture of awe and fear. I had only recently invested in a digital camera and the idea of never having to print another 4x6 only to cut it up had an irresistible appeal. But how expensive would it be to print up an entire page at once?
Despite my reservations, I invested in a laptop and Creative Memories’ Storybook Creator program. (There are a lot of great programs out there, but that's the one I fell in love with.) It is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made and has revolutionized the way I memory-keep. I love the flexibility of resizing and zooming in on photos. I love the multitude of digital packages that abound on the internet. And I especially love the portability of it when I do a scrap day with my friends. One messenger bag and my lunchbox as opposed to several heavy totes to drag in and out of the workshop.
[Favorite designer sites: http://justsoscrappy.blogspot.com/ also http://amandacreation.blogspot.com/ and http://steadfast-and-immovable.blogspot.com/ ]
It took me another year-and-a-half before I finally printed anything though. It took me that long to find a company that would do a portrait 8.5 x11” book. Such a company apparently does not exist, but fortunately, there is one that prints portrait 8x10 and my pages fit. I doubt I could have created an “analog” book (as John calls it) for $65. Not when the final count was 160 pages. My worries about expense quickly dissipated.
[Favorite printers: http://www.blurb.com/ and http://www.artscow.com/]
One of my favorite things I discovered by chance was that I could use photos for my background paper. I end up using that technique a lot when I’m traveling and want to capture a little more of our visited environment. My first album reflects that in abundance. But rather than talk about the wonders of digital, it’s probably best to just throw out a few favorite samples and let you judge for yourself. I will at least add the disclaimer that my style has never been one of much frill—more like “fit as many pictures on a single page as you tastefully can.”
Although I had never made 12x12" pages on paper, I have converted to this format for all my digital books. Every printing company makes this size now. Here are a few highlights from a scrapbook of the cruise John and I went on this past fall:
The other remarkable discovery I made about a year ago was the blog book. If you’re a blogger, you can have it “slurped” into a book, photos and all, and have it printed out. I tried it out with everything I’d posted on my family’s blog through 2009 and now have a lovely book on my shelf to show for it. Throughout 2010 I posted to my blog every Sunday night about the week’s events so I could have a quick scrapbook at the end of the year. Trouble is, I’m still formatting pictures in it because I expected it to be as user-friendly as my digital scrapbooking program. Not so. My scrapbooking shortcut seemed to have become the long way around after all.
So this year, I’m trying something new. Instead of having long, rambling “here’s what we did this week” posts, I simply select five highlights from each day and post a few pictures with them on my family blog at the end of the week. I then use the time I saved toward putting the photos in my digital album instead, using my daily highlights for journaling. Now I can use all the cute digital paper and embellishments that my blog book lacked (and not feel as guilty when I buy more). It also helps to have created a selection of pre-designed pages so I can just drag-and-drop my photos into them. Here's a few from this year. As far as 2011 goes, I'm all caught up! (Though two months in doesn't really sound that impressive. ;)
[I borrowed the layout below from Cathie Owens' blog, then added embellishments of my own. Cathie gives tutorials on how to create and do all kinds of amazing things digitally, particularly with Storybook Creator. http://bobcatshaven.blogspot.com/]
I still have a lot of catching up to do. By no means have I come close to organizing all the photos I have taken, digital or traditional. The dabbling I’ve done here is simply a step in the right direction toward keeping up with the present tense. Someday I’ll decide to put my computer in the corner, drag out the bin full of cardstock and paper, and tackle those five boxes of photos just waiting to be remembered too.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
An A-Type Personality
She may be the youngest and half as tall as other family members, but she’s got more spunk than everyone else put together. She’s also gotten more spankings than everyone else put together, but that’s another story. She’s bright, creative, strong-willed, and perfectionistic. We figure she must have been some kind of royalty before she came here to earth because ordering the rest of us peasants around comes so naturally to her. So does avoiding anything that resembles work. Often, we wonder who she was before she was born to a family of comparative paupers.
There’s also a strange dichotomy in her personality too. She can fit and tantrum and be defiant at home, yet she’s too embarrassed to sing, perform, or sometimes even pray in front of her own family. At school, she’s a model student, absolutely compliant, and eager to help. And as we discovered to our astonishment this week, she doesn’t even get nervous performing in front of friends and strangers. Go figure.
This little girl has certainly taught me a lot about parenting. Something every mother with more than one child knows is that what works for child A is not necessarily effective on child B. In my case, the various tactics that worked on C, J, E and E don’t usually work at all on child A. She’s completely her own person. And I’ve learned to love her all the more even after being told “I hate you” and “you’re the worst mommy” more times than I can possibly count. Of course she never means it, and when she comes to her senses again, I’m rewarded with multiple hugs, kisses, and “I love you more than anything” expressions. In those moments I can think “maybe I don’t need to seek out a social therapist after all.”
We got to spend a lot of time together this week. I went to every one of her third-grade class play performances, spent two sick days looking out for her at home, and finally gave her the haircut (albeit a poor one) she’s been asking for. There’s a sweet side to my baby girl that runs deep, and when it surfaces, her inner goodness is beautifully rewarding. I hear things like “thank you for staying home with me” “will you please…” and “I love you my wonderful mommy.” She’s also very giving when the mood hits her, having recently bagged up a half-dozen favorite stuffed animals for an Eagle project donation and cutting off an extra two inches of hair more than she planned to so she could donate it.
I wonder who she’ll grow up to be. Is her willfulness going to stand in the way of her progress? The question arises frequently, and yet in my heart I don’t think so. If her drive and determination is turned in the right direction, she could change the world. She just needs enough unconditional love and gentle teaching to decide to take that path on her own. And we’re making progress. If not, I wouldn’t have received the response I did when I read this to her and asked permission to post it: “You always write things about me that are annoying, but I don’t mind.”
http://intuitivehomemaking.blogspot.com/
There’s also a strange dichotomy in her personality too. She can fit and tantrum and be defiant at home, yet she’s too embarrassed to sing, perform, or sometimes even pray in front of her own family. At school, she’s a model student, absolutely compliant, and eager to help. And as we discovered to our astonishment this week, she doesn’t even get nervous performing in front of friends and strangers. Go figure.
This little girl has certainly taught me a lot about parenting. Something every mother with more than one child knows is that what works for child A is not necessarily effective on child B. In my case, the various tactics that worked on C, J, E and E don’t usually work at all on child A. She’s completely her own person. And I’ve learned to love her all the more even after being told “I hate you” and “you’re the worst mommy” more times than I can possibly count. Of course she never means it, and when she comes to her senses again, I’m rewarded with multiple hugs, kisses, and “I love you more than anything” expressions. In those moments I can think “maybe I don’t need to seek out a social therapist after all.”
We got to spend a lot of time together this week. I went to every one of her third-grade class play performances, spent two sick days looking out for her at home, and finally gave her the haircut (albeit a poor one) she’s been asking for. There’s a sweet side to my baby girl that runs deep, and when it surfaces, her inner goodness is beautifully rewarding. I hear things like “thank you for staying home with me” “will you please…” and “I love you my wonderful mommy.” She’s also very giving when the mood hits her, having recently bagged up a half-dozen favorite stuffed animals for an Eagle project donation and cutting off an extra two inches of hair more than she planned to so she could donate it.
I wonder who she’ll grow up to be. Is her willfulness going to stand in the way of her progress? The question arises frequently, and yet in my heart I don’t think so. If her drive and determination is turned in the right direction, she could change the world. She just needs enough unconditional love and gentle teaching to decide to take that path on her own. And we’re making progress. If not, I wouldn’t have received the response I did when I read this to her and asked permission to post it: “You always write things about me that are annoying, but I don’t mind.”
http://intuitivehomemaking.blogspot.com/
Monday, February 14, 2011
Milk Chocolate vs. Dark
Not long ago, John and I discovered a little sweet shop in the Avenues. Reportedly, they had the best hot chocolate in Salt Lake and we decided to see if it was true. Not often would I pay $5 for a 10 oz cup of cocoa, but we found it was well worth the experiment. It was like drinking liquid truffle. Mmmmmm! Hatch Family Chocolates even offered a milk and a dark chocolate variety. I selected the first while John took the second. I sampled his and he tried mine. Both of us determined we’d selected the better option.
This past weekend we felt the pull to go again. We even took the same walk we had before along 4th Avenue toward the city cemetery. As we talked, I noticed a beautiful parallel between the steaming cups in our hands and our life in general. While I like a good dark chocolate, I find that I really prefer milk. John will go for dark every time. Makes it easy to share an assorted box of treats.
This past weekend we felt the pull to go again. We even took the same walk we had before along 4th Avenue toward the city cemetery. As we talked, I noticed a beautiful parallel between the steaming cups in our hands and our life in general. While I like a good dark chocolate, I find that I really prefer milk. John will go for dark every time. Makes it easy to share an assorted box of treats. Similarly, there are other areas in our married life where our interests and tastes just don’t match up. In the past, I’ve been inclined to feel a little threatened or insecure by such differences, thinking that my opinions and tastes weren’t as good. But like chocolate, there’s not a good or bad, there are just assorted varieties. I now realize that such differences make it easier to share the things that are unique about ourselves with each other. Am I willing to try a little dark chocolate once in a while? Of course! Can I listen to different music or examine new artwork or read a book I wouldn’t have considered if I know that it’s something he values? Yes. And he does the same for me. I can have an appreciation and love for dark chocolate while still preferring milk, and it doesn’t change who I am. Learning to share the chocolates in our lives makes living ever so much sweeter.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Blessing and Trial of a Stake President’s Wife
People offered both congratulations and condolences. I did not then realize how fitting that was; not really anyway. Three years ago, when John was called to be the Rose Park North Stake President, I had already learned a number of valuable lessons that I believed would serve me well. Looking back, I have often remarked that every calling he’s had taught me something I’d need to know for surviving his next calling. I learned some valuable lessons through the first 14 years of our marriage.
John was called into an elder’s quorum presidency within two months of our wedding. It followed us through three wards and the next five years. I learned very quickly to add an extra couple of hours to his proposed return time, realizing that his judgment of time wasn’t as accurate as he thought. I also learned to not worry about confidential issues. I’m much happier for it. Next came Scoutmaster—six weeks after buying our Suburban. I soon realized that both our new vehicle and annual vacation time would not necessarily be just for our family to use; they were subject to consecration. Shortly after our baby’s first birthday and before our eldest’s eighth, a calling to the high council was extended. Suddenly I had to learn coping strategies to manage five children alone in church. It was barely within my ability to do. Next came rapid-succession callings to the bishopric and then bishop. The sum total, I believed, of cutting a lot of slack on arrival times, having no curiosity about other people’s private business, the giving of property and time, and at least two weeknights plus Sunday without Dad at home. After all that, I thought I had a fairly good idea of what might be ahead.
So what have I learned after a third of the way through his tenure? On the blessing side, it really is quite remarkable to have many people throughout the stake praying for your husband and your home. The Lord has taken exceptional care of our family. It has been much more than I ever imagined and I am humbled and grateful beyond words for His attention to our needs. And if I have the perspective to see that even challenges are really blessings in disguise, then I can easily say that everything about this calling has been a blessing. I’m trying to see the difficulties for what I hope they will eventually be.
The lessons and gifts my husband has been given in the last three years have become exponential. Opportunities for spiritual growth seem to knock on his door daily. There is just enough need on the part of the people he has stewardship over, and just enough drive on his part to learn and grow, that the Lord allows him to have an abundance of gifts he needs to serve effectively. This is a glorious thing. It’s exciting to watch. How could I possibly find a drawback to being married to a good man? Because it’s also very easy to look at myself and observe that I have a notable lack of similar growth.
I feel as though I’m coming out of a fog. Until recently I didn’t even know I was in one to begin with. Kids will do that to you I think. “How did I get here?” is my mantra and will likely be inscripted on my headstone someday. “Where am I going with my life?” is frequently my follow-up question. I often see myself at the bottom of a large mountain and my spouse has a huge head start. It’s hard not to let discouragement root me to the ground. It’s not that he wouldn’t come back and pick me up and even wait for me, but even so, how will I ever keep pace? It’s hard to feel spiritually fulfilled and inspired when my prayers ascend no higher than the ceiling, scriptures are simply read out of habit, and the efforts of raising a family daily wear my patience down to its very last thread. And housekeeping…well, we won’t even go there.
I think everyone makes unhealthy comparisons from time to time. I just happen to live with the person that I keep comparing myself to. But I think it’s something we all do. There’s always a sister down the street whose kids get perfect grades and can keep her house clean as well. How many people have a mother who knows how to do everything and are constantly asking her for help? Perhaps it’s a great teacher, friend, scholar, or athlete that we feel we’ll never measure up to their standard. It’s hard to recognize that these people have issues too because their strengths seem to outshine their troubles. It is an unfortunate human trait that we comfort and torment ourselves at the same time by comparing gifts. Would my teenage son ask me why he didn’t get a doll for Christmas like his little sisters? Of course not. What he wanted and needed was new clothes.
The Lord knows His children and presents us each with abilities and experiences that will best meet the individual needs we have. He doesn’t always tell us why we got the gifts we did, but I have come to trust that He has His reasons. Father has a much broader vision than we ever do. So much so that in our limited temporal view, we may not even recognize that we’ve been given something special. I hadn’t realized before that learning to admit our fears and weaknesses, and not being ashamed of them, is its own kind of gift. How can we address and deal with something we are in denial of? I’m finally outgrowing my fear of confessing that I have a lot of struggles, that I’m being challenged every day, and that I have a lot of confidence issues to overcome.
I’m also trying to give myself more credit for my strengths. I recognize too that it’s a unique privilege to be married to the stake president, not just because I learn much from him, but because I am also privy to see his faults and weaknesses. He has them like everyone else. As I discover what my own gifts and talents are, without needing to compare packages, I can benefit him as much as he helps me. I’ve found that my strengths balance him out in places where he is weak.
I once heard a story of a young couple who went mountain climbing. The man had a single goal to plough ahead quickly to the top. The woman loved to stop and note the presence of flowers and wildlife. She would stop her partner on occasion to point out a bird singing or a brook rippling by. He in turn would notice things he otherwise would have missed. On the other hand, he would pull her back to their task of reaching the peak. In the end, she made it to the top because of his drive and he better enjoyed the climb because of her appreciation of the beauty along the way. Whether we are forge-ahead climbers or follow-the-butterflies types, we all have a need and responsibility to help each other to the top of this mountain we call our journey Home.
In the case of our marriage, I am definitely the one with the slower pace, but my goal is to get there eventually. I just need to be less concerned with my arrival time. I’ve been learning this lesson the hard way since becoming the “matron of the stake” at age 34 (oh that sounds odd) and wondering what on earth I have to contribute to the good people of my community with so relatively little life experience. But every day grants us a new start and more opportunities to share. I hope it’s the beginning of a lifetime of growth in the right direction.
http://intuitivehomemaking.blogspot.com/
John was called into an elder’s quorum presidency within two months of our wedding. It followed us through three wards and the next five years. I learned very quickly to add an extra couple of hours to his proposed return time, realizing that his judgment of time wasn’t as accurate as he thought. I also learned to not worry about confidential issues. I’m much happier for it. Next came Scoutmaster—six weeks after buying our Suburban. I soon realized that both our new vehicle and annual vacation time would not necessarily be just for our family to use; they were subject to consecration. Shortly after our baby’s first birthday and before our eldest’s eighth, a calling to the high council was extended. Suddenly I had to learn coping strategies to manage five children alone in church. It was barely within my ability to do. Next came rapid-succession callings to the bishopric and then bishop. The sum total, I believed, of cutting a lot of slack on arrival times, having no curiosity about other people’s private business, the giving of property and time, and at least two weeknights plus Sunday without Dad at home. After all that, I thought I had a fairly good idea of what might be ahead.
So what have I learned after a third of the way through his tenure? On the blessing side, it really is quite remarkable to have many people throughout the stake praying for your husband and your home. The Lord has taken exceptional care of our family. It has been much more than I ever imagined and I am humbled and grateful beyond words for His attention to our needs. And if I have the perspective to see that even challenges are really blessings in disguise, then I can easily say that everything about this calling has been a blessing. I’m trying to see the difficulties for what I hope they will eventually be.
The lessons and gifts my husband has been given in the last three years have become exponential. Opportunities for spiritual growth seem to knock on his door daily. There is just enough need on the part of the people he has stewardship over, and just enough drive on his part to learn and grow, that the Lord allows him to have an abundance of gifts he needs to serve effectively. This is a glorious thing. It’s exciting to watch. How could I possibly find a drawback to being married to a good man? Because it’s also very easy to look at myself and observe that I have a notable lack of similar growth.
I feel as though I’m coming out of a fog. Until recently I didn’t even know I was in one to begin with. Kids will do that to you I think. “How did I get here?” is my mantra and will likely be inscripted on my headstone someday. “Where am I going with my life?” is frequently my follow-up question. I often see myself at the bottom of a large mountain and my spouse has a huge head start. It’s hard not to let discouragement root me to the ground. It’s not that he wouldn’t come back and pick me up and even wait for me, but even so, how will I ever keep pace? It’s hard to feel spiritually fulfilled and inspired when my prayers ascend no higher than the ceiling, scriptures are simply read out of habit, and the efforts of raising a family daily wear my patience down to its very last thread. And housekeeping…well, we won’t even go there.
I think everyone makes unhealthy comparisons from time to time. I just happen to live with the person that I keep comparing myself to. But I think it’s something we all do. There’s always a sister down the street whose kids get perfect grades and can keep her house clean as well. How many people have a mother who knows how to do everything and are constantly asking her for help? Perhaps it’s a great teacher, friend, scholar, or athlete that we feel we’ll never measure up to their standard. It’s hard to recognize that these people have issues too because their strengths seem to outshine their troubles. It is an unfortunate human trait that we comfort and torment ourselves at the same time by comparing gifts. Would my teenage son ask me why he didn’t get a doll for Christmas like his little sisters? Of course not. What he wanted and needed was new clothes.
The Lord knows His children and presents us each with abilities and experiences that will best meet the individual needs we have. He doesn’t always tell us why we got the gifts we did, but I have come to trust that He has His reasons. Father has a much broader vision than we ever do. So much so that in our limited temporal view, we may not even recognize that we’ve been given something special. I hadn’t realized before that learning to admit our fears and weaknesses, and not being ashamed of them, is its own kind of gift. How can we address and deal with something we are in denial of? I’m finally outgrowing my fear of confessing that I have a lot of struggles, that I’m being challenged every day, and that I have a lot of confidence issues to overcome.
I’m also trying to give myself more credit for my strengths. I recognize too that it’s a unique privilege to be married to the stake president, not just because I learn much from him, but because I am also privy to see his faults and weaknesses. He has them like everyone else. As I discover what my own gifts and talents are, without needing to compare packages, I can benefit him as much as he helps me. I’ve found that my strengths balance him out in places where he is weak.
I once heard a story of a young couple who went mountain climbing. The man had a single goal to plough ahead quickly to the top. The woman loved to stop and note the presence of flowers and wildlife. She would stop her partner on occasion to point out a bird singing or a brook rippling by. He in turn would notice things he otherwise would have missed. On the other hand, he would pull her back to their task of reaching the peak. In the end, she made it to the top because of his drive and he better enjoyed the climb because of her appreciation of the beauty along the way. Whether we are forge-ahead climbers or follow-the-butterflies types, we all have a need and responsibility to help each other to the top of this mountain we call our journey Home.
In the case of our marriage, I am definitely the one with the slower pace, but my goal is to get there eventually. I just need to be less concerned with my arrival time. I’ve been learning this lesson the hard way since becoming the “matron of the stake” at age 34 (oh that sounds odd) and wondering what on earth I have to contribute to the good people of my community with so relatively little life experience. But every day grants us a new start and more opportunities to share. I hope it’s the beginning of a lifetime of growth in the right direction.
http://intuitivehomemaking.blogspot.com/
Monday, January 17, 2011
Lessons from a Canister Set
People were generous. We started as an engaged couple with almost nothing but the clothes in our respective closets. Remarkably by the time we were married, we had our new little apartment supplied with all of the essentials. There was even enough money left over for a few small luxuries. As we shopped with the end of our credit, I found I kept coming back to this set of porcelain kitchen canisters. I absolutely loved them and they matched our colors beautifully at the time. John was cautious if not a little skeptical. They were rather pricey. Would I really use them? Would we have room for them on our small countertop? And then he asked me one more probing question: “If you had to, would you grind them up to make plaster for a temple?”
As a young 20-year-old who’d never owned anything particularly fine before, I had a difficult time answering “yes.” But once I could, I didn’t feel so guilty making an indulgent purchase. We went home with the canisters. I never was able to look at them though without thinking “would I grind them up like the early saints did for their first temple?” http://lds.org/friend/1975/03/sparkling-walls?lang=eng
As a young 20-year-old who’d never owned anything particularly fine before, I had a difficult time answering “yes.” But once I could, I didn’t feel so guilty making an indulgent purchase. We went home with the canisters. I never was able to look at them though without thinking “would I grind them up like the early saints did for their first temple?” http://lds.org/friend/1975/03/sparkling-walls?lang=eng
Over sixteen years have passed since that event. The canisters have since held a wide variety of contents: the usual kitchen staples of flour and sugar, measuring spoons and cups, even box tops and milk caps the kids have collected for school. When I finally realized that their usefulness in my home was spent, when it was at last time to pass them on to another owner, I faced another struggle. I was reluctant to give them up, not so much for their functionality as for the reminder they have been to not set my heart upon material things. In the end, I sent them off as a charitable donation. Perhaps sharing them with someone I don’t even know was finally passing the test that allowed me to justify their purchase to begin with.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Puzzled
John gave me a new puzzle for Christmas which we assembled on New Years’ Eve. It spurred a week of puzzling—something we’ve not done in a long time. Of the five we began, most notable was the 1000+ piece Mickey Mouse photo-mosaic puzzle that my eldest received for Christmas two years ago. It has never been put together in its entirety, as it was a daunting task for him to do all alone and he gave up after a while. I decided to tolerate living without a dining room table long enough to see it completed. Chris was highly amused that I was drawn in so easily and so frequently to the week-long project. He commented “It’s been so cool to have this out! It started as something I was just going to do with Em, but now it’s become something the whole family has worked on.”
Wouldn’t you know it though, as we got down to the last few pieces, there was one that was simply not to be found! Somehow it wandered off in the last two years of inactivity. As with most things, even our best efforts don’t always turn out perfectly. Even so, the process and product were no less satisfying to its participants. Who would have thought that filling in the missing gaps of a picture could be such a unifying and bonding activity? Though we didn’t always work on it at the same time, it created a unique sense of purpose to see it through. Now if I could only get them to have a similar drive to keep their shared bathroom clean...
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