The Pain in the Neck, or What I Learned This Week

by Jewel Leann Williams

Quick story:

This week my sweet eleven-year-old son managed to roll out of his top bunk in his sleep, and landed on the six-inch-tall pile of dirty clothes on the floor but tweaked his neck. He spent the whole week miserable. I took him to Urgent Care just to make sure it wasn't anything more than a "tweak" and thankfully, that was affirmed by the doctor. She gave us some really awesome gel to use and taught him some great stretches. She told us that, even though it really hurts to do so, the best way to permanently relieve the pain is by gently stretching the area, and instead of holding everything as still as possible, to move it as much as possible. We left the office and I continued for the next few days to remind my son to move his head and neck, to do stretches, etc.

Two days later, after a night wherein the adorable four-year-old princess invaded our bed, I found myself with an inexplicable but excruciating pain in my upper back--one of those knots underneath the shoulder blade that is about impossible to get to. I commandeered some of the really awesome gel, and the husband gave me as much of a massage in that area as possible. I resigned myself to not doing the things I had planned, because how was I going to scrub two showers when I couldn't lift my arm?

The doctor's words came back to me:  no matter how much it hurts, the best thing for you to do at this point is to move it. So, I did. At first I was glad that no one was in the room with me, because I swore a little more than a little and was making this whining noise that was quite unbecoming.  Anyway, after a while, I did find that the pain lessened enough for me to start my chores (scrubbing the kids' shower was imperative, it's their job but it had been done poorly or not at all for long enough that it... well, you get the picture).  After about an hour of scrubbing (I'm not exaggerating, and I was only half done--it was bad) I realized that it didn't hurt at all anymore. Moving really, really helped!

My point in this isn't to wallow in the pity of how terrible my kids' shower was (it was really, really bad. I soaked it in cleaner, scrubbed it, and then soaked and scrubbed it again). It's not even to whine about the pain or the fact that when my little girl sneaks into bed with us, I always feel like I was run over by a train the next day.  While I was contemplating the fact that I would have not had the "move it and it will help" advice fresh on my mind had I not just been dealing with muscle pain for my boy, the Spirit whispered to me that this is an analogy for life in general.

We have trials, and they teach us things. They make us stronger. They make us more empathetic when other people go through the same things. They also give us knowledge that we can share with others who may find themselves in similar circumstances. In short, our trials are a gold mine if we can look beyond the pain and see them as learning--and teaching--experiences.

After all, the Savior himself suffered in Gethsemane to personally know how to succor us. In Alma 7, it explains that Jesus took upon himself the pains and afflictions of his people, that is, all of us, so that he would know according to the flesh how to succor his people. He could have known, in His head, by the Spirit, how to provide comfort. But there is something to be said for feeling the same pains--he wanted to physically know--according to the flesh--how our infirmities and trials make us feel so that he could truly know how to provide comfort and assistance to us. What love our Savior has for us!

This isn't a new way of looking at trials for me; but it is a good reminder that I needed this week.

In closing, I'd invite you to read Alma 7 for one of the most beautiful descriptions of our Savior's mission and Atonement.  And remember, our trials are there for a reason--they are our lessons in this school of life.

Distracted Driving (Saturday's post on Sunday)

by Jewel Leann Williams

I commute for about 45 minutes to work, down I-10, a pretty busy freeway even "against traffic" (opposite direction of the rush hours). Recently they started doing construction, the first phase of which was to close the freeway and narrow the lanes to their bare minimum width, in order to provide room for what they are doing. As I zip along these new, narrower lanes, I feel my knuckles cramping and growing white from the grip I have on my steering wheel.  The reason? The people in the lanes around me who keep swerving into my lane because they are on their cell phones (while going 75+ miles per hour, no less). Do they not think we can't see the glow of the phone as they keep glancing down?

There's just no room for error with the lanes narrowed.  People need to be paying MORE attention, not less.

Not that people should be on their phones on the freeway (or anywhere else behind the wheel, for that matter) but the stakes are higher when the slightest swerve puts you in the wrong lane and into someone else's vehicle.

Distraction can be deadly.

We just had the Saturday session of General Conference, and I was sitting with my family on our living room floor, trying to listen to the leaders of the church. Lately I've felt like it is supremely important to listen to what is being said--not that it's hasn't always been important--just with the way the world is spinning, it feels more important now. The lanes are narrowing--the "way" is getting narrower, so to speak, and the stakes are getting higher for swerving.

So I'm trying to listen, and the kids are spinning on their behinds on the floor, or fighting over a pillow, or a blanket, or a spot on the couch, or I'm having to bark at someone to wake up and pay attention. Meanwhile, I keep turning to my husband with, "What'd he just say?"

Distractions. Ugh.  I wish I could've listened better, absorbed the feeling of the talks more, instead of only kinda sorta hearing it, and then reading it later. Thank goodness for the conference videos!!

But that got me thinking.... how often do we go through life, distracted? I mean, not just the social media, the OTHER media, the everything going on that keeps us only halfway living life.

I mean, distracted from our covenants so that we are only halfway living them, swerving back and forth, dangerously close to crossing into inactivity, or complacency, or rebellion....

Distracted from the true nature of the Gospel, marching in lockstep with rules and social norms without remembering the Atonement and the plan of happiness and the true "work and glory" of the Father....

Distracted from raising sons and daughters of God, instead worrying about raising kids who star on soccer teams, or who excel at (insert thing here)....

Distracted from revelation
Distracted from the power of the priesthood
Distracted from who we are
Distracted FROM a million things that really matter, by the BILLIONS of things that really, in the eternities, don't matter at all.

Distraction can be deadly.

How grateful I am for General Conference, and for weekly meetings and for great friends, for the scriptures and for daily personal prayer, all of these things to keep us in the lines--in the Way. Let's do our best to regain our focus and not get distracted!

Who is the Most Important Person in Your Family?

by Jewel Leann Williams

My husband sent me an article this week, by a psychologist guy named Dr. Some-Old-Guy-Who-Probably-Never-Had-Kids. Even though I generally look at articles written by psychologists in newspapers and roll my eyes, because they are usually written by old ugly men who have never had childre, I read it, because my husband sent it, and I love him, and if it's important to him, it's important to me.

So. This doctor proposes that the problem with society today is that when asked the question, "Who is the most important person in your family?" The parents answer, "Our kids!"  He claims that this attitude makes us raise entitled children.  In my generation, he says, we knew that our parents were the most important people.**

I've been mulling it over. He has some points. I mean, our family shouldn't revolve around the whims of the children, by any means. The value of our family does not lie in whether or not Junior gets the gold at the swim meet, or if Sister has all the latest fashions.

But other than that, yeah, sorry. The most important people in my family ARE my children. I work to provide them a safe and comfortable environment. I would eat Fritos out of a dirty bowl for breakfast if I didn't have my family to cook for.

True story. I work Saturday nights, until about 3 hours before church on Sunday. I also get home from church only a few short hours before I have to be back at work. I am usually so tired when I get home from work that I don't know how I drove home, and dizzy with sleep--so that I absolutely *must* take a nap. However, that nap makes me cranky and sometimes more tired, only not dizzy and ready to pass out. Every. Single. Sunday. It is a monumental struggle to get out of bed and go to church, especially knowing that I will only get a similarly short and unsatisfying nap before I have to go drive  45 minutes and work all night (and make it home) again that night. So I started giving in to the very reasonable desire for sleep over church. It felt more like survival, ya know? But the moment I realized that a few of my kids were starting to "feel sick" every Sunday so they could stay home and sleep, that did it for me. Unless I am physically ill, I drag my extremely cranky and unhappy butt out of bed and get myself to church. I absolutely would not do that if it weren't for my children.

Family Home Evening? For my kids. Scripture study? Yes, for me, but I almost always focus on my kids and how I can be a better mother and wife.

From the document "The Family: A Proclamation to the World" by the First Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints:

Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children. “Children are an heritage of the Lord” (Psalm 127:3). Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs, and to teach them to love and serve one another, observe the commandments of God, and be law-abiding citizens wherever they live. Husbands and wives—mothers and fathers—will be held accountable before God for the discharge of these obligations.

My husband is my eternal companion. I realize my children will leave the nest, and that while I am rearing them, I am also nurturing my relationship with my husband. We are partners forever (as often as I'm sure he questions that decision). However, at this particular moment in our lives, our responsibility lies in our sacred duty to rear our children.

So, Dr. Whomever-You-Are, sorry. You'll have to chalk me up to one of those "what's wrong with America" parents, because the most important people in my family, right now, are my beautiful, amazing children.

And I'll punch you in the nose if you tell me otherwise, Doctor. Because I'm sleep-deprived and cranky.

** The "kids are not as important as the grownups" attitude is at the root of at least 1 or 2 of my current psychoses. So (expletive deleted), you hack psychologist!

Rummaging Through the Tough Stuff

by Patricia Cates

What makes rummaging through drawers tough? I'll tell you. It's the memories found therein.

Bittersweet they are.

This past week I was sort of compelled (forced) to rummage through my home's kitchen junk drawers. Normally I can find misplaced items here. When that didn't do the trick, I continued to dig through every dresser in the house. I overturned every stray corner and pile possible, down to my cookbook shelf. I emptied out every pretty little storage box and basket. Twice!

You see...I desperately needed to find a thin soft-backed book that my grandmother had put together back in 1979. It holds all of the family pictures, critical dates and personal stories of my father's family history. I refer to it often. My 15 year old daughter is doing a large project to earn her medallion and it's vital she have this resource.

I soon became frustrated with myself as I have never let this book leave the house. I was also irritated at how disorganized I've apparently become. I was angry at the thought that someone might have cleaned up and put the book somewhere without my knowledge. Although that would be a rarity. Mostly I was (am) freaked out that it has gotten lost in a pile of paper somewhere and been recycled!!!

Our "office" is my library, but it also serves as a homework area. We have a long solid surface countertop laid over the top of four miniature filing cabinets. That means three workstations and plenty of computer space. Over the years the space hasn't been used much; as kids like to do homework in the kitchen, living room, family room, or in their own room, and PC's are somewhat obsolete. So the office has really just become an extra room in the basement that no one goes in, or so I thought.

When I decided to search the office for the book, I opened some of those filing cabinet drawers and I became even more annoyed. Household members had obviously been storing (shoving) all sorts of things in there for years. There were random bags of old crayons and coloring books mixed with scrapbooking paper, glue, tools, folders and receipts. I found lost eyeglasses and keys and hundreds of pictures my 21 year old daughter had taken in junior high. In the bottom of one drawer a portion of my pristinely kept Ensigns were laid bent into a shoebox too small to hold them, along with my best (lost) travel magazines. I also found a whole cabinet my husband took over when he moved in. It was riddled with unopened mail, stuff his kids made for him in grade school, and tidbits from his former life, which I totally respect. Sadly the cupboard above holds the photos and albums of my family members long passed away, as well as my former marriage. The kids can have some of them when they are older. I don't dare open one now. Knowing what's inside the pages bring about emotions I cannot face while trying to clean. Totally counterproductive.

There were too many things found in these drawers to mention here. But I will say that I fully understand why I have been avoiding them. I am reminded of my children not being little anymore. Reminded of wonderful family vacations and a failed marriage. Reminded my wonderful husband was once married to his high school sweetheart. Reminded that my kids are messy and that I hate paperwork. Maybe subconsciously I wanted to hold on to more than coloring books. I have a tough time facing the past without falling apart and I know that. Thinking of it all makes me want to cry in utter defeat, not only for the mess at hand, but for the lost hope and the former me. The former me was ultra organized and totally unbeatable. I miss her.

So this precious book may be lost for now, but it will resurface. In the mean time I am cleaning it all out. Once I got going it wasn't so bad. We (me and the former me) are about half way through now. I recycled about 15 pounds of paper from my husbands desk. His was easy. It was all unemotional business stuff he was holding onto for taxes, prior to 2008, and held no connection for me. He is grateful I did that for him, as it needed to be done. I also very neatly put his mementos safely away in a box, as I know it would be equally upsetting for him to be reminded of how sweet his ex was before she upped and left. They were really cute in high school. I cry for him too.

I have chosen to let my kids decide what to do with the coloring books. Some of them hold their best work inside the pages. The Barbie Princess one especially. I can't let it go. Hopefully they can catch a glimpse of their own sort of nostalgia and learn about families and pitching in along the way.

In Which I Brag (Just a Little)

- a post by Jeanna Mason Stay

My awesome 8yo girl Vanna White-ing the project

Today I am here to brag, just a little bit. I was so excited and proud of this project that I had to share. I’m not even bragging so much about me as just about how pleased I am with how it turned out.

Around May of last year, I started thinking about this idea I had.

It started small. I was reading a bedtime story to my kids from a big collection and thought, “I could write this—or probably better.”* So I started dreaming up the idea of my own collection of stories, just for my kids.

And then it got bigger. My husband is a hilarious storyteller. His stories are goofy and nonsensical and pretty much wonderful. So of course I would need to include plenty of his writing as well.

Then bigger again. I have a brother who would like to write but simply has bigger priorities in his life right now. I bet I could get him to write a couple of small stories. And while I’m at it, I have a sister-in-law who writes. And I have nieces and nephews who write and draw. And and and . . .

The epic conclusion. I will compile a bedtime story book, in time for Christmas, composed of stories from members of my family of origin (hereafter called “foo”) and my hubby’s foo. Parents, siblings, nieces, nephews. And also illustrated by all these people too. Anyone who wants to join in can. It will be awesome.

And also my son,
because he's a natural.

And so my project, Here Be Dragons,** began. 

However, I really didn’t count on being pregnant. Also, I’m not much of a designer. Also, it’s surprisingly difficult to solicit illustrations for stories from five-year-olds. In grand creative fashion, I kept on pushing back all my deadlines. First it was August to have all the content so that I could thoroughly edit everything. Then it was October. Then it was the end of November. Then it was really, truly, absolutely December 7th***—because I had a coupon from the printer that expired on the 11th, and you had to order by the 11th to get things shipped by Christmas anyway.

So November (which is usually NaNoWriMo for me) turned into CraProCompMo (Crazy Project Compiling Month). And so did the beginning of December. All the way until December 11th, around 5 p.m., when I finally started uploading and ordering the thing.

Lots of silly stories--and also some
pages where the reader gets to
write or illustrate their own!

It came in time for Christmas, and it is utterly gorgeous. I may or may not occasionally just hold it in my lap and stare at it, stroking its cover. Also, because I’m a copyeditor by nature and by previous profession, and I didn’t have all the time I wanted for editing, I may have already discovered four mistakes that I’m trying not to think about too much.****

One of my favorite spreads, with art
by my lovely grown-up niece

Anyway, I realize that for most people this would not be as exciting as a publication/sale/contract notice, but for me it is such a thrill. I’m so proud of the work everyone did, and the stories and illustrations are so fun and silly and lovely. It’s not professional, but I love it. So I had to take a minute to brag. Thanks for listening!

* Note: This is not an insult to children’s authors. Children’s lit is hard and awesome and important. This was merely a commentary on the specific book. But the point is that the kids still loved just being read to, regardless of quality.

** Though it was not yet named.

*** One brother got around this by telling me that he had made the deadline—if we were in Hawaii.

**** Fortunately, all mistakes so far have been fairly minor things that most people wouldn’t notice. However, my husband thinks I should never actually look at the text again, just to preserve my sanity.

Princess Lolly: A Bedtime Story

- a post by Jeanna Mason Stay

Princess Lolly, as drawn by my daughter

My lovely oldest child turns eight this week. It is nearly impossible to express how fantastic this girl is. She is funny, loving, kind, smart, good, curious, and just all-around amazing. She’s the sort of kid I would have loved to be friends with when I was young. She’s enthusiastic about everything, and we just love her to pieces.

In honor of her birthday, and also because this story is part of a giant project I’m working on this month, tonight I am posting a story I used to tell her a lot when she was a little girl. Princess Lolly is one of the characters from the board game Candy Land, and she went on many adventures in our bedtime hours. This, however, is her original adventure.

Hope you enjoy something light and silly tonight!

      Once upon a time, Princess Lolly was walking along the path through Candyland to visit her friends. Now, Princess Lolly is always very, very sticky, but on this particular day she got even stickier.

      The first place she went was to visit Plumpy to eat some plums from his tree. Now, a normal person would pluck the plum from the tree first and then bite into it. But not Princess Lolly. She liked to bite the plums right off of the tree, which is not a very exact method of eating. It was rather messy in fact, and plum juice ran down her cheeks, making her face very, very sticky.

      Next she visited Mr. Mint in the Peppermint Forest. He was chopping down peppermint trees, and she volunteered to help. She wasn’t strong enough or old enough to use Mr. Mint’s ax, but she was very good at gathering the peppermint logs up against her chest and stacking them in piles. Of course, peppermint logs are candy, and gathering them made her arms and her chest very, very sticky.

      After she helped Mr. Mint for a while, she wandered off to see Jolly at the Gumdrop Pass. Gumdrop Pass was one of her favorite places to run and jump because every time she jumped on top of a gumdrop, her legs and feet would sink deep into it. As you can imagine, this made them—you guessed it—very, very sticky.

      Gramma Nutt was next on her list of friends to visit, and she loved to see Gramma Nutt because Gramma was always making a batch of her yummy peanut brittle. She stirred the brittle over a fire in a giant cauldron, and then she would pour it out into shallow pans to cool. Princess Lolly was not very patient, though, and when it was still far too warm to have hardened, Princess Lolly poked at it with her finger. Fortunately, it was not too hot to burn, but her hand did sink deep into the brittle, which made it very, very sticky.

      At this point, you can probably understand why Princess Lolly spends her whole life being so sticky, but trust me, it gets worse. Because just before the end of the day, just before she headed home to see her mother, Princess Lolly stopped off to see Gloppy in the Molasses Swamp. And the swamp looked so inviting that she jumped in and swam around. So even though there had been parts of her that were relatively clean before, now she was absolutely covered in molasses—and therefore, very, very sticky.

      “Mommy, I’m home,” she called out to her mother, Queen Frostine, when she arrived back at the Candy Castle.

      “Oh, my dear!” exclaimed Queen Frostine, smiling. “You are very, very sticky, darling. I think you need a bath before bed.”

      Princess Lolly agreed.

      But do you know where she bathes? In the Ice Cream Sea. And so, even though Princess Lolly got a bath that night, it was in ice cream, and so, at the end of all her adventures and the end of the day, Princess Lolly still ended up very, very, very sticky.

 

Scripture Study and a Thought

By Jewel Leann Williams

Hello. My name is Leann and I have a confession I need to make. I have a child who...

HATES to read.  (Audience gasps)

Yup. He has said multiple times in the past two weeks, that 

READING

               IS

                 STUPID

                           AND

                                 BORING

Can you believe it? 

So I've been trying to find ways to engage him. He wants to be a scientist, so I've tried that angle. I printed out a bunch of stuff on Albert Einstein, which he found interesting enough to read for, oh, five minutes, and then declared it was stupid too.  Books that his siblings like, he does not. I imagine it is because it doesn't come easy for him, so he doesn't want to do it. Whatever the reason, it is already causing me headaches, because he has to not only read daily for 30 minutes, but he also has to write a pretty comprehensive book report every grading period. So, I've been trying everything I know to do, to help him. 

The other day, I was reading my scriptures, during one of those admittedly rare times when I can do so without "MomMomMom  I need water, let me play onyour phone,Abby'stouching me can I have a fruit snack....." echoing around me. I had out my paper for notes, and I had been praying and pondering about how to help my family, my non-reader especially. I was reading in Mosiah and immediately this verse stood out:   

3 And he caused that they should be taught in all the language of his fathers, that thereby they might become men of understanding; and that they might know concerning the prophecies which had been spoken by the mouths of their fathers, which were delivered them by the hand of the Lord.

(Mosiah 1:3)

It hit me that this scripture is 1)something I can give my son as a reason to read, and 2)this can be my mantra for when I want to give up on teaching my children.  Trust me, with the new school and their love of homework, I really want to give up about 750 times between 3:30 pm and 5:30 pm. It is important to be taught/learned in the language of our fathers, to become men/women of understanding, and also in order to learn the Gospel. It's not just for school/reading addiction enablement. 

Something else that keeps coming to mind with regards to reading, more specifically addresses our Book of Mormon studies. It's a promise that originally was spoken by Elder Marion G. Romney, but was echoed and expanded upon by President Ezra Taft Benson:

I feel certain that if, in our homes, parents will read from the Book of Mormon prayerfully and regularly, both by themselves and with their children, the spirit of that great book will come to permeate our homes and all who dwell therein. The spirit of reverence will increase, mutual respect and consideration for each other will grow. The spirit of contention will depart. Parents will counsel their children in greater love and wisdom. Children will be more responsive and submissive to that counsel. Righteousness will increase. Faith, hope, and charity—the true love of Christ—will abound in our homes and lives, bringing in their wake peace, joy, and happiness. (436)      

What a promise! I love that President Benson adds that parents need to be reading the Book of Mormon themselves as well as with the kiddos. It's not enough to just be having our nightly Book of Mormon reading. I have to be studying it myself in order to avail myself of this promise. 

I am so grateful for our living prophets and for the Book of Mormon. When I am lost or struggling with things like a kid who doesn't want to read (still trying to wrap my head around that), or whatever it might be, I know I can go to my scriptures and find answers. I know that Heavenly Father uses the scriptures to provide answers to my prayers, because he did that for me this week. 

PS, here's a link to a great page I found about WHAT to teach our children from the Book of Mormon. I found it while looking for the exact words of that promise I quoted above. 

Buttons on your underwear

By Beckie Carlson
The last two weeks have truly been a gift. No, I didn't finally get to go to Italy or lose those ten pounds. I went on an adventure, right in my own home.
It started two weeks ago with a strange beeping noise that came from my refrigerator. I opened the door and waited for the massive beast to tell me what it wanted, but it just kept beeping. It didn't even get louder or more specific like you are supposed to do when talking to someone that doesn't speak your language. I pushed a few buttons, opened and closed the door a few more times, ate some grapes and decided it probably needed a new water filter. I think you are supposed to change those every....two years? (6 months)
Feeling very grown up and responsible, I headed upstairs to the computer and ordered a new filter. I  opted not to order the two-pack, simply because I was feeling cheap. I patted myself on the back for being so amazing at problem solving and returned to my day.
Two days later, the refrigerator decided it was too much work to keep cold. I'm pretty sure it was feeling under appreciated because it hadn't had a bath in a few weeks (months) and was just throwing a fit. I had the girls clean it (they didn't) and started looking on YouTube for solutions. More back patting occurred as I bought a shop vac and cleaned the coils. (Did you know you could do that?) That should do it! (chest puffing and a bit of strutting might have happened.) I also used the new shop vac to clean out the couch. I found a bag of money from a fundraiser my son did five years ago. I was being rewarded for my efforts already!
Apparently, having clean coils makes the freezer jealous. It decided to go on strike with the refrigerator side. This is where I really put on my "I'm an adult" hat and called the home warranty office. "Remember that warranty I purchased TO COVER MY FRIDGE?" They didn't remember. Everyone that worked at the company had been afflicted with amnesia that only covered the months around when I purchased the FRIDGE WARRANTY. My adult hat turned backwards and I started yelling. It wasn't pretty, and frankly, wasn't effective either. I called a repairman.
The repairman was incredibly helpful. According to him, my fridge was broken. I needed to give him lots of money and he would try to find the part I needed. He assured me that it was a part that was no longer made and it would take months to get it, if it came at all. But, please, give him $700.
Don't judge me, but I was skeptical. I called a friend who found the part I was told I needed online for $80. Huh. When I called the repairman back and asked about this miracle, he assured me it was the part I needed but that the online store was full of liars that would take my money and never deliver. Sounded kind of like....well, I told him it was worth a shot! I ordered the part.
I might have forgotten to mention that during this saga, my air conditioner went out. No biggie....its only 1000 degrees in Mesa in July. "Just get in the pool, kids!" The home warranty decided they could cover the air conditioner, so they were redeemed and the hit-men were called off. For now.
Back to the fridge. After a week, the part arrived! Feeling very smug, I pulled it from it's cute little box and pulled up the YouTube video on how to install it. The lady at the online store had said most people install this part themselves. I figured between me and my brilliant children, we could do this. The weird part was, what I had in my hand and what was on the video was....slightly different. Or possibly, HUGELY different. Poop. My adult hat was crumpled and in the corner. My back was not getting pats. I was ready to throw in the towel.
I called a friend and got a deal at an appliance store in town. I went in, picked out a new fridge and set up delivery for the next day. It was money I didn't want to spend, but I was going to be fat and broke if we kept eating out twice a day. No fridge is a big deal, especially in the summer when all you want is veggies!
The next day, I got a call during my training from the fridge installation guys. Problem. (of course) The fridge couldn't be installed because the electrical outlet had to be higher and there was water everywhere. huh. I thought I had noticed water in the dining room.... I convinced them to take the old fridge anyway and leave the new one in the garage. I would deal with it later. Pause. Another call. Apparently, when the installation guys had turned off the water main to the house to unhook the fridge, it had frozen and they couldn't turn it back on. That's weird, but okay, I'll take care of it.
Fast forward three days. We've been without a fridge and without water at my house. We have all gained ten pounds each from eating fast food garbage, and I've had more repair trucks in front of my house than Mike Holmes. A very nice plumber (dressed to the nines by the way) comes to assess the water main. He cannot figure out why the installation guys touched the water main. He showed me the little valve, complete with INSTRUCTIONS, that turned off water to the fridge. Huh. He was nice enough to write all this information on his bill of $362 to repair the handle on the water main the guys had broken off. I think I'm gonna share that bill with the appliance store. Just for giggles.
So here it is, Sunday. It's a beautiful day. I'm feeling thankful for this day of rest to spend with my family and go to church. I feel very blessed that I have a home and running water and health. I've learned a lot over the past two weeks. It takes a lot to care for a home by yourself. It's not my favorite thing, but I'm glad I am able to do it, even when it is hard. I'm also grateful that tomorrow, if I'm lucky, I'll have a fridge in my house again. And this time, I promise to give it more quality time...cause I said so.
Photo credit: www.applianceconnection.com

Thoughts on Christmas

This Christmas season has been especially meaningful for me. It's always been an emotional season time of year since my Dad passed away at the beginning of December when I was thirteen years old. The anniversary of his death always starts my season off on just a little more somber of a note.

This year it's been different. Yes, missing my daddy still, but other things have overwhelmed that particular feeling. Long-awaited answers to prayer have come, blessing have been received, and I feel like I've been inspired with thoughts beyond my normal thinking capacities. Here are some things that have been rattling around in my head:

I've been thinking about Jesus and His example. He set an example not just in coming and living a perfect life, but by the simple fact that He came at all. I think it serves us well to remember that Jesus Christ was a being living in the presence of God the Father, who came here and to some extent was subject to the veil and to the realities of mortality. He was a baby--not a baby with a perfect knowledge, but a baby who chews on stuff and makes messy diapers and can't speak and keeps Mom and Dad up all night. Granted, He was probably a pretty awesome baby, and I imagine he slept through the night pretty early and was easy to potty-train.  This was probably not an accurate depiction:







 

Now for us. WE are also eternal beings who lived in the presence of God the Father. The Savior was with us, and as a part of the plan, we were told we would come here and forget everything. I imagine we were frightened. Jesus reassured us that He would show us the way. He did everything we have to do, and more.

 

It is comforting to me to know that the Savior had to learn line upon line the same way we do. He probably had more tenured teachers than we do, like Michael and Gabriel and probably Heavenly Father himself, but still, He learned at an upwards curve and didn't know everything at once, just like us.

 

Another thought I've had is more tender. I keep imagining the Savior ministering to each and every one of us. I keep thinking that even the Christian world seems to think of the human race as something that just happens. Like we begin when our physical form begins--whenever you define that--so Jesus just loves these random blips of existence, because--why? He's just so awesome that He loves all of His Father's creations?  Yes, it's true that Jesus is so awesome that He loves all of His Father's creations. But it's more than that! HE IS OUR TRUE BROTHER! We were with Him before. We are His family. It's more intimate than just this all-powerful being throwing love at everything and seeing what it sticks to. He loves ME--because I am His sister. He knows me. He remembers who I was before, He sees how far I've come from that innocent, inexperienced being, He knows my strengths and weaknesses not just because He's  magically all-knowing, but because HE knows ME.

 

It's not mystical, it's simple: it is a family connection.

 

In the same way, I have a family connection with you. And you, and you, and the jerk in front of me on the freeway who won't go past 55 mph, and the telemarketer I will speak to on the phone tomorrow.  We are capable of loving each other as much as Jesus loves us--not because of anything mystical or mysterious, but because of that family connection. What is standing in our way is the natural man, blocking our capacity to love. We've forgotten our brothers and sisters.

 

"I Am a Child of God." The simplest of beliefs, with so much power, and so much potential. Imagine the power of knowing, really knowing, that every single person you interact with, is your family. So many  -isms would be done away with. There would be "no more -ites" among us, as it were. 

 

Peace on Earth--Goodwill to All Men

 

The message of Christmas, brought to us by a baby who was sent as a baby to show us EVERY step of the way back to our Father, the Father of all.

 

Merry Christmas to all of you!

Made-Up Words

- a post by Jeanna Mason Stay

We’re writers, right? And writers make things up, right? So today, just for fun, I thought I’d regale you with some of the made-up words that have come into common usage in my home. (I didn’t make them all up, though; some were my hubby, and some were other sources.)

Nebdenhall (interjection). When someone sneezes, you say, “Gesundheit” or “Bless you.” But what about when someone coughs, burps, or hiccups? What then, you wonder? Well, wonder no more. You say, “Nebdenhall.”

Zoogle (interjection). And when someone says, “Nebdenhall,” the correct response, naturally, is, “Zoogle.”

Whuff (verb). We have Cory Doctorow to thank for this one. In his novel Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom, the world’s monetary system is essentially based on reputation—how cool people think you are, how well you’re respected, your kindness, etc. And the term for this “money” is “whuffy.” So around our home, when we do something that is good and helpful, we often call it whuffing—particularly by contrast with the next entry, “fluff.”

Fluff (verb). Fluffing, as opposed to whuffing, is when you do something that’s just for relaxation or when you’re just being lazy. So, in general, there are two behavioral options: you can whuff, or you can fluff.

Foo (noun). Okay, in all seriousness, this is the one that I think really should be adopted into common usage (if not this particular word, some other word with this meaning). Yes, I know there’s already a slang “foo” out there, but this one is different. “Foo” stands for “family of origin”—which is the family you came from. So, for example, I have my foo—that’s my dad and my sibs. I have my extended foo—that’s my aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. And finally I have my family—that’s my hubby and my kids. When I think of the word “family,” I think of the one I have created, the one that takes priority over the foos.

I’m going to pull out my inner therapist for a minute here. In-law relations can be a major cause of marital tension, especially early in marriage. Even when your in-laws are awesome, there’s still an adjustment that must be made, where you shift to membership in this new unit, the marriage. I know way too many people who struggle because their parents/in-laws are prioritized over the spouse. Hey, we’ve even got a scripture about this problem! (You know, cleave unto spouse, etc.) Since I believe in the power of words, I think there’s power in changing the word you use to describe your family of origin and your new relationship to them.*

I also highly recommend not calling your parents’ house “home” anymore—where you and your family live is home, not where you used to live. When we go to Utah to visit the foo these days, we love to see them, but we’re not going “home”—that’s when we get back to Maryland.

Okay, soapboxy lecture over.

And also, my list of made-up words is over.

What about you? Any made-up words you use and love?

* Don’t even get me started on how frustrated it makes me when people talk about “starting a family” only when they’re starting to having kids. . . . Grrrrrr . . .