Rae

Raena is really starting to talk a lot. Sure, no one but me can understand her, but I'm here to assure you she's hilarious. For example, last night Joe and I turned off the TV but not the dish, and we had been watching Fox. When we turned the TV on to watch cartoons this morning, the rainbow bars and tone were on because Fox hadn't started their broadcasting day yet. It took me a minute to find the satellite remote, and in the interim Rae was staring at the TV. Finally she looked at me and said, "This show sucks." Am I the worst mom ever because I taught her "sucks?" Nah, I wrapped that up the first time she dropped something and said the *s* word. Precious.

Rae is generally good natured too. Her teachers at school call her "Giggles" because she just happily goes from activity to activity, giggling all the way. She's often that nice at home, but not so much that her dad is willing to change her nickname from "Pill."

She sings along to music quite a bit too. In the mornings when we're home, I play music in the kitchen and we all dance while I clean. This morning she gave a stirring performance of "Dynamite" by Taio Cruz. She has moves.

Domestic Enemies of the Rural Mom

I love Rants From Mommyland. These ladies smell what I am cooking. They have posted some things about the Domestic Enemies of Suburban Moms, and a winter edition. Today they had a guest post about the Domestic Enemies of the Urban Mom. I laughed, and commiserated, but those problems don’t really belong to me anymore. So, I have written:

Domestic Enemies of the Rural Mom

I was raised in cities. Not ginormous cities like Louise described, but probably a good distance away from the burbs, as measured by instances of graffiti. So when as a teenager I moved to a small town I had never heard of in Idaho, a state that had a smaller population than the metropolis I most recently called home, I was justifiably shell shocked. Culture shocked. Just…shocked. But, once the weirdness settled into me I fell in love—with both the area and a farm boy, who I married and now I’ll die here. I love it. There are so many things that make our life wonderful and rare. However, we rural moms have a whole other set of domestic enemies that most people just don’t deal with or understand.

Grocery Shopping (or, stocking up for the zombie apocalypse)

Do you know how far I would have to drive if I wanted a T-Box? 70 miles--one hour, five minutes. Wal-Mart is a mercifully close 25 miles or half an hour-ish drive away. There is a grocery store in my own town, 8 miles away, but here’s the catch for rural groceries: they cost a lot more. Like $1.88 milk at Wal-Mart is $2.66 at the local store. This means that unless I want to spend half our money at the grocery store for a meager amount of food and toilet paper (I don’t even want to talk about diapers), I have to drive distances to get groceries. With children, this is less a shopping trip and more an expedition to the Himalayas; with a strong possibility at least one of your children is going to be handed over to a Sherpa to keep. To be adequately prepared for the expedition, I need at least 40 diapers, except for when I had two kids in diapers and then I needed roughly 9 billion. Then there are snacks, spare clothes, list, coupons (the Cap’n would be so impressed), blankets, sanitizer, toys…I pack more crap to go to Wal-Mart than my ancestors packed to cross the Atlantic. I don’t want to be driving 5o miles every other day just for milk or apples, so when I go, I get everything I will need for at least two weeks. At the end, my cart looks like I’m competing on “Supermarket Sweep.” My children, who started out looking like well cared-for, clean, pleasant tiny people look like…well…everybody else’s children at Wal-Mart, especially if this Wal-Mart is in West Virginia (I know, I’ve been there). I leave my home looking clean and put-together—I get back to it looking like a cult escapee.

Fuel (or, why I cry myself to sleep at night)

Fuel prices these days are a challenge for everyone. I can’t believe I’m a young person and I sound like a crabby old man; “When I was your age, gas cost less than a dollar, and you could get 5 nuggets on the dollar menu!” And that was only…well fine it was 15 years ago, but still. It seems excessive. Anyway, as I have already illustrated I have to drive to get anywhere. Drive a lot. I also do not live on a paved road, and have a long driveway that is also not paved but is frequented by tractors and cows. Plus, out here even a little bit of snow can be a disaster, because if the wind blows, there is nothing to stop that little bit of snow from drifting right up against the back of my car. These challenges mean only one thing: if I don’t have 4-wheel drive, I’m stranded like a Donner for a good part of winter (which is roughly October to June) except I have satellite T.V. Distance+SUV=giant fuel budget. The kind that makes you wonder if you are personally going to get a tongue lashing from Al Gore (which really isn’t that scary, it’s just that people tend to follow him around with cameras, and what if they show up right when I’m getting home from Wal-Mart?).

Pests (Wild America, except with more rodents)

I fully sympathize with Louise here, except I have more critters. There are a lot of critters in rural America, largely because most of them have never been informed that this area has now been zoned for people, and even if they had, they don’t think much of The Man. We grow grain here. Grain is basically mouse food. Mice live in the fields, in the irrigation pipes, in old logs, abandoned cars, barns, equipment—everywhere. And as soon as it gets cold they are drawn to the warmth of MY HOUSE! It doesn’t help that I have cattle, and so surround my house with corn and straw and sweet molasses. My farm is basically a mouse Hilton. It is a constant, disgusting battle to keep these critters out. I am personally keeping the good people who make Bar Bait in business.

In addition to the rats and mice that infest the city, I also enjoy: feral cats, coyotes, skunks, beavers, mountain lions, huge owls, bald eagles (pretty, but taloned) and that’s just the wild animals. I also live with about 1000 calves. So in addition to the fear that my children will pet the wrong kitty and either get sprayed by disgusting bio-terror or rabies, I fear that the cows will get out and stampede my kids while they play in the sandbox. Do you have that, New York City? Plus, where there are cows, there are flies. Lots and lots and lots of flies. I love my cows, I love our life, but if I could kill every last one of the flies with just my mind, I would be more beloved around here than Larry the Cableguy.

There is so much that is awesome about out life—if I need something out of my car I can go get it in my underwear and no one will know, even if it’s at noon. We have so much room, and so much air, and feel connected to the land. My kids will learn to work hard and they’ll know where food comes from, building appreciation for the work that goes into making the safest food supply in the world. And by safe, I mean to eat, not to play with.

...And that's why they used to use grape juice in the sacrament

I really want my kids to understand that Easter is not about a bunny or candy or pretty clothes. So, all this week we're doing little crafts and activities that teach about Easter, the Atonement, and the Sacrament. Today we made placemats with the Easter story on them, like so (I put these images in contact paper to make them water/dinner proof). The idea is that we can talk about the story while we eat for the rest of the week. Jacob had a lesson on Easter in Primary already, so he's not entirely ignorant of the purpose of the holiday. He pointed out the frame with Jesus hanging on the cross, and told me, "That's Jesus. The bad men gave him a crown of thorns and put him on that cross so he would die." He paused and wrapped it up with, "The sign over him says 'King of the Juice.' Mom, why would they say He was 'King of the Juice?' What kind of juice?"

How do you explain ethnicity to a six-year-old? Also, huge points for me for not laughing right out loud.

Home Can Be a Heaven on Earth...or at the very least the Telestial Kingdom.

In Relief Society on Sunday, I sat with a bestie and sang the hymn, "Home Can Be a Heaven on Earth." One reason she is a bestie is that when we saw the title of the hymn, we looked at each other and snorted. We were united in our cynicism lightly seasoned with scorn.

Now, I know its generally a bad idea to scoff at the hymns of Zion, but really--mothers of young children should not sing this song anytime during the three-hour block. At a weekly meeting where our children are not present, or maybe the yearly women's conference, sure. It's hard to sing "brightly" that home can be a heaven on earth when you are planning what you are going to do to your children to punish them when you get there. By the time we got to "Parents teach and lead the way, Children honor and obey," we were both practically vibrating with suppressed laughter. I have at least two family nights a month on obedience--that's how good my kids are at it. I swear, if I have to teach one more lesson on obedience, I may just give in and go get some President Packer glasses and complete the transformation.

Because I was busy being a cynic, I missed that the last verse actually chronicles my daily life. "Praying daily in our home we'll feel His love divine." I do pray daily. A lot of that is because if I don't pray daily and often I will snap and someone is going to have to call protective services. "Searching scriptures faithfully we'll nourish heart and mind." My mind needs a lot of nourishment. When your only companions are tiny people with limited conversational skills, sometimes you begin to feel that your brain has melted and is pouring out your ear. Time spent in the scriptures reminds me that I am a woman of purpose, destiny even. Plus, it stimulates my brain and helps me feel my steel trap isn't getting rusty. "Singing hymns of faith...." I sing hymns all the time. I listen to hymns all the time, especially between the hours of 3 and 5 pm. This is the time of day I am most likely to come unglued. Hymns keep me together.

Can home be a heaven on earth? Of course it can. I'm pretty sure mine was close to heaven the other night when we all played "Simon Says" and "Duck, Duck, GOOSE!" the other day in the living room. Kory thought "Simon Says" was a little impersonal so he says, "Kory says..." Jake laughed the whole time. Raena was in heaven. Nobody got mad. Nobody got impatient. Maybe that's the key: Prayer, Scriptures, Hymns, "Simon Says."

Today, I like snowboarding

I love the scenes in "The Singles Ward" where the cute little preemie played by Kirby Heyborne is relating his favorite Mormon Myths--who is, who isn't a member, did Elvis take the discussions, Steve Martin's CTR ring, all that dumb stuff. Now, some celebrities really are LDS, though it seems to be a good Mormon, and an entertainer, you pretty much have to be a convert (Aaron Eckhart v Rick Schroeder, Kathryn Heigl v Gladys Knight). If you google "mormon" you'll get lots of hits, most of which make me want to throw things. Antis, ex-mos, polygamists, crazies....it's disheartening to say the least. But not today. Today if you google "mormon" you'll find Torah Bright. Torah won the Olympic gold medal in women's snowboarding last night. She's not LDS the way Eliza Dushku and Amy Adams are LDS--she's LDS the way you are. In this interview with an Australian media outlet, she does a fantastic job sharing her love of her sport and truths about her faith. Today, I'm proud to have someone in the spotlight who represents us well.
Torah, Torah, Torah, indeed!

Um, service hurts sometimes

As promised, here is the full story of my daily act of service: volunteering in Jake's kindergarten class.

I had arranged a babysitter for this morning a week ago--or so I thought. After a morning full of phone calls (no less than 4 plus a text message) and never getting in contact with my friend, I took my chances and just showed up at her house.

No one there.

So, I started going through my address book, looking for someone to take my littles at the last minute. I got lucky, and Brittany changed her plans for me (THANK YOU BOWENS!) I hurried over to their house, dropped my kids off and ran out the door. As I was running, I remembered a valuable lesson--in the winter, its best to assume there is ice under the snow. I remembered this as I was momentarily airborne, suspended in dread and disbelief in the air outside the Bowen home. When I hit the ground with my back, and followed that up with a resounding WHACK on the back of my head, all I could think of came out my mouth, "auauaghghh (groan) I'm thirty!" I picked myself off, and hobbled to my car to continue on my breathless journey to the elementary school.

At the school, I realized that my whole backside was wet. I hadn't noticed before cause of the pain. Oh well, too late now. I proceeded to help with the class, sitting on the floor for an hour. Not smart. My hips are not all they should be, and they hurt a lot by the end of the hour.

Service is good, and seeing how happy Jake was to see me in his class made it all worth it--but my elbow hurts, and my hips hurt and I have a severely sprained dignity. Thankfully, all my service endeavors for tomorrow are indoors. I'll probably burn myself instead.

Month of service, week one

A good friend committed to doing a month of service in January, and when she wrote her last post on her project, she challenged her readers to do the same in February. Well, I love a challenge, so I have taken on this project for myself!

Monday: A friend in the ward is battling cancer right now, and I didn't see her in church on Sunday. I gave her a call to check on her and see if she was feeling alright or needed any help. We had a good chat. She amazes me with her attitude and her faith.

Tuesday: I had planned to watch a friend's kids today, but that fell through. Instead, I took a look at how long my kids watch tv every day, and decided that I was missing oppurtunities to spend time with them. Jake will be in First Grade next year, which means he'll get on the bus at seven and come home at four. I'll be with him only four of his waking hours! My boy is starting to slip away from me, and I'll feel awful if I waste the time I have with him. So, we colored, and played with clay, and made cookies.

Wednesday: I play with a group of ladies known as "Little Monkey Mamas." We hadn't had an activity in months, and I figured everyone else was a stir crazy as me, so I planned and carried out an acitivity. It was a huge success, and we had a lot of fun!

Thursday: Yesterday was lame. I had intended to count my girls' night out with a couple of friends for my service, but I don't know if that counts. I guess it does, if offering your love and support and friendship while eating high-calorie food counts as service. I hope it does.

Friday: Today I'm going to help with a party in Jake's class. I'll let you know how that goes.

Saturday: Big cooking day! One of my girls on my VT beat is having a baby on Monday (at the latest!) so I'm making some meatballs and chili to freeze and take over to her so she can use them at her pleasure!

I like helping others. I really want to live a life that matters. Serving others is the best way I can think of to do that!

Of history and priorities

I've been meaning to post this for forever, and just haven't gotten around to doing it. But, now I will delight you with the story I've been keeping to myself.

For the Martin Luther King holiday, Jake did a project at school that involved listening to a brief history of MLK's life and accomplishments and coloring a small booklet about him. When Jake gets home from school, I go through the contents of his backpack with him and talk about his day. When I pulled out the book o' King, I asked Jake, "Who is this?"

"I don't know. Some brown guy my teacher was talking about."

"Oh. *giggling quietly* What did you learn about him?"

"Well, my teacher said he had a dream, but it wasn't about dinosaurs. I asked."

I had to leave the room, I was laughing so hard.

"I have a dream, sometimes when I've had a rough day, that a T-Rex chases me over the green fields of Mississippi. I catch him and ride him all the way to Mobile, Alabama, where he can really do some damage."

How white are we?

Some musings I had to let out of my soul.

I've been thinking about redemption a great deal this week. My lesson tomorrow is on the Fall of Adam, and that necessarily means its also about the Atonement. Both the Fall and the Atonement are essential components of "The Great Plan of Redemption." Without the Fall we would need no redemption, as we would never have had the chance to do anything that needed redeeming. The Fall caused us to need redemption from death--we cause ourselves to need redemption from sin. We are redeemed for both that which we are culpable for, and that over which we have no control. I think this is true of more than just death and hell. You see, I have spent my adult life trying to overcome the destructive and self-defeating habits and attitudes I was taught in my broken home. There are things that I have done for which I desperately need redemption. There are things over which I had no control that shaped and formed who I was and how I lived that I need to be redeemed for as well. I am redeemed--from all the things, whether I am guilty or not, that keep me from coming back to God. That redemption comes through no work or act of will of my own, but through the selfless, eternal, and infinite sacrifice of a perfect Savior. He helps me change. He makes me better. He teaches me that I have power to "act and not to be acted upon." I take that power and choose to be more than what comes naturally.
With all this thought of redemption, I have been touced all week by how it has shaped me into something that, while wildly imperfect, is far more than I could ever hope to be alone. As I am redeemed, my heart yearns to offer redemption. To save as I was saved. To rescue a soul from itself. I know of ways that I can reach out, and I pray my eyes can be opened to see where there is need, and not let my fear block the way to my action. How else can I show how truly grateful I am? How else will He ever know that as He did everything for me, I would do everything for Him?

Reverence Does Not Require a Glacial Pace

I read an hysterical blog post over at Mormon Mommy Wars, and it got me thinking about hymns.

Let me preface this with an anecdote that will illustrate my personality and attitude towards worship well:
We have really struggled this year, and have had to lean heavily on our faith, our hope, and our trust that tithing works and we will make it through. Through most of it, I have had to be the bright, shining beacon of optimism, as it seemed no one else was up to it. In public I have been the happy cheerleader; "It will all work out! We can do it! Go team poverty!" In private, its been a little less peppy. I was bearing my testimony about this experience, and was very emotional. I related that the reserve of optimism finally ran dangerously low, and I had a little talk with the Lord. "Look, Lord, I trust you, and I know you'll take care of us. But if we don't get some help by Friday, I'm probably going to have to freak out." I was very sincere. I was very emotional. And this line got a laugh. I was puzzled. I asked around. It turns out most people don't talk to God like that. I find this baffling. How is the Savior supposed to be your best friend if you don't talk to Him like He is? Evidently, while I have a deep faith and respect for and in the Savior, I am a whole lot less formal than most in my worship.
There. Now you know.
I love the hymns of Zion. Few things bring me more comfort and peace, and some of my most powerful spiritual manifestations have come to me through hymns. That being said, do we have to sound so mournful all the time? When you sing at a funeral's pace, its bound to sound like a funeral. I have personally wondered if my arm was going to fall off while conducting sacrament hymns with 1 verse, no chorus, but an organist that is playing like my five-year-old reads: A....mi....tee...fo-or-tress...i-is our....God (with a fermata! Hold that for eight counts!) Even a one-verse hymn takes 15 minutes when it has 8 fermatas. Sure, it says to sing "with dignity," but my dignity is not painfully slow! I just timed how long it takes to sing this hymn at sacrament speed: 1:07.23. I just banged that thing out in a reverent 40 seconds flat. So here's my final question:
How much trouble to do you think I'd get in for taking a pen and adding to every mood instruction, ",but briskly" so "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" would read, "With dignity, but briskly."
It's a lot more subtle than, "Pick up the pace, people! Even God is falling asleep!"

I am the Holy Grail

The Gospel Doctrine lesson this week is on temple and family history work. Since the Church has the fabulous New FamilySearch, I was using it to trace my family line. I had read earlier this week a teacher can't be a hypocrite (bad news for me!) so since I had asked two others in the class to do something in family history this week, I should too.
So, through one of my lines, I descend from the Birds in early Virginia (founders of Richmond). They descend from a long line of nobility going back all the way to Edward Longshanks (the bad king in "Braveheart"), William the Conqueror, and Charlemagne. Pretty awesome. Another ancestor clear back there is a descendant of the Merovingian kings in France. If you've seen "The Da Vinci Code," you may remember the Merovingian line was purported to be the descendants of Christ's daughter Sarah, who grew up in France and married Antenor, King of the West Franks, making the Merovingian kings descendants of the Son of God, and the Holy Blood line. It was an interesting story, but kind of weird.
So I keep hitting the little button to go further back in time and see who each person's father was. I come to Antenor, King of the West Franks, and his wife, Sarah-Damaris Bat Yeshuah. I think, "Man, that's a Jewish name if ever I heard one!" I go back to see her parents, and they are listed as "Jesus Christ, lineage of" and Mariame migdal eder. I think, "No way! They have Jesus on the New FamilySearch?" And they do. I click on His name, and look in the box below the pedigree for more information. I click the link for LDS ordinances.

It says they are not available.

And I laugh and laugh and laugh.

You can't make up stuff that good!

To summarize:

1. New FamilySearch is fully awesome and user friendly
2. I lucked out and am related to royalty so I can trace my family history WAY back.
3. It appears I am a descendant of Jesus Christ.
4. No one knows the date of His baptism or other priesthood ordinances.

Maybe I'm bad for thinking that's hysterical....but I bet He thinks its funny too.

UPDATE! I kept clicking back for ancestors of Antenor, and after going through Russia, Turkey, Troy, ancient Greece, and more, someone has decided that the first king of Troy was mothered by an Israelite, Judah's daughter-in-law whom he impregnated when she pretended to be a prostitute. Well, with a lineage like that, its easy to go back to, you guessed it, Adam. I have a family line that goes all the way back to Adam. I am that Mormon.

I realize these connections are spurious at best, but it's still interesting. Plus, kind of funny!

Accomplishment

Rejoice with me, for I have a sparkly clean kitchen! Tomorrow--living room!

Look out piles of laundry! I'm coming for you!

I hate mess...and my whole house is one.

The good news for you is, you can pretty much rest assured you are a better housekeeper than I.

My baby has been sick this week, so my whole house has been turned into the Disgusting Land of Puke and Ickiness. I am not a good housekeeper at the best of times, so when my dryer still isn't fixed and I'm on laundry overload and all my time is spent caring for a tiny, screaming person, home-making disaster ensues.

Instead of trying harder to work on my mess, I've been playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. Inside, I hate myself for being too much of a coward and slacker to just go upstairs and face the mess. As I played my last round, I heard the deep, dramatic voice of the game tell me "Good," and "Excellent," and "Awesome," everytime I did a particularly neat move. It occurs to me I may get more done if that happened in my actual life--if everytime I got something done I had that voice giving me a little instant gratification.

How do I ever change into the kind of woman who always has her house together? How do I learn to not be so overwhelmed by the mess that I walk away from it? Why can't I see messes utnil they are GIANT and hard to overcome?

Any thoughts? Anyone?

Eye of the Tiger? More Like Eye of the Bunny.

Jake played soccer this year on the city league, with the fabulous Gwen and Stephanie coaching. His team is the Roadrunners. This would imply some speed and swiftness, would it not? If you could see Jake, you'd have to agree it would not. Joe and I are both very competitive people. Whatever we do, we are in it to win it! We've learned to tone it down over the years, hoping to avoid alienating people who think competitive people are jerks. Plus, a few of my friends in high school got a lot of mileage out of my competitive nature, so as a self-preserving measure I keep the crazy to myself. Jake is not at all competitive. Some members of his team are running hard, trying to kick the ball, totally focused on the game. Jake tends to run in what appears to be a Baywatch slow-mo parody, occasionally looking over at Joe and me to give a big thumbs up. I'm not sure he knows the games are scored. I don't think he knows someone wins and someone looses. I don't think he even cares if he makes contact with the ball--ever. He sure is happy to just amble along the field. He loves to get out with his friends and wrestle on the sidelines and ask to be taken out of the game so he can go back to the demanding task of not running. Imagine Joe and I, yelling, "Jake, kick the ball! Run! Go the other way!" and Jake just bouncing along, giving us thumbs-up, while an opposing team member runs right past him with the ball. It's awesome.

I think he's had fun, and that's really all I wanted out of it. It just surprises me that two people who care about winning so much have managed to produce a child who couldn't care less.

Putting lightness in your life and a swagger in your step.

I posted on Facebook today the following status: "Emily Pugh Ward needs someone to inject her husband with sunshine and confidence. Lord, get right on that, if you will." The response I got was unexpected. Several people commented that they needed a boost of sunshine and confidence themselves, and others wrote personal messages indicating that they, too, were a little down in the dumps. For that reason, I have decided to share some happiness.

In 1Nephi 16, disaster strikes the family of Lehi. Out in the middle of nowhere, with no help in sight, Nephi breaks his bow. It seems the breaking of the bow was the last straw. Everyone else's bow had "lost its spring" and now Nephi's super-fancy bow was broken. Life was not worth living. Even Lehi started to complain. Lehi could put up with a lot--wayward kids, attempted fratricide, total loss of riches--but when he got hungry, the crankies came out a-blazin'. Amidst all this whining, Nephi never loses sight of some important absolutes:

• God helps those who help themselves. Nephi went out and made a new bow.
• Priesthood authority matters. Though Lehi was a murmurer too, Nephi respects his calling as the prophet and his position in the family as patriarch and defers to his authority.
• The Lord wants us to succeed, and will help us to do so. Nephi receives instructions from the Lord via the Liahona on where to find animals to kill, and trusts that instruction, finding success and yummy food.

How can we apply this in our own lives as we seek sunshine and confidence?

• Do all you can, and believe the Lord will make up the rest. Righteous living gives us the confidence to believe we have bound the Lord to bless us (D&C 82:10), knowing that we have kept the laws upon which blessings are predicated. (D&C 130:20-21)
• Follow the prophet. Seek priesthood blessings. Access to Priesthood power is a sacred privilege enjoyed in mortality by a blessed few. Don't waste it! Go to the temple. Study conference. Counsel with your bishop.
• If you truly believe the Lord loves you and wants to care for you, faith pushes away fear, and the knot in your stomach loosens as you allow your trust in the Lord to replace anxiety. He will take care of you! It's hard sometimes to go forward blindly, truly believing He knows what's best for us, even when its not what we would have chosen, but we can find peace and confidence to walk into the unknown knowing that we are not unknown to Him.

It is my firm belief that nothing is so dark that the light of the Atonement and the infinite love of our Savior can't brighten it. I sing with all my heart,

"We doubt not the Lord, nor His goodness,

We've proved Him in days that are past."

Always, always in my hour of need, the Lord has proven to me that He holds me in the palm of His hand. I have always been happier for following His counsel and submitting to my trials meekly, trusting that God has a plan for me, and that plan involves finding joy! I know He can help us, if we let Him.

Let the sunshine and confidence begin!

If I could put time in a bottle...

I blog stalk a delightful woman who refers to herself as "That Girl," formerly of Brazil and recently relocated to Arizona. She brightens my day. She posted a blog today about her worth according to a nifty site, Salary.com. The site has a tool that helps you calculate your dollar worth based on hours spent at various tasks, such as Day Care Teacher, Cook, CEO, Interior Designer, Plumber, etc. "That Girl" tried to tell the site she served 45 hours a week, each, as a Day Care Center Teacher, Psychologist, Staff Nurse and CEO, but the site corrected her, albeit very sympathetically:

We understand if it sometimes feels longer, but a week can never have more than 168 hours. Please re-enter your hours.

It made me laugh, and then it made me think. A good friend of mine was diagnosed with Melanoma early this year, and while she came out of it ok, I couldn't help but confront my own mortality. The fact is, we each have a limited amount of hours in this life, and none of us now how many hours we really have. I think about all the times I've been annoyed when my kids want to be held while I'm doing something else, or when they want me to read Green Eggs and Ham for the 900th time, or when I grouse about household chores--and I wonder if my hours suddenly ran out, how much would I hate myself for resenting the privilege I have of being these beautiful spirits' mother? Will I regret hours wasted? Will I long for more hours to accomplish things I should have had plenty of time for? If my hours are precious, then I must decide what is most important in my life, and divide the hours I have accordingly. I repentantly acknowledge that I am not the best steward of the hours that have been allotted to me. I hope I can have perspective and grace to improve how I spend my hours, and be more grateful for the ones allotted me.

Hey! Where's my money?

I sent the following letter to my congressmen. Tell me what you think.


Dear Senator,
I’ve been thinking a lot about how difficult these times and circumstances are for everyone I know. My family has had to make some drastic changes to provide for ourselves—my husband and I are 30, returning to school because we fear agriculture can’t support us anymore, so we are living on student loans to provide for our kids. As I thought about how we have had to scale back, and how our local religious leaders have asked us all to scale back and be provident, I wondered what you are doing in Washington to be more provident with our hard-earned taxes. I’ve done a little googling, and created the following list of perks Congressmen receive. I realize that not all the information on the Internet is entirely accurate, so I hoped you could look over the list and answer two questions:
· How accurate is this list of perks?
· What are you personally doing to cut spending?
Free parking: Not only do members of Congress receive parking on Capitol Hill, but they also receive free (prime) private parking spots at the two nearby airport, Reagan National and Dulles airport.
Perks from Lobbyists: Despite a slew of ethics regulations regarding gifts from lobbyists, Members of Congress are still able to use their lobbyist ties to get into events that regular people simply do not have access to. For example, if a Member of Congress wanted a prime ticket to a sold-out event, he could still get that ticket from lobbyists he’s close with, as long as the face value of the ticket is reimbursed by the Member. However, this money doesn’t have to come from the Member’s pocket, but instead can come from the usually deep campaign account, which usually contains money from lobbyists and their associated PACs.
Days Off: While most Americans get one day off for Memorial Day and sometimes Presidents Day, members of Congress get the entire week off. However, Congress doesn’t like to call these vacation days, but instead call them “District Work Periods,” even though there is nothing requiring them to be in their district during those times. Congress also gets a number of additional recesses, some lasting as long as a month.
Office Costs: $2 million to $4 million a year for office administration and staff expenses. There is a furniture expense account, subsidized mass mailings to constituents (known as the franking privilege) and free income tax-return preparation assistance. In addition to all that, members also receive a special tax deduction for maintaining a second residence, and yet more, there are the numerous foreign trips (spouses included) often to exotic places hosted by nonprofit groups. House members, but not senators, can also keep frequent flier miles they rack up on official travel and use them for personal trips later.
Other Perks: What's more, members have exclusive use of the Congressional Research Service to do their legwork. There is free use of broadcast taping studios, free reserved parking at the office and at Washington-area airports and a free member-only gym and pool, expedited passport services and of course the well-appointed and subsidized members' dining rooms.
I haven’t mentioned anything about salaries, because I realize you give of your time and need to be compensated. I also realize that some things, like travel, are difficult to accommodate, and probably need to be compensated as well. What I hope, is that when you fly home to work in your district, you fly coach like the rest of us. I hope you understand that the money I do earn, I’ve worked very hard for. I belong to a church to which I voluntarily give 10% of my income. They have said of those funds that they hold them sacred, using them only in the most responsible way, understanding what that money means to those who sacrificed it. I don’t have any choice about taxes, but I do believe in the Republic. I hope you hold my funds sacred. I hope you understand the trust we have placed in you to spend our money. I hope you understand that an elected official is a servant, not an entitled aristocrat.
Thank you in advance for your response. I appreciate the service you render.
Yours sincerely
Emily Ward

My life has many layers

I recently acquired a totally kick-a** vacuum. It is the first one I have ever owned that was not handed down to me, and costs more than 50 dollars. The first time I vacuumed my floors with it, I instantly felt simultaneously bad about how dirty my floors were, and elated at how much my vacuum was getting up. See, that's the neato thing about these bagless canister vacs. You can see all the nasties piling up in the vacuum as you go. In addition to my totally rockin' vacuum, I have a two-year-old who lives to make messes. If there is something to dump out, he will find it and dump it. In the last week, he has dumped the following on my kitchen floor, listed in order of apperance:

Rice Cereal

Marshmellow Mateys

Paprika

Dried Breadcrumbs

So, layered in my vacuum canister, is a layer of white, a layer of multicolored marshmellow bits, bright red, and brown. It reminds me of those sand-layer crafts:

So, I will pretend that he is merely creative, not willfully destructive. He is an artist, and art is mess. Good thing art is easily sucked in by a Hoover.

Busy Day

Today was a busy day for Kory. He woke up exceptionally early, after a rather sleepless night, due to an unexpected milk bath and two night terrors.

He began his day taking a totally awesome picture of his sister.

A picnic lunch was really fun!

Sliding is super fun! He's lucky to have such a great big brother to play with!

Then I made them a tire swing to play on. Kory played and played and played...

Till he just couldn't play anymore.

Outdoor play

Here are a few pics of the kids that I really liked.