Labor and Birth Story, 2 months later...

A good friend reminded me the other day that I usually post my labor/birth stories on my blog and I didn't this time. So I'm remedying that.

I never have a normal birth story, and I still don't. We like to do things weird, I guess.

On the day Nathanael turned 4, I was puttering around getting ready for his birthday party, collecting his presents into one place to wrap, getting ready to bake his cake, making a list of the last 3 things he wanted at the dollar store, and waiting for Tim to come home with car so I could go buy them.

Regular old birthday.

And then I noticed the contractions. But I brushed them off.

And then I noticed they were pretty regular. Every 5 minutes. Even if I lay down. Even if I stood up. Even if I ate something. Regular.

I kept saying to myself, "Nah. I was going to have a baby on Sunday. It's only Wednesday. Too early. Besides, this is Nathanael's birthday."

Finally I called Tim at work. He didn't answer. Nearly in tears, I left him a message. When he finally called me back, almost an hour later, he was on the way home. "You didn't answer," I said.

"I was teaching," he said.

"I know. You think I would have called you if I didn't need you? What good is saying 'carry your phone' if you don't answer it?"

"Do I need to call a babysitter?"

I burst into tears. "I think so."

He called a babysitter and I got things ready. Babysitter was sick, but her husband was available, and we trust him, too, so he set off from Greeley before Tim got home from Denver, and we got my good friend who also happens to be my visiting teacher right now to come to sit with the kids until our babysitter from Greeley arrived. Turns out he was really fast, and he got to the house just as we were walking out.

So, while the babysitters were coming, I called the doctor, "I have an appointment in an hour, but I think I'm in labor now. Do I come to you first or go straight to labor and delivery?" I asked. They went back and forth and then said, "Come here first."

So we went there. Got to the doctor's office, still having contractions every 5 minutes, and I told them when I checked in that I think I'm in labor, and they nodded and said, "Have a seat." So we sat and watched the fish for 20 minutes. 20 minutes!

Tim told me all about 3-D printing. I said, "They should put fish in labor and delivery rooms. Very soothing." He replied, "I have lots to tell you, but I want to tell you when you will remember what I said." "If I have a baby here in the waiting room, it's their own fault for making me wait," I replied.

We finally got called back to the exam area and the nurse handed me a cup to pee in. I said, "But I think I'm in labor, and we called ahead to tell you and you still made us wait 20 minutes!" The nurse went a shade paler and said something about how the nurse who had answered the phone and talked to me got called home to tend her sick baby, so the message hadn't been passed along. So I went in the bathroom and peed in the stupid cup, and then came out and stood on the scale, and then sat in the exam room on that uncomfortable table. Finally the doctor came in and checked me and said, "Go on down to labor and delivery. But walk around first."

I was only dilated to 3, I think. Maybe 2?  Anyway, we went down to the main floor of the hospital (doctor's office is in the same building, more or less), and we walked up and down and up and down and looked at the art and paced some more and I was still having contractions and I told Tim over and over, "We can't be having a baby today. I was going to have a baby on Sunday. It's Nathanael's birthday today." Over and over. We were both really shocked and unsure about things.

Finally we went up to labor and delivery. I was really nervous because a week or two before I'd been in triage to have the baby turned, and they gave me an IV I didn't need because it happened that he had already turned (because Tim gave me a blessing that told him to). But as I was there, I had realized that I hate that room. It's the place where I am forced to lay in the least comfortable position, in labor (and therefore in pain), waiting for someone else to validate that my experience is real enough to stay. I hate the ceiling tiles in that room, with the pretty flower borders embossed into them. I hate the nurses in that room, even though they're different every time I go. Even though I would like the same nurse if she just stepped outside the door. I just hate that room. So I was really really dreading having to go in there and have someone tell me if I was in labor or not. I wasn't sure myself because it felt like labor, but it didn't at the same time.

Besides, weren't we going to have a baby on Sunday? And it was Nathanael' birthday!

But the doctor had called up and admitted me, so they took me right past triage and into room 2012, which was a little confusing because then we were having a baby in 2012 in 2013.

I was so unsure I was really in labor that I think I asked the nurse several times, "are we really staying?"  She said yes.

The nurse was a little bit of a miracle. I had convinced the doc to not make me have an IV because the IV sites hurt like crazy for weeks and weeks because of fibro. The unnecessary IV I got for the baby turning that didn't happen still hurt. It made my whole arm hurt. And the doctor went along with it (she's a saint!). And the nurse, when I said, "I have fibromyalgia," stopped me and said, "I do, too." So she understood everything I was saying. She got me. She let me be an intelligent woman with special needs. And she was so gentle and kind and determined to help me do this labor without and IV and without medication.

So we labored for a couple of hours, and then the doctor was getting to a point where she wanted to get home, and we all knew I usually go really fast, so she came in and broke my water to hurry things along, with my permission because I wanted to get done and go home, too, and usually after they break my water I'm done in 15 minutes. That's when I knew I was actually staying at the hospital, that I was really in labor and this was real and I was going to have a baby. That's what happens when they break my water--I have a baby. It was real.

Well, this hadn't been a usual pregnancy by a long shot.

And the unthinkable happened. It baffled the nurses and doctor and me and Tim completely. They broke my water--and my labor STOPPED. Completely. I was no longer in labor at all. Not a hint of a contraction.

The doctor said (the next morning) that she was amazed, that they can break the water of someone not even in labor and she has a baby right away.

But not me. Not this time. We had a nothing.

So the doctor went home.

I had no IV, so they couldn't give me pitocin. And I was dripping large amounts of amniotic fluid and at risk of infection now, so they couldn't let me go home (I even asked). So Tim and I tried everything. We walked. And walked. And walked. We rested. We talked. We ate (don't tell the hospital I brought food in my bag and ate it while I was in labor--it's against the rules!). We laughed. We cried. We prayed. Tim gave me a blessing. We had some of the most intense, heartfelt prayers ever, where Tim voiced every thought of my heart even though I hadn't told him any of them. It was a very spiritual night. But not a very baby-filled night.

Finally, at about 1:00 am, Tim gave up. My water had been broken for 7 hours and we were still just hanging around not in labor. The nurse made the couch into a bed and got him a pillow and blanket, and he went to sleep. I walked more. I tried different positions to sit, stand, crawl. Nothing. So finally I went to bed, too, and slept poorly for about 5 hours. Hospitals are terribly uncomfortable places.

Well, shift changes with the nurses got me my nice fibro nurse back, and she wasn't ready to give up. We had a hot jacuzzi bath that just made me feel nauseated and achy. I tried different positions. My nurse was sure the baby was posterior, and that's why he was stuck. We jokingly told the nurse that our friend was also expecting and that we had joked all along that she would have a baby the same day I did--and mentioned who the couple were, and our nurse said, "She's here!" The computers show  several patients' labor monitors all at the same time, so we watched her labor progress in the other room while my labor did NOTHING. Because I wasn't in labor at all. I did get into the positions that are supposed to turn a baby, though, and I guess they worked because when he was born, he came anterior. But he HAD been posterior--that's why I was feeling contractions strongly in my back when I had been in labor (but I wasn't anymore!).

Finally, I cried about it and then told Tim I would have to get some pitocin. The doctor had been really nice, letting me go several hours past the deadline that's considered safe to have your water broken and no baby before risk of infection really sets in, just so I could try everything. And they all left the decision to me. And I finally knew, after 15 hours, that I wasn't going to be in labor any time soon, and they weren't letting me go home. So I agreed to pitocin. And then my doctor and nurse were angels again. They did some research and found that pediatric patients who need IVs get numbing cream first, so they ordered some and held off on everything until the pharmacy got it in and delivered it for me. And then they waited another half hour while both my hands got numb (just on the backs). And then they used the tiniest needle they could find, really trying to minimize the impact on my body. And it worked.

IV was there. But my arm didn't hurt for weeks and weeks after. Well, the right one didn't. The left one, where I had the "normal" IV before (the one we didn't need)--that one hurt for 6 weeks. But the labor IV didn't cause me grief.

They gave me the lowest possible dose of pitocin, and labor started up, but not very strong. So the nurse upped the dose to 8 (a fairly common dose is 30. 30 what I don't know, but she said it was 30).  And then I was in labor. Just like that.

I did pretty good. I lasted a long time, and didn't need anything for most of it. And then I got to that point that all my friends said you get to where you just get done. It wasn't that the labor was any worse, although contractions were more frequent. I was just done. I didn't want to do it anymore. I told Tim I wanted an epidural, and he and the nurse looked at each other in a way that said, "too late!" but the nurse agreed to check me. If I was past a 7, no epidural. No time. If not, I could get one. I was at a 6 1/2. And I was pretty unhappy because the baby was in distress, so I had to lay back in that horribly uncomfortable position and wear an oxygen mask. I swear those things have latex in them--they make my face feel weird. But I also have this thing about having things touch my face--it's the reason I refuse to go under water. I don't have a phobia of going under water per se--it's a phobia of having things touch my face. So the oxygen mask was not happy for me--especially since she kept forgetting to turn it on, so I'd get it on my face and not be able to breathe at all, and then I'd panic.

Anyway, the doctor was just down the hall, and he came in and gave me a spinal/epidural, aka a "walking epidural" and it started in 5 minutes (instead of 20), and he talked too much. Tim said it was the same doctor who messed up my epidural last time (so I could feel everything from the knees up), but this time he was brilliant. Quick. And, joy of joys, he numbed ONLY my uterus. I could still move my feet. I could still feel my bladder (which  meant I didn't need a catheter, hallelujah!). I could still squirm and shift positions. This is a BIG deal to me because the forced holding still of an epidural makes my fibromyalgia crazy painful for weeks and weeks. He had barely left the room when I said, "ouch!" Turns out he numbed ONLY the uterus. Not the birth canal.

Meanwhile, things got tricky with the staff because my friend down the hall was pretty much done, too. She ended up delivering her baby boy exactly 2 minutes before I had mine. Hers was also posterior, and born with the cord around his neck, and their birthweights were only one ounce different. Pretty astonishing, actually.

Anyway, I knew the baby was coming because I could feel the birth canal, and also that I needed to push (never felt that before!). But it was okay because they got the doctor in there (different doctor than the one I had been working with, but one I like just as much--if not more) and I pushed 3 or 4 times and we got us a baby. He had the cord around his neck twice, tight. Tim refused to let go of my hand to cut the cord (right choice by him) and insisted they get the cord off the baby's neck. And then they put that little screaming baby right on my chest, and I said, "Hi, Jack." and he stopped crying instantly and just looked at me. I've never had that experience before. All six other kids were whisked away to get oxygen the instant they were born, but there was Jack, looking into my eyes, and I recognized him from a dream I'd had a year (or more) before and he seemed to recognize me, and I didn't care what else was going on in the room or with my body.  It was pretty intense. I might have let Tim hold him after a while. Maybe.

Anyway, by the time the Anesthesiologist came back in to check on me and make sure the epidural was working fine, and see if I needed more medication or we were good, I was done and everything was cleaned up and put away. He said, "I can't believe you held still through all of that when you were in transition and I was putting it in!" That was the first point where I went, "Oh. Huh. I probably could have done it without." But, I realized, I didn't want to. I wanted exactly what I got--a numb uterus and everything else not numb. It's what I've always wanted, and have asked for six other times only to be told, "We don't do that kind of epidural here." I guess now they do.  At least, here they do. I've had babies in four different hospitals, and I can't vouch for the other three. Anyway, he said, "I probably could have just given you a shot." Next time, I'll ask for that. Skip the tubing--just give me the "lasts one hour" shot.

Within an hour I could walk again. Usually it's 12+ hours later because I'm so numb. And I went to the bathroom and the nurse didn't make me go twice. She just quietly took out that pesky IV--didn't even make me keep it overnight like most do. Sue was the best thing that ever happened to me in labor. Seriously. She was a miracle. I've wondered if I didn't stall on the labor just so she could be back on duty for me when I needed her--I was only in labor while she was there, not while any other nurse was.

So the baby came at 1:00-ish, about 24 hours after I got to the hospital in the first place. He was my smallest baby, at 6 lb 13 oz (I think?), but just as long as the others--21 inches. And big, big beautiful eyes that I think he might have gotten from his Great-Grandma Springer. He was sweet in the hospital--hardly squeeked and a good sleeper, but a bad nurser. He's still a pretty bad nurser. He doesn't latch on tight enough, and sometimes chokes and often gets his rhythm off and swallows air, but he's growing nicely so I'm not too worried.  We named him Jacob (after Nephi's brother) Bruce (after my dad) Jones (after Tim, of course).

The delivery was really quite bloodless. It every surprised all the doctors and nurses. They said I lost 100 ccs of blood. In a normal delivery, mom loses about 500 ccs of blood. It was a really clean delivery. No tears, no episiotomies, no stitches. I could walk soon after. And I felt great. I've never felt or moved around like that after a baby is born. I hardly hurt at all--so much so that I forgot to ask for even ibuprofen, and I was up walking around, brushing my hair and teeth, fiddling with the TV. It was amazing. Best delivery and best recovery ever.

I think it's because of the long break. I did half of labor, had a long rest and some sleep, and then did the other half of labor a day later. I think my body did some resting and healing in the break, and that was good for me. It also gave Jack a chance to get in the right position. Delivering him posterior without any medication would have been...not fun. To say the least.

Anyway, I felt good enough that I would have gone home right then, but we had to stay 24 hours for the baby because they check jaundice at 25 hours, so we still had to be there. Especially since he was pretty seriously jaundiced--just shy of needing lights, but only just. (Nursed that right out of him, though!).

The nurse we had all day after the delivery made us both glad to get to go home. She was really nice, but she didn't treat me like I knew what I was doing. She kept wanting to give me nursing pointers, for example. That is, until the Lactation Consultant came in. I said, really quickly (because I was tired of everyone telling me how to nurse), "I've nursed six babies successfully. This is my seventh."  "I know," said the Lactation consultant, "I came in to get tips from you."  Then the nurse left me alone. Really, even the "new nursing hold people have just started doing!" I have been doing since I had a spinal headache with Anda--9 1/2 years ago. Anyway, the nurse backed off on the nursing, but she still wanted to mother me, and I know some women love that, but I don't need it. And I think Tim really resented being treated like an idiot. He knows how to put a onesie and a diaper on a baby! He doesn't need someone to rush over like he's breaking the poor babe and rescue them from each other, to "teach him how." At least they didn't ask us to go to the new mothers class. I didn't have time--too many people coming and going in my room.


I guess the hospital plans for you to stay for 2 days, because they started people coming in at like 5:00 am, after I hadn't slept well because hospital beds are worse than sleeping on the floor. And it was non-stop until it was time to go home. I finally got a break and the baby fell sleep at just after noon, and as I got ready to get in the shower, the massage lady came in. I sent her away, preferring a shower and a get-ready-to-go-home to a massage. I'm always wary of massages because most massages make fibro feel worse, not better, and I'd been sitting on that rock-garden bed for 24 hours already and needed to get off before my fibro killed me. It got so painful to sit there because of the fibro. I couldn't stand it! Anyway, I did have a pleasant visit with my dad (that part was nice) and a friend from my ward (that part was nice), and other than that it felt like Grand Central Station for hospital personnel in there. I needed to go home so I could rest and recover (who decided a woman should give birth and then have to talk to medical people for 6 hours straight after being awake most of the night because who can sleep in a hospital?! That's no way to recover!!!).

Tim and I did get a bit of quiet time. We have watched a Pixar movie in the hospital with almost all our kids (maybe not Caleb, but I think maybe all the rest?). So Tim went out the morning after the baby was born and came in before he had to go to work with "Brave." We've laughed for years and years now that when we were in labor with Caleb, we were watching "Zorro" and just as we got to the climax, Tim turned it off and never turned it back on. I still haven't seen the climax to "Zorro," and Caleb turns 12 this year. (In his defense, he thought I'd seen the movie before, and I didn't protest or ask him to turn it back on, so it's my fault I didn't see the end). So it's a big joke when we're in labor that after the baby comes, Tim can't turn off the Pixar movie at the climax. So we settled in and we're watching "Brave," and we get to the climax, and there's about 10 minutes left in the movie and Tim has 15 minutes until he has to leave for work, and the nurse comes in and starts talking and she talks and talks and talks and talks and asks questions and talks more and asks more questions, and none of it is important stuff as she tells me about her son who is an adult now and the time is slipping away and the movie is paused...and we missed the climax because the nurse was still talking when Tim had to go to work.

Sigh.

(So we brought the DVD home and watched it with the kids that night. And I got to see the climax.)

Anyway, after Tim got back from work, we finally we escaped with the baby. He was so tiny, the carseat seat belts wouldn't tighten enough around him for the nurse to be happy, even at their tightest. I knew we were literally driving around the corner to get home, so I finally gave up and twisted my hand in the belts on the back of the seat, tightening them so that when she checked, they were good. Then I plopped a blanket over baby and belts so she wouldn't see them go slack again, and we took that little bundle home and immediately had a birthday party for Nathanael, 2 days too late. And for the rest of forever, we'll be having birthday parties two days in a row for these guys, Nathie on the 9th, Jack on the 10th. I think that's better than if they shared a birthday, although that would have possibly given them a special bond as brothers. I like them to each have their own special day.

 I couldn't be more in love with this baby. And neither could Tim and the kids. Elijah spends a lot of time saying, "Ooooh--Dat is soooo TUTE!" (Jack is so cute). Nathanael held him several times a day for weeks. Caleb likes to look into his eyes, and beep his nose. Anda hops up and gets him whenever he makes a sound, even if he's not really upset yet. Daniel, too, protects and loves and pays attention to him. Even Benji takes time every day to love on this baby.  He is very much adored all around. And he spends a lot of time smiling at them--and, inexplicably, at the bookshelves. He loves the kids, loves his daddy, loves bookshelves, and loves music. I guess he fits right in!

He was worth the 9 months of near-hell it took to get him. SO glad we did it!

Writing again!

Now that the baby is here, I can write again. For some reason, with some pregnancies I can't write. And this was one of those. Nice to be able to put fingers to keyboard and have ideas come out again.

As usual, I find that when I open the blank page to start writing, I freeze. The act of reading a good book is such a magical thing, if I think about that I can't write. I'm sure I don't have access to the magic that will sweep you away into another realm.

So I have to keep telling myself: There is no magic. It's just words. All of the good writers are just using words. They're not even using them in a specially fancy way. They just tell what there is to tell. With the same words that I know, for the most part. Not magic. Words. And familiar words at that.

Sometimes, the blank page is too intimidating, and I just have to put "something" on it to get started. "Something" is a nice start for a sentence, and then the words start flowing out.

Sometimes I get stuck and don't know where to go next. A good writer who happens to be a good friend suggested that when I get stuck, I should consider blowing something up.  That usually works. That, or going back and figuring out what I wrote that was wrong. If I fix that, things go forward.

And I've learned to ask myself, often, "Stop thinking about what you want to have happen or where you want to take the story. Now, look at the characters. What happens to them next? What are they going to do? What are they thinking? What are they feeling? What are they going to say? Let the story take you there." It's a little scary thinking that I only set the process in motion and then the story has to write itself. But it's a lot of fun!

So now I'm fixing that confusing spot in Poison Spindle Problem because I somehow can't let it go after 7 years, and also because it's easier to revise with one hand than to write from scratch with one hand. When I don't have a newborn in arms, I'm working on the first chapters of Melora and the Maltese Falcon, which might end up being more fun than I thought it was going to be, even though I had to throw away all the previous drafts--the ones that were well-written were flawed, and the ones without plot/character problems were garbage in terms of writing. Nice to start fresh sometimes anyway. And then blow things up.

I've also learned that it's easier to escape the clutches of the internet and start writing if I take potassium first. Focuses my brain. I don't recommend anyone else do this, unless they have the same metabolic issues I do, but it does help to eat and sleep properly if you want to write well.

Good thing I have no deadline, though. Having the baby born makes writing possible. It also makes it nearly impossible sometimes!

Did I just read that?

"Baby born alive after crash kills mother" (from google news and also here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2013/mar/04/baby-born-alive-crash-mother)

I think that was a Stephen King story, wasn't it?

(Grammar is so fun. Is it "Baby-born-alive-after-crash Kills Mother", or is it "Baby Born Alive After-crash-kills-mother". Commas would solve this, of course, but they are both out of style and not used in headlines.)

Oh, misquoted facebook quotes

This one came up today: "If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not people or things. Albert Einstein"

It just didn't ring true to me, although it's an appealing idea. I looked it up--it can't be proven Einstein said it. Wikiquotes attributes it to him, but in the "Attributed from memory and posthumous publications" section, and they said there are two variants. The above is neither, but is close to "If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or objects."

I can agree that tying your life to things is not likely to make you happy.

But I don't agree with not tying your life to people. If the purpose of the gospel is to guide us to true happiness ("eternal bliss" as Alma says), and God has asked us not only to interact with people, but to eternally seal our lives to another person, then I would assume that tying yourself to people is supposed to make you happy. In fact, the structure of the church has us thoroughly involved with people all the time--church is about people, home and visiting teaching are about people, missionary work is about people, family is about people. Everything we do in church is designed to tie us to God and to tie us to other people.

I think perhaps what Einstein was observing is that we don't really have control over other people. They can make us intensely miserable, they can be fickle and unreliable, they can go from friend to foe in a single misunderstanding. But, it looks like he's saying, we do have control over our own actions in pursuit of a goal, and that's what makes us happy. But it's an illusion that we have control over our goals and whether we accomplish them or not. We like to FEEL like we have that power, that we are in control of our actions and attitudes and therefore the outcomes. It seems to be the big philosophy of a lot of life coaches and business coaches.  Really, though, you can set a goal and work your life out for it, and it can still not happen. Or we can set goals that in our woefully short-sighted inexperience are really stupid goals that won't satisfy us in the long run. Again, a recipe for a wasted life.

Work does make me happy. And working toward an end makes me happy. I've found over and over in my life that if I feel down or discouraged or depressed, the answer is to work--it almost doesn't matter on what. I can do the dishes or write a novel or clean a room or plant a garden or fix a car or organize a closet or whatever work I can get my hands into. The very act of working makes me happy. And working towards a goal does make me happy--as long as it's a goal that can be accomplished. I hate working toward a spotless house, for example, because as long as we eat and wear clothes, it can never be truly done because there is always another load of laundry and another sink of dishes coming any minute.  I do that work because it makes me happy to work, not for a goal. Actually, I think in general for me it's the work that makes me happy, not accomplishing a goal. I do like to finish projects, but then I want to get right on to another.

I guess that's another reason this quote is totally not applicable to me. I don't care much about goals for their own sake. I care about working toward an end, about working in general, about living righteously, but having an endpoint written down has never really  motivated me. I guess it does other people. Just not me. Maybe it's a question of semantics, or maybe it's a question of what is personally satisfying? I know some people are highly motivated by having an endpoint to look toward and by accomplishing, arriving, and checking off. Not me--I am perhaps even happier to hike on a deer trail, which has no end and no destination, just to see where it goes, than I am to hike to a spot, get there, say I did it, and come back. It gives me no satisfaction to check off items on a list because I'm always adding items to the list. It's an exercise in futility for me. List is full? All checked off? Throw it away and get a new paper, quick. I have more things to do!

So, even though I often agree with Einstein's wisdom, this is one case where it just doesn't sit well with me. It doesn't ring true. I agree about the things--tying your life to things seems really foolish.  But when I'm an old, old lady, I want to be surrounded by people who love me, not proof that I have accomplished my goals. So obviously I want to tie my life to people--that's the kind of life I want, with all its ups and downs, and that's what makes me happy. The lows from people may be lower, but the highs are so much higher, and so much more permanent.  After we die, the things get left behind. Many of the things we can accomplish do, too. But the relationships we have with people go with us, and our families, if we are sealed in the temple, remain intact. That's where I choose to tie my life. And it does make me happy.

Mommy says,

"Hey--don't eat the platypus!" to my 4 yo.

Parents end up saying the most random things that, taken out of context, seem truly bizarre.

Of course, the contexts that produce comments like that usually are truly bizarre.

I knew it would happen some day

I shop like my mom.

I knew it would happen some day, and today as I hefted the box of oranges into my cart at the store, I thought of that.

I shop like my mom now, buying 40 lbs of oranges all at once, without fear of them going bad before they get eaten. 40 lbs of regular oranges, 5 lbs of mini oranges (plus 3 lb more yesterday), 15 clamshells of blackberries (and they gave me a bulk purchase discount because of it!), 2 cases of yogurt, 50 lb of cheese (maybe more), 30-pack box of corn dogs, 2 dozen donuts for a treat, a dozen bags of marked down Valentine candy (lollipops, pixie stix, and conversation hearts)...among other things. I started buying the big big bags of frozen veggies (and chicken strips, and fish sticks, and, well, frozen anything, actually)--the ones in the "Institutional" section of the store. I guess that means I've been institutionalized?

Now I'm trying to figure out how she managed all those years buying this much stuff with only one fridge. My fridge, freezer, and chest freezer are full, and everything isn't put away yet.

I think I need another fridge. If I can just figure out where to put it....

Thresholds

We've noticed over the years that there are some consistent patterns related to family behavior that are tied to family size.

For example, parents of 3 kids suddenly seem to develop this unflappableness--they respond calmly to just about everything in a way that parents of one or two often don't (not always--I know some very unflappable parents of two). I don't know why that is--maybe because you've seen it all already? Maybe because you're too tired to care anymore?  They also hover a little less than many parents of one or two. You can't keep your eyes on 3 people all the time, so you have to learn to trust them. And to run when the house gets quiet.

Other parents say three is when you can't hold everyone's hand anymore when you're crossing the parking lot, and it's true. And it's true outside of the parking lot, too. You just can't hold that many hands in any realm, so the kids have to learn to not need it, and so do the parents.

One thing I've noticed consistently is that parents who haven't crossed the thresholds can't comprehend them. For example, parents of three kids really don't believe me when I say "Four is different. It's a threshold where everything changes, just like having one kids was a threshold where everything changed." They insist that nothing will be different between three and four kids--they're already experienced  mommies, and they have their systems in place to deal with the chaos of having a lot of little needy bodies running around. Usually, I just shrug and say, "If you ever have four, you'll see what I'm talking about."

4 kids is one of the major thresholds, and the one people least comprehend until they experience it. In fact, when I try to explain it to parents with fewer than 4 kids, they insist I'm wrong. But when I try to explain it to parents of 4 or more, they just nod. Four is when you stop doing playdates, stop volunteering for stuff, stop offering to bring, well, anything to anything. It's where you suddenly find you actually can't keep up with the housework quite as well as you'd like. You stop caring if anyone is wearing matching clothes, or even if they're fully dressed when you're at home. It's the place where you stop fighting with the kid who hates underwear or socks and tell them as long as they're modest and safe, you don't care what's on underneath (or not on, as the case may be). Life is more home-focused, and you just don't go out as often. And when you do go out, you try to do it when someone else can watch at least some of the kids--shopping after daddy's home from work, for example, or doing library trips in shifts (big kids and little kids at different times with different parents). Four is where most adult projects go by the wayside, and you start saying, "Some day I'll paint that room" instead of just doing it.  My mom said four kids it the spot she stopped making her own clothes. Parents of four are more likely to do crazy things like let their kids ride bikes in the house--and look at you blankly when you protest because, well, what's wrong with riding bikes in the house?

With 7 kids, I feel like we've crossed another threshold, just like we did at 4. For one thing, I get horrified stares when I answer the question, "How many kids do you have?" I used to get admiring looks, now people are aghast and quite literally dumbfounded. It's not like I said I have 20 children, but you'd think I did by their reactions. It's almost as if I should be ashamed of myself. Really strange. So we crossed the "acceptability" threshold. That might have happened when we had 6, and I just didn't care because we are so nonconformist anyway because of the sleep disorder. But seven is definitely something a lot of people haven't heard in years--even if they grew up in a big family. With 7, we now have twice the number of kids people in our generation mean when they say, "I always wanted a big family." So we're a circus sideshow.

We're also in a world where buying things has become a problem. People don't sell 7+ packs of things (even   party favors come in packs of 4 or 6). It's hard to find a vehicle that holds more than 8 people--even 8 was hard to find, but more than that and you're in the world of daycares and churches. Frequently, even the cashiers ask, "What are you going to do with 30 lbs of strawberries?"  Um...eat them?  or "30 lbs of strawberries? You must be putting on an event. Is it a party?"  "Well, I guess you could call it that. I call it snack time." We also get a lot of, "Gosh, six gallons of milk?" I usually say, "It's all the fridge will fit," before I realize they mean "Whoa--a lot!" when I'm thinking, "Gosh, I wish I could fit more..." (Once I met a lady in the store (another customer) who said, "Six gallons of milk?" and I said, "I have six kids" (and I was very obviously pregnant with a seventh). She said, "I used to buy fifteen at a time. I had 8 kids."  Instant bond! She "got" everything I was doing.).  So we end up having to buy two boxes of everything and then trying to figure out what to do with the five extras....suddenly I find myself giving my big kids math challenges: "What multiple of 7 is also a multiple of 6? Is there one smaller than 42?" Or "What multiple of 7 is also a multiple of 3? Any less than 21? I don't really want to buy 21 donuts....What about multiples of 9--maybe me and Daddy can each have one." Of course, someone invariably says, 'But Mom, Jack is too little" before I remember that detail.

For another, I've moved into a world where efficiency is king. Anything that can be done must be done in the simplest way possible with least energy expended. (Cold cereal instead of scrambled eggs for breakfast, for example, because it takes fewer steps and requires less adult supervision). Anything that doesn't have to be done goes away or stays undone. We no longer fold the kids' clothes--they either do it themselves, or they get to deal with wrinkled clothes (we do sort them now, though, because that effort is actually easier than the consequences of not sorting them--and I know all too well, from experience). Baths are not a daily events for everyone in the family. Diapers mostly get changed when they are about to leak or are smelly. Dinner gets served in the pot it was cooked in (you mean I am supposed to transfer it to a nicer dish just for the looks of it? For real? And wash all those extra dishes?).  Every recipe gets doubled, at minimum, but if a recipe requires more than about 5 steps, it gets thrown out completely.

It's just a different world when you're running a herd!

Addendum 2

Just to be clear: I have nothing against clean houses or the people who like to live in them. I like to live in clean houses, too.

I have something against the idea that nobody can feel the Spirit in a mess. That's all I'm opposed to. You are welcome to keep your house as clean as you like. I'm working on making mine more organized so it's easier to keep clean, too.

To each his own.

But, if you read carefully, you will see I've said nothing lately about the value of clean houses, the experience of living in a clean house, the importance of cleanliness, the joy of empty floors and sinks, or how nice it is to be able to eat off the floor without worries. In fact, it's true that a clean environment is pleasant. There IS value in a clean house. It's important to be good stewards of the blessings we've been given--including our houses.

I am not trying to force everyone to live in a mess. Or even to accept that I have one. Or to feel bad about their own clean house.

It's like when people find out I have a bunch of kids and they feel compelled to apologize for having just a few. I really don't care how many kids you have. I really don't care how clean your toilets are. Keep them however you like.

That's fine with me.

Some day I'll probably write a blog post about how much I love living in a clean environment, and how pleasant it is. Or about that time the Spirit told me to organize my house better. (Because it's happened. More than once.)

I don't hate cleanliness. And I don't hate you for being clean. And I don't think you're doing it wrong if you vacuum your floor or wash your windows, or even if you have a showcase kind of house, like they have pictures of in magazines. Some of the best people I know live in gorgeous, clean houses. And some live in places that look like a hurricane hit.

Like I said, To each his own.

This isn't about houses anyway. I hope that was clear.

Now I'll go back to posting ice cream recipes and poorly-written headlines.

A note to people who get my blog in their email

Sometimes blogger emails you old drafts of what I wrote. Usually I just correct spelling errors.

In the case of the D&C 88 post, I added some things that I think are pertinent and important. So if you read that post via email and you care about the topic, you should read the new version here: http://beccajones.blogspot.com/2013/02/d-88.html

Addendum

My very wise sister pointed out that each of us has a level of tolerance (of many things: messes, how people treat us, etc) beyond which we cannot feel the Spirit. For some (who I would consider handicapped, but they consider me handicapped, so we're even), having ONE single thing out of place is so upsetting to their souls that they truly can't feel the Spirit until it's fixed. Some can tolerate tons of contention and confrontation, and some of us (me!) can't handle any without losing the Spirit.  Some people have a high chaos tolerance, some have a high being-bossed-around tolerance, some have a high mess tolerance, some have a high noise tolerance, some have a high watching-violence-on-TV tolerance, some have a high ignoring-swearing tolerance. And some DON'T.

The glory of it all is that God has set us guidelines and then lets us self-regulate, with the expectation (and hope) that we will quickly learn to identify what causes us to lose the Spirit and then modify our environments as much as possible to keep the Spirit.

What bothers me is not that we're all different and some people have a low mess tolerance. (I do feel sorry for those people, though. But they feel sorry for me even though I don't.)

What bothers me is that someone else was imposing their standards on my children in church, teaching my kids that their home cannot possibly have the Spirit in it and their mom can't possibly have the Spirit because my chaos, mess, and noise tolerance are higher than hers (of necessity, thanks to many factors including fibro and Benji).

But my sister's point is valid. Now I know that many people in my ward can't feel the Spirit in my house, due to their makeup (not due to my house. It is MY house, after all). I just wish they would understand that it is THEIR issue, not my floor, that's the problem. And it's certainly not a matter of gospel doctrine.  Just like it's my issue that even a hint of violence or a suggestion that someone might disapprove of me or be angry at me throws me into fits.

We all have our handicaps that make it so we stop paying attention to the Spirit because of external things--messes, other people, noise, whatever.  And we are all responsible to do what we need to, short of trying to control other people, to keep the Spirit in our hearts. Sometimes that means cleaning up. Sometimes it means getting enough charity in our hearts to let other people not clean up. Or to let them clean up. Whichever you need.

D&C 88:119

Why is it that when the brethren in any given ward talk about the "house of order" verse, they talk about all of it (faith, learning, glory, etc), and they talk about "order" in terms of priesthood and priorities, and when the sisters in any given ward talk about the "house of order" verse, they talk only about those three words, and they talk about "order" in terms of toilets and window washing and which pictures to hang on the walls?

It's as if the sisters think the verse says, “Organize your toys; prepare every needful thing; and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of clean floors, a house of God.”

It seems like we have a disconnect here.

Especially since D&C 88 is a grand, sweeping view of the the temple and the things we learn there, and it's supposed to be a message of peace for us, and the "house of order" verse has nothing to do with organizing shoe closets. It's about building a house of God--literally. About building a temple and what a temple is supposed to be for. And, if we apply that to ourselves, building our souls into temples (not our living rooms).


I find it fascinating that the word order came from the Latin for ecclesiastical order, which also spawned the word "ordination" (as in the priesthood), and it's closely related to the word in Latin that meant lay the warp in weaving. The warp is the foundation of the weaving. It's the part everything else wraps around. Laying the warp properly would determine how the weaving came out--beautiful and strong or haphazard, disorderly, and weak. If we have a house of order, looking at it in a weaving sense, we have a house where the foundation, the important things, the part everything else wraps around, are done right. If you want to wrap your life around your daily housekeeping routine, you're welcome to. I'd rather wrap the weaving of my life around God and His teachings and commandments.


I was reading about what "order" means, and I discovered that Merriam-Webster does say "order" means "a regular or harmonious arrangement," but it also means "the state of peace, freedom from confused or unruly behavior, and respect for law or proper authority." The expanded meaning seems more in keeping with the meaning in the rest of the verse and its definition of what a temple is (both building-wise and soul-wise).

Why have we women taken a verse defining what a temple is and twisted it to make everyone but the most sequential, handicapped-by-their-ability-to-not-see-past-messes people feel guilty for not scrubbing the bathtub more often? We miss the glory of the whole by focusing on a narrow, misguided interpretation of the part.

A question of degree

After hearing about the lessons taught in Primary this week, I have a few questions.

At what point does the Spirit become offended and leave the house?

Is it when there is just one sock on the floor? One toy? One hundred?

 If nobody can feel the Spirit in a messy house, I need to know where the line is.

Does the Spirit sit around and edify and teach us up until the 99th toy, but once that hundredth thing hits the floor, He's out of here? Or is it the 14th thing that's okay, but fifteen crosses the line?

Does the Spirit take into account how many people are in the house? Is there a per-person mess quota, or are 10 dishes in the sink too many regardless of how long it took them to get there?

Does the toilet have to be bleached after every use, or is cleaned once a day okay? Or once a week? Or does it matter the age of the people using it and how capable they are of cleaning it themselves?

Does the size of the house matter? Is it the mess density that drives the Spirit away, or the number of items?

Do we have to pass a white-glove test, or is a little dust on the door frames okay?

What about laundry? Does it have to be folded in the drawers? Socks paired or unpaired?

Windows washed weekly or daily?

Do I have to vacuum every day?

Is leaving a diaper on the floor after you change the baby better or worse than leaving your pile of clean laundry on the floor for a couple of days before you fold it (or just rewash because some small person dumped the dirty laundry into the pile, too, so they could slide down it)?

Does the Spirit make allowances for kids (or adults) with disabilities? Or is the final result the only thing that matters, not how hard it is to get there?

Does someone have to re-do the work the kids did wrong, like when the toddler puts the silverware away and it all gets in the wrong slots in the drawer? Does the Spirit open the drawers and cupboards and closets, too, or just glance at the rooms? What about under the bed?

And what final result is it we're going for--does it just have to be clutter-free, or does it have to be really clean (even under the couch!), or does it have to be decorated nicely according to the most recent style with high-quality, expensive furniture and original artworks? Does food storage count as messy--because most people don't keep cans under their beds, but where else can you put them in a two-bedroom apartment with a family of five living in it? What if someone else made the mess and it caused a stain and then you moved into the apartment? Does the Spirit refuse to join you in the new place because of the stained carpet or wallpaper? What if it's not stained, but it's just plain ugly? What then? Does the Spirit get offended by ugly? Or just messy?

Do people who don't know any better and then meet the missionaries have to have their discussions outside because the Spirit can't testify of the truth to them inside their messy houses?

Do we get a "pass" when we're sick, get cancer, have a spouse in the military, or just had a baby? How long does that pass last before things have to be clean again?

What about homeschoolers, who never get a break to clean the house when someone isn't behind them uncleaning? Do parents of gifted kids get a break? Because gifted kids are known for being messier...or are you penalized for being smart and random and creative because God prefers dumb sequentials who send their kids to public school?

What about single moms who are just barely hanging on, but they choose Family Home Evening over making the beds? Is it a waste of time because the Spirit was so offended by the sheets on the floor that He wouldn't come to family prayer that night?

What about spouses of artists? Artists have to leave their messes out while they are working. Or are there no righteous artists because the Spirit can't stand the mess?

And does that mean that it is more important to scrub the bathtub than read the scriptures, assuming you don't have time for both? Because what good is reading the scriptures if the Spirit is going to be offended and leave because there is soap scum in the tub?

Does the Spirit flee when a kid vomits on the floor? What about on his bed? What about on your bed? Does the Spirit distinguish between those? Or is vomit vile enough to drive the Spirit away regardless of where it lands or how often it shows up in one hour? Or does the Spirit only leave when you throw a couple of towels over the soiled sheet and go back to bed because there aren't any other clean sheets in the house and you know the kid is just going to puke again in ten minutes (or because the other kids in the other room started throwing up, too)?

Or does it have to be a really big disaster to drive the Spirit away, like when there's a potty training accident with the toddler while the newborn is nursing and the toddler manages to smear the mess all over the walls before anyone can get there because the preschooler was drawing on other walls with a permanent marker in the rental house and the kindergartner was making mud pies in the kitchen sink and clogged the pipes and flooded the wood floor while the big kids spilled red kool-aid on the white carpet in the living room trying to bring mommy a drink--all at the same time and an hour past bedtime when daddy is out of town on business? Does the Spirit flee then and leave the poor mommy to clean up on her own without the comfort and guidance of God's hand reassuring her--and the kids, after mommy loses it and yells and then has to apologize?

How many kids can a person have before the Spirit gets overwhelmed with the regular kid messes and leaves? I guess families with a lot of small children NEVER get to have the Spirit in their houses, if we're being honest. Except for that one hour after the Visiting Teachers came over because we had to crisis clean for four hours just so we could open the door.

I really need to know the answers here because I want to be worthy of having the Spirit, and apparently our floors are a really good indication of our worthiness. Apparently houses are such a good indicator of our righteousness that, when it comes down to the judgment day, Jesus is going to show God pictures of our toilets and floors, and I want to get it right. Is it okay to skip church as long as the house is spotless? That's the right order of things? Should I skip visiting teaching, personal scripture study, personal prayer, family prayer, fasting, family home evening, and Stake Conference to clean the living room? What good are doing those things if the Spirit can't be felt unless the house is clean, anyway?

And is it okay to swear at the kids to make them work and skip family prayer in order to get the books on the shelves in alphabetical order before bed? Or is dirt a bigger deal than clutter?

Or does the Spirit only get offended by regular, persistent messes? And, if that's the case, how long does a mess have to be there before the Spirit just throws up His hands and storms out because obviously you are not worthy of His help?


Or is it, perhaps, that you, personally, are so busy judging other people based on how their houses look that you lose the Spirit yourself?

Because last I heard, the Spirit dwells within us, not within our houses per se, and God is more concerned with the state of our hearts than the state of our hearths.

Still just tolerating husbands, it seems...

I've watched, year in and year out, as women love to get together and say negative things about their husbands when the men aren't around. It's a cultural game some (many) women seem to enjoy playing. Because we all know husbands are really, deep in their souls, complete idiots, right? At least, that's what the women seem to think. That's the way they talk about their men--the adorable dolts who really can't do anything right but we let them try anyway.  (That's why God gave them the priesthood, right? To keep them from being totally useless drains on society?) Brag about kids, belittle husbands--that's what we do. (At least, some women do. I hope I don't. I hope you don't. It's not nice. Imagine if the men got together and talked about women that way!--and maybe they still do, but we all formally recognize that as not okay, even though it used to be equally culturally normal.)

This article, "Confessions of a Not-Natural Wife" got passed around social media recently. The author, Elizabeth Hill, had some really, really good pointers and tips about marriage--many of which boil down to "Be kind to your spouse." I totally agree with her tips and comments. And don't we all have days where marriage is a little perplexing? Or even a lot?

Her best quote, "Your spouse is not you. He will not talk, eat, fold, wash, think, parent or do anything the way you do," is something vitally important for women to understand. And for men to understand, actually. It is an absolutely necessary starting point--a place you go where you can begin to stop thinking of your spouse as an idiot and start seeing them as a person instead of as a failed shadow of you.

But the article still smacks of "he's an idiot." Maybe I'm reading it wrong, but it sounds to me like she's saying, "He's not you, so you have to tolerate what he does, even if it's obviously wrong, because peace and relationships are more important than how right you obviously are."

What I wish she had gone on to say was: "Maybe you, wife, should consider the idea that he might be RIGHT, not just 'not a disaster'. Maybe, just maybe, his way is actually better than yours. Or at least as good, if different."  Maybe, instead of gritting your teeth and stepping over the pile of socks that are in the "wrong place," you should consider that perhaps you put the hamper in the wrong place, and the socks are right where they should be. It might benefit everyone involved if you maybe gave him the benefit of the doubt, or even just a little curiosity, instead of merely tolerating him and his weirdness and lack of civility, er, I mean...difference from you. Maybe his way of making cookies actually works better than yours. Maybe his way of washing the clothes gets things just as clean and takes less work. Maybe the way he peels his grapefruit like an orange is really actually tasty, and less messy than your spoon. Maybe you should let it be his house, too, and try his way of running things for a change, instead of seeing it as your house that he is intruding in with his bad habits. You might like his way, if you give him a chance.

So, YES, you have to realize Spouse is Not You. That's vitally important. But perhaps it would be good to realize your spouse is not only "Not You" but, but also actually a person?

I think I can illustrate what I mean with an example from a different relationship. When a child is small, their parents are not people, but merely extensions of themselves. Psychologists say that for infants, they literally see Mom as "part of me who does things I need". As they grow, the literalness of that fades, but children still, for the most part, see their parents as an extension of me who does things for me that I can't do. At some point, usually when kids are older kids or teens and can start doing almost everything for themselves, their parents cease to be simply parts of me who do things I can't and start to be figures--the parents become "Not You". Their parents still aren't people, though, with ideas and thoughts and talents and weaknesses. Instead, the parents become roles--"Mom" or "Dad"--that can be very perplexing, and most certainly aren't me, or they'd stop doing such irritating things. And then, at some point (usually ten years later, when the child has their own kids), the child suddenly realizes that "Mom" and "Dad" are actually people. Real people. It's not enough for them to be "not me,"--they aren't really "real" until they also cease being a role or a figure and turn into a person, with all that entails. It's like they move from being a flat character to being a round character.

Perhaps we should let our spouses stop being a role defined primarily by it being "Not You" and turn into a person? It seems reasonable to not settle with "not you" and let them turn into Him or Her.

So, yeah, Ms. Hill is right--he's not you, and you are not him, and we do have to tolerate and adapt to each other. But I wish she had taken it one step further and suggested that perhaps we shouldn't just tolerate our spouses, but step out of our own surety that we're right and try it their way, give them a chance to be an equally effective adult human being, and maybe even cherish them in all their "weirdness"--because hopefully that's what they are doing for us.

Because you know you're weird, too.

Don't you?

Introducing Microwave Popcorn

We were given a couple of bags of microwave popcorn, so I told the little boys they could make some.

Dan opened the packet to read the instructions. "What's a popcorn button, Mom?" He asked. I explained that our microwave didn't have one, and then I read the instructions and told him what to do.

All four boys went into the kitchen and watched as Dan put the popcorn in the microwave and turned it on. I stayed in my rocking chair, nursing the baby.

30 Seconds went by. Then I heard Benji yell, "AAAHHHH!!!! Everybody run!" And Nathanael said, "It's going to explode!!" And Dan said, "I think I'd better turn it off....never mind, it went off."

"Did it stop popping?" I asked.

"No," Dan said.

"Turn it back on, quick," I said. He did. But the nervous sounds and shouting from Benji didn't stop.

So I stood up and went in there, where I found four boys standing far back from the microwave, their eyes wide.

"Mom," said Nathanael, "is that going to ruin the microwave?"

I looked into the microwave--everything looked normal--and then teased the meaning out of the clamor. The bag had expanded, and the boys had never seen that before. To them, it was a bomb. It was going to explode. Brown paper bags aren't supposed to expand all by themselves.....

They were pretty impressed when I poured popcorn out.

But then Nathanael came to me with a piece of popcorn in hand, still looking unduly nervous. "Mom, what's inside this popcorn? It's yellow...."

Butter, Nathanael. It's just butter flavor.

Then they relaxed and ate it.

I guess that's what I get for always making popcorn the old-fashioned way, and only seasoning it with salt!

Did I just read that?

"Female pythons can as many as 100 eggs at a time."
 http://www.foxnews.com/us/2013/02/16/slippery-serpents-slither-through-florida-python-challenge/#ixzz2L6tLBLXZ

I guess snakes need food storage, too. Wonder where they store the jars? Isn't that the perpetual problem with food storage?

Drug tests for welfare recipients

I keep seeing this popping up on facebook, as a whole bunch of my friends jump on the bandwagon: Welfare recipients should be required to pass a drug test or lose their benefits.

The argument is always that wage earners have to pass a drug test to get money, so welfare recipients should, too.

Here is why I'm opposed to that:

1) It's humiliating enough to apply for help; adding more humiliation by making everyone take a drug test will keep people who need benefits from even applying. You say "not so," but I know people who refuse to apply for WIC benefits because the questions they ask are too "nosy"--drug tests are infinitely more so. And the evidence indicates that most people who are getting welfare are not on drugs, so you'd be punishing the masses (masses who are in crisis and need help already) for the problems of the few. Also, even poor people have a right to privacy and to the fourth amendment--the right to not be searched unless there is probable cause. Needing help does not mean people should have to sign away their rights.

2) While the parents are the ones who apply for benefits, the kids get the help, too. And for children of drug-addicted parents, knowing there is food coming in because of the food card is a big deal. I can't stomach punishing kids because of their parents' problems. While it's possible to commit fraud with food cards and other benefits, it's much harder than with money. If you take away the food cards, etc, from drug addicts, chances are good that their money will still be going to drugs; where are their kids going to get food at all? I know a girl whose drug-addicted mom let her starve most of her growing up years. A food card would have helped her. Kicking her mom off welfare wouldn't.

3) Even drug addicts need to eat. Do we deny food to people because they are making poor choices? I don't think so. It's not humane. Drug addicts are making bad choices, but they are people.

4) People on welfare are supervised. What better way for drug addicts to get help than to be in a system where they are supervised by people authorized to help them? Otherwise, who is watching them? Until they commit a crime, nobody.

5) If you pull out all support from drug addicts, they have no recourse but to turn to crime to get money for food and housing--and that money is more likely to go to drugs than to food and housing, after they get it. So all of society suffers if you have drug addicts turned loose with no help. It's not like taking away their welfare benefits is going to make them change for the better. What do people think they're going to accomplish by taking food away from a drug user? Is that somehow magically going to erase their addictions? Make them productive members of society? Make our cities safer for everyone? Get rid of illegal drugs? NO.

It's not that I want people who are on drugs to just live on drugs and off of society's largess (although I hardly call welfare "largess"). Just handing them food and housing doesn't motivate people to change for the better, either. Colorado proposed a law (I don't know that it passed, though) that made it so welfare applicants could be required to take a drug test, but only if the welfare office had reasonable cause--there had to be a reasonably justifiable suspicion that the person was on drugs before they could request a test.  I would be more in favor of that.

And then don't kick people with positive drug tests off of welfare; require them to do rehab instead, or put them into a program that is proven to help people get off drugs. Just sending them back out into the street is not a reasonable, humane solution.

Ice Cream Experiments

I rediscovered my ice cream maker. And, since I had a bunch of ice cream buckets hanging around that we had saved (it's no use buying boxes of ice cream when you have 6 kids who eat it), I had plenty of space for experiments.

We've tried a lot of things. Peanut butter chocolate chip didn't work so well. Neither did malted milk chocolate chip. Mango was good but I should have used three times the amount of mango puree. Blackberry was too flimsy a flavor, and I tried to fix it by adding cream cheese but I added too much. So now it's sort of cheesecake flavored, but too strong.  Mixed berry was super yummy. Raspberry was to die for.

But our favorite so far is strawberry. I make Philadelphia Style ice cream--no eggs--because it's faster and easier. To flavor it with fruit, I buy bags of frozen fruit (I guess the're for smoothies? They all have smoothie recipes on the back).  One or even two bags of frozen fruit, pureed, is about right for 4 qts of ice cream.

The Strawberry Recipe that's the very best we happened on by accident--I forgot to add a few ingredients when I was mixing it up.

Here's what we use (my ice cream maker holds 4 quarts):

Strawberry Ice Cream
2 c heavy cream
2 c milk
4 c half and half (or to fill the ice cream bucket to the line)
2 c sugar
1 large container sweetened sliced strawberries, pureed. You could even use 2 if you wanted.

Mix all the ingredients and freeze according to your ice cream freezer instructions.  The ingredients I left out were 1/2 tsp salt and 1 Tbsp vanilla. What it gave us was a very strawberries-and-cream flavor instead of a strawberry "ice cream" flavor. It was super super yummy. You could skip the milk and add cream instead, I suppose. I haven't tried that.

To make raspberry ice cream (a Utah thing, and so SO good), replace the strawberries with one or two bags of frozen raspberries, pureed. Likewise for mixed berry--1-2 bags of frozen mixed berries, pureed.

Last night's experiments were highly successful, too. We made cherry at Anda's request and chocolate chocolate chip. I didn't have recipes for either of these, so I just made them up:

Cherry Ice Cream
2 c heavy cream
3 c half and half
milk to fill bucket
1 bag frozen dark sweet cherries
1 bag frozen cherries and berries (but use only the cherries and blueberries--pick out the strawberries and blackberries)
1 can apple-cherry juice concentrate
1 3/4 c sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 Tbsp vanilla

Puree the cherries, blueberries, and juice concentrate with enough milk or half-and-half that the blender doesn't protest. Stir together with the rest of the ingredients. Freeze according to the instructions.

That was yummy.  Then, without first cleaning the ice cream bucket or dasher of the cherry ice cream (which I had just dumped into a storebought ice cream bucket and put into the freezer), I made chocolate chocolate chip ice cream. I figured the hint of cherry in the chocolate chip ice cream would be yummy, if you noticed it at all. I was right--mostly unnoticeable.

Chocolate Chocolate Chip Ice Cream
2 c heavy cream
5 c half and half (or to fill bucket)
1 c chocolate syrup (the kind you squirt on ice cream)
1/2 c Hershey's Special Dark chocolate syrup
1 1/2 c sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 bag semi-sweet chocolate chips

In the blender, mix 2 1/2 c half and half with half of the chocolate syrup, the vanilla, and the sugar. Melt the chocolate chips in the microwave (30 seconds at a time until they stir smooth). I did a cup at a time. Then, while the blender is going (on low) pour the melted chocolate into the half-and-half mixture. Pour this mixture into the ice cream can. Then mix the rest of the half-and-half and the cream with the rest of the chocolate syrups (don't mix it too long, or it gets too frothy). Add this to the ice cream can and stir well. Then freeze according to the instructions. I let this go for a long time and then pulled the plug on the ice cream maker when chocolate ice cream started gushing out the top of the can. It never did set up enough to turn the ice cream maker off by itself like it was supposed to. It came out the consistency of a milkshake. I poured it into a bucket and froze it.

Then today we decided to have some chocolate ice cream--and discovered that it never did get as hard and stiff as homemade ice cream usually does. After a whole night in the freezer, it was still just barely stiffer than soft-serve ice cream consistency. That's kind of fun. It came out super super yummy--slightly dark chocolate flavored, which I much prefer, and with tiny flecks of chocolate (you can make them bigger--like flakes of chocolate instead of flecks of chocolate--by pouring the melted chocolate chips into the cream or half and half while it's being mixed with the whip attachment on the mixer instead of in the blender). It has kind of a truffle consistency, if you can describe ice cream that way.

Next time we might mix chopped candy bars or Andes Mints Chips into the chocolate ice cream. Mmmmmm. Or maybe some raspberry puree....

Reasons we homeschool: research indicates better outcomes

The research that's been done on homeschooling points to better outcomes in every area (including socialization) than public schooling.

General research review:
http://www.nheri.org/research/research-facts-on-homeschooling.html

On socialization in particular: http://www.hslda.org/docs/nche/000000/00000068.asp

Pondering Motherhood

The day Caleb was born, they put him into my arms and I looked at him and thought, "Oh! This is what I've been looking for my whole life!" What I was lacking wasn't any of the things society said I should be pursuing--college degrees, jobs, money, prestige--it was children! I didn't know that I longed to be a mother. I had never, ever thought of it that way before Caleb showed up.

With a new baby in the house, it seems reasonable that my mind would be on motherhood again.

It feels like motherhood is really looked down upon in our culture. People delay starting families so they can have a career, people have fewer children and farm them off to daycares so they can pursue their adult interests. Children are increasingly  unwelcome in places like restaurants and hotels.

And nobody really thinks you're amazingly awesome for having more than 3 kids. They just think you're nuts. And 7 kids? Well, that's not a crown of jewels and honor, by any stretch. I mostly feel like a circus sideshow act when we go out in public. The thing I hear from most people is, "I could NEVER do that," with the subtext being "nor would I want to"--because being a checker at the grocery store is so much more fulfilling? (It always strikes me as sad that women have been trained to think they are too weak to do something as integral to woman-ness as raise children, but that's another post for another day).

Having children should be an honor and privilege and a joy. It should be something society values and supports.

At least it is that to God.

God says that His work and glory is to bring about the immortality and eternal life of Man.  And we all know He did that through Jesus.

But do we ever sit and think about the fact that He couldn't do that without women being willing to be pregnant and have babies?  Immortality is a free gift, thanks to Jesus, given to every person who is born on this earth.

But you have to be born. And that requires a woman willing to carry a baby and birth it, just to give it a body--no small sacrifice, mind you. Being pregnant is NOT fun or easy for most of us, and 9-12 months of downright torture for many. But that is the only way for a person to get a body, and therefore to get access to Jesus' gift of immortality.


In other words, God's work and glory aren't even possible without mothers.


And God didn't make us like many animals, who are born and then hop up and get going on their lives, independent of parents. He made us born weak and fragile and incredibly dependent for many, many years. Why? Because of the second part of his work: eternal life. Being raised in a family is the way God has chosen to give His children the very best shot at eternal life, or returning to live in God's own presence for eternity (which is what He wants for us). Jesus made it possible; parents doing their job right make it easier (parents doing their job wrong make it much harder, though, but the benefits of good parenting must have been worth the risk of some people getting bad parents). And it gives obvious benefit to parents. This is the most right thing we ever do--for our children and for us (because we are, in fact, God's children, too).

No wonder they call motherhood the highest and holiest calling women will have! No wonder this feels like hands-down the most important work I will ever do. This is my greatest chance--even greater than going on a mission--to partner with God to help bring to pass His work and His glory.

Too bad our culture seems hell-bent on stopping women from doing this work at all! And, just in case women do decide to have children (and most still do), our culture works very hard to confuse them into thinking that motherhood is a house decorating assignment, or a janitorial job, or a fashion design and model-training program, or an assignment to keep people who do extracurricular activities (sports, art lessons, etc) in work, or something that it's perfectly okay to outsource to whomever has a daycare or babysitter license, or a chance to re-live your life through someone else, or an art exercise in sculpting humans to our liking and for our own benefit and glory only. Even women in the church often confuse motherhood with the peripheral assignments that go along with it. Or they think there is only one way to mother and spend a lot of time teaching that and condemning people who don't do it "right". Sad that there is so little understanding of one of the most important things women ever do. (But of course, Satan would prefer it that way, wouldn't he? Parents are God's "secret weapon," so of course Satan will do anything he can to stop them from understanding and doing their work.)

Thank goodness we have prophets to let us know the truth!

Did I just read that?

"The airport told CBS4 that agents from the United States Department of Agriculture Wildlife Services patrol the parking lots and remove any rabbits they find, but few have complained about car problems."
Read more: http://www.foxnews.com/us/2013/01/27/rabbits-gnawing-away-at-cars-in-colorado-airport/?test=latestnews#ixzz2JD2vZacr

No kidding, huh? Rabbits don't complain about car problems? Maybe that's because they don't have cars...

Did I just read that?

This was the top headline on Foxnews.com today, and it made me blush: "Birth Control Mandate Loosens Suits"   http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2013/01/26/obama-birth-control-mandates-loosen-lawsuits/

On the actual page, the headline is fixed, so if you click the links you won't see it.

But still--put the women on birth control, and what happens to the men's suits?  Jeesh.

Alternate Nursing Techniques...

Jack is my first baby in a long time who hasn't been a good, instinctive nurser. It's been two weeks, and he's finally figured out how to nurse for more than 5-10 minutes at a time. Most of my babies figured that out in about 3 minutes on the first day.

But he's still working on his technique.

Most babies latch on and then give five or six quick sucks to get the milk flowing, and then they nurse normally. Jack doesn't get this.

Instead, he opens his mouth and yells at the breast for a few minutes, moving as though he wants to latch on but refusing to actually close his mouth. Then he waits for the milk to start spraying. Once there is milk, he latches on and nurses normally. But not before.

Hopefully he gets his technique refined a little before we have to nurse in public...

Zig Ziglar

Ever since Zig Ziglar died, people have been posting quotes from him on Facebook. I had not paid much attention to Mr. Ziglar before, and I'll be glad when I don't have to anymore.

He's the feel-good pseudo-prophet of the month. His doctrines are meant to inspire and empower. He takes truth and leaves out a few key elements--like God--and then spreads it around, making promises that if you do certain things and believe in yourself, success will appear. Success, of course, meaning money.

But Mr. Ziglar's philosophies are flawed--deeply.  I don't know how he came up with his promises and formulas, but it seems like he looked at a bunch of successful people, guessed what they did, and then went around promising everyone it will work for them, too. Sweet little formulas like a dream + faith (in the dream and in yourself, not in God) + action + perseverance + time + patience = Dream Come True.

What he didn't take into account is that millions of people follow that formula and their dreams never do come true. But someone somewhere followed it and it worked, so we get promised it will always work for everyone. And there are some lovely built-in "outs" for Mr. Ziglar if it doesn't work--he can always claim you didn't have enough faith, you didn't work hard enough, you gave up too soon. In other words, you failed because You are a Failure. And if you believed in me long enough, you'd succeed.

I've heard this kind of stuff before, coming out of the mouth of my crazy grandma. Same formula, but her "dream" that starts out is crazy in the extreme--like being able to fly. Maybe that's why I can't stomach it from Mr. Ziglar.

Or maybe it's because it's overly simplistic. "You will either look back and say 'I wish I had' or 'I'm glad I did'." Is just overly simplistic. There's so much complexity in life that he just skips.  He doesn't address the reality that some dreams are not possible (being able to fly, or for me to play in the NBA, or for Tim to have our next baby, for example)--in fact, he teaches the opposite, openly and often. He doesn't address that some dreams would actually be nightmares if we could see the big picture, and therefore are not desirable.  He doesn't address the temporary nature of some dreams (I wanted to be a track star for about two weeks when I was in 3rd grade, now I have no interest in that.). He doesn't address the reality that we grow and learn and often give up on something we wanted for something we want even more. He also doesn't address the fact that life is not a one-track proposition. We have many interacting goals, dreams, aspirations, talents, limitations, experiences, etc. Isolating just one and making that our entire focus leaves us at risk of neglecting other important aspects of life. He doesn't address the very real situation that we are human and have physical limitations that can stop us from doing things we want to do--and that sometimes (often?) accepting those limitations makes us happier than fighting them. And he completely leaves out the reality that God is ultimately in charge, and His deepest interests for us deal with our development, learning, growth, and refinement--not with always helping us get what we want. If we put our faith in God, instead of our dreams or ourselves, we will find that we are often denied things we want--even good things we want, and even when we work really really hard for them--in order for God to help us get what He knows will make us happiest in the long run (as in the eternities).

Maybe it's because Ziglar's definition of success (and therefore his ideas of what we should be pursuing) are subtly tied up in social and financial success--he's promising money and power to people who work for it. The trouble is, those "rewards" are the wrong ones to be searching for. Life is much better when we stop seeking money and power (which President McKay said were temptations of the devil, not valid goals) and instead start seeking happiness (which God has taught us how to get--and he didn't include gaining money or worldly power in the equation).  In fact, nowhere in the scriptures or the words of the prophets are we counselled to pursue our dreams. Not once. Never are we told that the ultimate happiness comes from our dreams coming true, or following our passions, or shooting for the stars. (And, in fact, many many  musicians we have met--people who the world considers the ones who are "living the dream" and "free from the nine-to-five shackles"--spend their whole lives mourning what they can't have: a stable home and family. They are not any happier than everyone else, and are often just as discontent. "Living the life" is lonely and unfulfilling, it turns out.)

Ziglar's doctrines are also deeply cruel. It's not right to tell a woman struggling with infertility that she just didn't try hard enough or believe it enough or work hard enough--and that's why she doesn't have a baby. It's not right to tell a father of an autistic kid that if he just tries harder and applies the right formulas, the kid will turn out to be normal. It's not right to tell a hardworking, content family that if they work harder and neglect their family relationships, they will have money and be "truly" happy. I, personally, don't find it helpful for Mr. Ziglar to tell me that I could keep my house spotless if I just tried harder (completely ignoring that I have physical limitations, like fibromyalgia, that make that impossible). It leaves me always feeling like a complete failure instead of like a valuable person who has a lot to contribute--just not to my walls.

Personally,  I prefer to rely on the advice of real prophets. Snippets like, "Forget yourself and get to work" are much more powerful than formulas for "success."

Did I just read that?

"Simple blood test can help predict mortality, Utah researchers find"   http://www.deseretnews.com/article/865570970/Simple-blood-test-can-help-predict-mortality-Utah-researchers-find.html

I'd say it's probably a pretty simple test: if you have blood, you're mortal!

Grow Cube and Sphere Answer Keys

Kids have been assigned this for school:  http://schooltimegames.com/Logic/GrowCube.html

Fun, but how to solve the puzzle?

Now that I figured it out, I'm posting it here so we can find it again.

Highlight the area below to see the answer:

Put the items on the cube in this order:

Guy
Water
Seeds
Bucket
Glass tube
Fire
White dish
Bone
Springs
Ball


The kids also play this one for school: http://www.eyezmaze.com/grow/RPG/index.html#more

And how to solve it?

Highlight the area below for the answer:

Place the items on the sphere in this order:

House
Tree
Castle 
Water
Tower
Rocks
Treasure
Stairs

We also found a new one we hadn't tried before: http://www.eyezmaze.com/eyezblog_en/blog/2009/06/grow_ver3_remake.html

I haven't solved this one, but there is a solution on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCV_KrcJ1Ds


Grow Tower: http://www.eyezmaze.com/eyezblog_en/blog/2009/01/grow_tower.html
and the solution:

box w button
golden pot 
bricks
grass
pot

Did I just read that?

From ksl mobile: "Over weight people less likely to die, study says"

Less likely to die....ever? Cool.

Distressing Things I Heard about Congress Today

On facebook, people started passing around a picture saying that it's time for Boehner to stand down from being Speaker of the House because he compromised.

I'm really confused about this. Isn't compromise the point? If we all just stupidly stand and insist it's my way or the highway, we all would have suffered. Haven't these people read that old Dr. Seuss story about The Zax?   Even if we don't agree with the compromise, at least they are trying to compromise for once. All the gridlock and selfishness is not getting us anywhere.

The other thing I heard was a radio interview with Nancy Pelosi, who was explaining that some of the Republicans were having trouble accepting the compromise because "They listen to their constituents, and that makes them afraid they might pay later for accepting this."   She was talking about it as though a congressman or senator listening to their constituents is a BAD thing. But I thought that's what we sent to the Washington to do--not represent their own or their party's interests, but to represent their constituents. And that means they have to listen to us. And it scares me that Pelosi thinks that this is a bad thing that weakens the congressmen. Does she really believe they are there to dictate to us what we want? That's more than a little scary.

Personally, I don't have a lot of hope this will fix anything, but I sure wish it were the first step down a road that leads to people listening to one another  and compromising more. I'm so sick of watching our government stand toe-to-toe and call names like kindergartners.

Creativity and Can't

I'm sitting around a lot lately. I've never had fibro like this before, where the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet feel bruised, so I can't really do anything (holding a knife, walking, opening cans, etc hurt). My hips and legs and arms all ache, which adds to the difficulty in accomplishing anything.

So I'm sitting around a lot, looking at Facebook and the news and my email and thinking when the brain fog isn't too intense (which it usually is).

Today, I started seeing those stupid cards on Facebook again.

For example, one card advised that one of your New Year's Resolutions should be to cut out the word "impossible."  It's a nice warm fuzzy thought, that we can do anything as long as we believe we can. But it's really one of the stupider things I've heard.  Impossible is a reality in life. It's meant to be that way. We each have different gifts and different handicaps and different circumstances, and while it's nice to say I could earn a million dollars this month if I tried hard enough, it's not really possible. I'm never going to be able to play in the NBA, even when I'm not pregnant. I'm not able to fly without help, as much as I'd like. I am never going to be able to live loop a song.

It's really unfair to tell people with handicaps, like fibro, that the reason they can't do things is because they are thinking about it all wrong--that if they just tried harder and believed harder, they could do what they want to do. Fibro stops me from being able to play the piano without pain. I tried to take pictures of Tim yesterday and discovered that I can't hold a camera up in front of my face--my arms hurt and then they just won't cooperate.

Sometimes "I can't" and "It's impossible" are the most important things we can say because they allow us to accept our limitations--and either move on in a different direction (finding other pastimes and talents, for example, instead of playing piano) or ask for help (so that Tim makes dinner on the days that I hurt too much to hold a knife). Really, accepting "can't" and "impossible" are far more empowering than abolishing those things from our vocabulary. God gave us all things we can do, and we're much more happy and productive if we work on those things--the things that are easy and enjoyable, or the things we feel driven and motivated to work hard on--instead of wasting our whole lives pursuing unrealistic goals that we really can't do. (Not to say we should never do hard things--of course we should. But chasing impossible things is stupid.)

Another one I saw today said that an essential aspect of creativity is not being afraid to fail.  I think a businessman  must have written that. All (except maybe 1) of the creative people I know (and I know a LOT) are deeply terrified of failure. They are even more afraid of failure than the non-creative people I know. Most have so much anxiety about failure that they need counselling and medication (even if they don't get it).

And that fear is actually what motivates them to keep going and keep refining and keep polishing and keep perfecting their art. It's the thing that makes them rewrite the novel fifteen times until they're sure it's good, and then revise it again ten more times based on the feedback they got from one or two trusted people. It's the thing that makes them write a hundred songs and only release the best ten. Or one. It's the thing that makes them throw away dozens of canvasses and only try to sell the best one.

People who are not afraid to fail are not driven to succeed.

Sure you can be creative if you aren't afraid to fail--you're not afraid to look at things in new ways. But the really, truly creative people I know are the ones who can't help but think outside the box (not the ones who do because they aren't afraid to). It's not a change in thinking that makes them able to be intensely creative. They just ARE that way--and often are ashamed of it, frustrated by it, terrified of it. They are people who say, "Why can't I be normal?", not people who say, "Maybe if I work at failing on purpose, I can lose my fear of it and then I can be more creative." They are people who know it's irrational, know it's a "waste of time", know it's not financially viable, but they can't help lying awake at night thinking of new ways of doing things, new things they could create, new conversations for characters to have, new poems or lyrics to songs.

It has nothing to do with lacking a fear of failure, and everything to do with an internal compulsion that won't let them go. Creativity is not something they do on purpose. It's an essential part of their being, like breathing.

And the ones that develop it into something amazing are more often than not terrified of failing.

The American Dream

I keep seeing things like this article, claiming that the American Dream is in its death throes for those in my generation.

http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2012-12-21/american-dream-fades-for-generation-y-professionals.html

But when you read the article, it becomes clear that what they are defining as The American Dream is getting a good job and becoming a millionaire.

They got it wrong!

Traditionally, the American Dream was to have a family and own a house for them to live in--not a giant house, just a moderate house big enough for the family with a little yard.

And that dream is still within reach of people. What's not realistic is for a whole generation to become single millionaires with no obligations at all, or for them to work in their dream jobs for their whole lives without any break.

But that's the wrong dream anyway. It was never realistic for an entire generation to become millionaires. And living without family and without obligation is not actually going to make anyone happy. It will just make them old and lonely, selfish and egotistical, disconnected and drifting. The thing they define as The American Dream was just a set-up anyway: a setup for disappointment, for loneliness, for a long unresolvable midlife crisis as everyone discovers too late that what they should have done was spend less time working and more time building a family (which is one of the few things we really do have a biological deadline on).

Notice that God never said "Chase your dreams".  God never said, "Get a good career and work your way up the ladder."  God never said, "Earn a million dollars and live 'the life.'" And if God wants us to be happy, and He's given us a roadmap for happiness, and He left those things off, then apparently none of those things will get us there, despite how appealing they seem when we're young, and despite how much our culture has pushed the selfish way (because really all those things are about ME--my dreams, my career at all costs, my success, my money, my plans--and I guess focusing on  ME is, ironically, not the way to make me happy).

The American Dream, the way it used to be, is not dead. There are still opportunities for people to find love, build a family, have a steady career (even if it's not your dream work), buy a modest house to live out your life in. And that kind of dream is worth pursuing, and it is more in keeping with the guidelines God has given us--family, work (but reasonably, to stay alive and stable--not compulsively, to do nothing else but get money), stability and participation in a community all are included in that old American Dream. It's not a flashy dream. It's not something that will make you more special than someone else. It doesn't follow the new definition of "Success," but it encompasses the things we need to be successful at in order to be happy. (Hint: none of those includes having a lot of money).

That other American Dream? RIP and good riddance. It wasn't a good dream anyway, even if it looked like it should be.

Did I just read that?

"Mourners line the street as a hurst carrying Emilie Parker drives by following funeral services for the 6-year old Connecticut elementary shooting victim, Saturday, Dec. 22, 2012, in Ogden, Utah." http://www.seattlepi.com/news/article/Conn-victim-laid-to-rest-next-to-grandpa-in-Utah-4141059.php#ixzz2FpSo1IvA



Tim's related to the Hurst family. I didn't know they were in the body-moving business, though.  

Oddly, this is the second place I've seen this particular mistake online just today.  (The word, by the way, should be "hearse"). 

Wearing Pants to Church

Have you seen this? "Wear Pants to Church Day".  http://www.ksl.com/?sid=23355976&nid=1016&title=group-pushes-for-lds-women-to-wear-pants-to-church&s_cid=queue-3

I have seen this in several places lately, as feminists I know encourage each other to join.

And I find it completely ludicrous.

First of all, there is no prohibition against wearing pants to church for women. So how is this a protest against the church? Might be a protest against some areas' cultural traditions, for sure, but it does not say what the women involved think they are saying.

Secondly, it announces that women feel like they can't have power and influence unless they "wear the pants," which says to me they don't value what women are and think women should be more like men. Stupid stupid stupid. Women can be incredibly powerful sources of good in the world without trying to be men. And we all--men and women--are happier if we embrace our divine nature as well as our individual talents and gifts, instead of always seeking to be someone else. Men and women are different, and there should be no shame in that. As far as I know, only the feminists are ashamed of that. Ironic, no?

Finally, it's a rather blunt statement that the women involved don't believe that Jesus is running this church and, further, don't believe that the prophet or apostles talk to God. It really lowers the church from being the true church of God, run by revelation, to being just another of those religious organizations that atheists believe exist purely to extort and control people, run by people for their own purposes and their own glory, even if with good intentions. Might as well wear a T-shirt that says, "Forget God. Put me in charge because I'm smarter than He is."

There are certainly problems that crop up in the church. I don't believe it's infallible. It's is administered by people, after all, and sometimes those leaders (especially on the local level) can get mired in all manner of sins and mistakes, even when they have good intentions. I don't deny that happens. (I do think it's silly to say only male leaders make mistakes and offend people, though. I've had as much trouble and sorrow from the actions of women in the church as men--we're all just people, male and female! It's really ridiculous to claim the church would have fewer mistakes made and fewer offended people if women were in charge).

But there are better ways to effect change than wearing pants to church--like going right to God and telling Him your issues, and then working within the system, following the Spirit, to make things better.

Even if you really DO believe that God has said women should have the priesthood and the prophets and apostles are digging in their heels and refusing to change for their own benefit, I don't think having a social protest is going to get any positive results at all. And it certainly isn't going to get you, personally, into the kind of influential position you would need to have in order to change that. Sometimes working within a broken system is more effective than working against it. (And I don't think this system is broken, but if you did, this would be a poor course of action to choose--especially since the church as a whole is going to ignore it, and it will just prejudice the local leaders against using you in any callings).

Personally, I have worn pants to church before. I was in a church building in pants the week before last, in fact, just as the meetings got out. And last week several women came to church in pants in my ward. It wasn't a political statement, and nobody cared what they were wearing.

But I would be embarrassed to wear them this Sunday! It feels too much like a statement to the ward, not that I think women should have the priesthood, but that I have no faith in God or the prophets and I don't understand what the scriptures teach about the priesthood. I'd be embarrassed to say that to everyone, even if it were true!

Did I just read that?

From Longmont's paper, the Times Call today: "The man, identified as Pedro L. Villa, who's believed to be either 19 or 21 and is suspected of  “entering many of these homes at night, through unliked doors, while the residents are asleep,” Longmont police Cmdr. Jeff Satur said."
http://www.timescall.com/news/ci_22149541/longmont-police-seek-suspect-residential-burglaries-car-break


I guess he doesn't want to come through doors that people like.

Also, that is a perfect example of a very long sentence fragment. If you take out all the clauses, you're left with "The man," which isn't a sentence.