The Mormon Child Bride

sunday poem

2012-01-22T21:27:00.002-07:00

Here's the deal: I'll stop posting poems when poems stop being awesome.

The Orange
Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange-
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave-
They got quarters and I got a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It's new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I'm glad I exist.

Candy makes me glad I exist. I'm not kidding. It will kill me, but until the day that it does, processed sugar keeps me on this planet. Also, Spouseman.

What makes you glad you exist?

what if every day was no-delete?

2012-01-16T16:11:00.003-07:00

I think my blog would be funnier, but less meaningful. I liked my foray into No-Delete Thursday, I will definitely do it again, especially since there is nothing more cathartic than random swears.

But for me, I think too much no-delete can lead to no-thinking, and I'm already lazy enough.

No-Delete Thursday did force me to think about why I haven't written very much lately, and how I can change that, and what is it that I'm so afraid of every time I open my blogger account, or the email that receives unmoderated comments.

I'm afraid that even though I'm a big believer in saying-what-you-want, I'm also a big believer in saying-it-in-a-productive-way, and a kind way. For instance, I'm all for orthodox Mormons hanging out here and offering insight, I'm not okay with orthodox Mormons hanging out here and telling us we are all going to hell/would understand things better if we just prayed about it/were humble enough to realize the blessings of the patriarchy. Same is true for anyone else grappling with religion or life, or whatever.

I'm okay with a SAHM or a WOTH* or a SAHWOTHWFHM/D* hanging out here and talking about what works for them, I'm not okay with accidental smugness in which people talk about how dumb or neglectful one or the other are.

I'm afraid that I don't know how to balance some of those thoughts myself, so I stay quiet rather than fuel unproductive wars that just hurt feelings. I'm afraid of that, I've been on both sides, neither is fun.

While I'm not necessarily afraid of this, I do wonder sometimes about the purpose of writing opinions that may change hourly, or daily, or even right after I hit "publish." That is a stupid reason not to write things, but I'm admitting that it is true.

I'm sometimes afraid of the feelings I feel when I write, especially when I write about the church. My transition out of Mormondom, then sort of back into Mormondom, then somewhere in between again, has been painful. Furthermore, it happened during my first full year of teaching, through two(ish)** lost pregnancies, and three pee sticks and a third chance that kicks angrily when I play music too loudly in my car. When I reached 12 weeks, and felt confident that she was here, I stopped writing because I wanted to just not feel anything anymore. I was really tired. I also really wanted to watch TV. It had been a long year.

But I've missed writing, and I've missed being brave. We have so few opportunities to be brave these days. If I write more, I'm going to do so while remembering that I'm still human. I may say something accidentally stupid or insensitive, I may combat feelings I don't like, I may change my mind. I may just talk about TV, sometimes. But I don't want fear to run my life, or my blog. ***

So in honor of two men who somehow always managed to say what they wanted, productively and kindly:

"A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave." Mahatma Gandhi

"God grant that as men and women all over the world struggle against evil systems they will struggle with love in their hearts, with understanding good will. " Martin Luther King Junior.

*Work Outside The Home Moms

*A bunch of letters to symbolize a person who works inside the home, works part-time, has done everything imaginable over the course of being a parent, is a mom or a dad. The letters don't really even make sense.

**Haven't talked about it here before, still have unresolved feelings about both times, feel guilty that I count one more than the other, and miss one more than the other, and will probably never speak of it again.

*** Feel a desperate need to talk about something less serious, so will say that I will allow fear to run my TV watching habits, because Criminal Minds is still terrifying, but I watch it anyways.

this is happening.

2011-12-29T23:09:00.004-07:00

And by this, I mean blogging. I'm a little disgusted by how infrequent a blogger I've become. I wish I could blame future child entirely, but we all know that I always have some reason not to blog, usually involving T.V.

(Side note: I started watching How I Met Your Mother over the break, and it is embarrassing how close I am to being caught up. I like HIMYM. Is it not cool anymore? I live in a TV time warp.)

(Another side note: This blog post is coming to you in the form of No Delete Thursday. Which means barring a huge typo, or maybe even despite the huge typo, I'm not deleting anything I write. I'm that rusty at blogging. Apologies (or, if it is awesomely embarrassing,) You're Welcome, in advance.

It is weird that I always put off blogging because I really enjoy it. I like interacting with people, and I'm a glutton for attention. It is also a great way to kill time. Maybe my reluctance to blog stems from my superego trying to control the raging narcissist id that is my blogging persona.

Oh shit. Claiming to be a narcissist is what truly annoying narcissist bloggers do in an attempt to be cute. Oh, here is my one-millionth photo shoot of me doing mundane things! Bahaha, I'm such a narcissist, want to see what I wore c/o Anthro?

Damn you, No Delete Thursday, damn you to hell.

News and Updates

-Spouseman claims pregnancy doubles all pre-existing personality traits. Thus, I have become even more antisocial (I find myself avoiding social gatherings for no other reason than I worry about being homesick) and more easily enraged (I don't care if it is No Delete Thursday, I'm not telling you about some of my more awesome rage freak outs.) I'd feel bad for Spouseman, until I remember that not only am I the one rapidly gaining weight and going insane, it is also my job to push this kid out. So, really, dealing with an angry hermit is not that big a deal. Be grateful for that Y chromosome, friend.

Want to know the way I remember which gender has the XX chromosome and which has the XY? XX is the girl because it is closest to XXX which means porn stars, who, in my mind, for the purpose of memory-keeping, are all girls. Sexist? Yes. Even true? No. Meaning men are also porn stars, the part about XX and XY chromosomes is true. Slightly ashamed that I put that on the internet? Yes. But the integrity of No Delete Thursday lives on.

If this were one of my normal posts at this point I would

a. use a poem to help resolve my deeply rooted issues with the LDS church.

b. insert the word "damn" into another word (i.e. adamndorable.)

c. develop some form of conclusion/ask a question so I could wrap this up.

Clearly, this is not a normal post.

Side note: I really liked how people left comments on my last (non-deleted) post about what poems/bits of literature they have floating in their heads. Aren't words wonderful? I think you can tell a lot about a person based on what poem they keep in their heads. I think you can tell that they are awesome.

Anyway, as I've mentioned, I'm really angry sometimes when gestating. I told this to the person I Visit Teach, and she told me how she kicked in a door while pregnant with her second child. That made me feel really good, because I've done a lot of things (including throwing away any of my husband's church books that were written by Packer, Young, or McKonkie in a fit of church rage) but I haven't kicked in a door yet.

Spouseman, if you are reading this, I am sorry about throwing the books away without telling you. (Until now, on the internet.) In my defense, I could have said I threw away all your church books that were homophobic, sexist, or racist (in that order,) and I know you haven't read 90% of them anyway, nor do I think you have noticed their absence. Also, I refuse to look up how to spell McKonkie, but find my way very amusing.

Given that I just confessed to chucking (not even recycling, just chucking,) a bunch of Venerated Chruch Literature away, are you surprised to learn that I am a kickass Visiting Teacher? For real. I hardly ever miss a month. I've given up on many church-related rituals (either entirely, or else modified them so that they suit my needs,) but I'll be damned (if you are a TBM, you might take that literally,) if I don't visit my church sisters. I genuinely like Visiting Teaching, though. I like talking to people about kicking doors in while pregnant, and even having meaningful gospel related discussions without worrying if it is the right "church answer."

I think I would like church a lot more if there were more talk about how human we all are, and less talk about what will happen to people who have double-earrings in the Millennium. (Spoiler alert: Spirit Prison. Seriously, last time I went to Relief Society, one sweet sister was very adamant that this was Christ's chosen way of dealing with multiple piercings.)

Anyway, after typing the word "porn" out a whole lot, I think it is time to wrap this thing up. I should leave you all in order to read some of my fascinating pregnancy literature, but I will probably just join Ted Mosby in another quest to find his future wife. It's been a very fun No-Delete Thursday. Really, I mean that, and if I don't, there is nothing I can do about it anyway.

discuss the following:

2011-12-11T13:48:00.004-07:00

Every so often I get finicky and I delete blog posts. Nothing to see here.

and the soul felt its worth

2011-12-04T19:15:00.003-07:00

I like to think that all literature lovers are like me, and walk around with lines of poems repeating in their head. If this isn't true, don't tell me, I don't need any more evidence that I'm a little bit nuts.

When I'm stressed, the repeating line comes from e.e. cummings, "and staggered banged with terror through/a million billion trillion stars." Don't we all feel that way, at least some of the time? I've staggered my whole life, even more so now pregnant.

Recently, I remembered the words to the John Donne poem I studied in high school. "Batter my heart, three-personed God." I couldn't remember the rest of the poem, but remembered relating to it strongly when I was 17. (I was a weird 17 year old. I don't think many of my students relate on a personal level to John Donne.)

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy:
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Did you skim that? It is okay, you probably already graduated from high school. Essentially, the poem's speaker asks God to batter his heart, because his usual tactics to "knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend" are not enough to save his sinful soul. Instead, he needs God to "break, blow, burn, and make me new." Married to God's enemy (Satan,) the speaker asks God to "Imprison me...enthrall me....ravish me" in order to gain spiritual freedom.

Why did I like this poem? A poem about God raping (ravishing) a soul married to Satan in order to purify it sounds fundamentalist at best. But after re-reading the poem, I remembered the line that interested me as a senior: "Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend/ But is captived, and proves weak or untrue."

The idea that God gave us reason to defend us, but said reason is captive and weak in the mind of man made sense to my often unreasonable teenage self. I felt comforted by the fact that while I may sometimes misuse it, God had indeed given me reason.

Growing up, I was desperate to be Good, more specifically, I was desperate to be a Good Mormon. I felt often like my God-given reason had betrayed me, when I struggled to understand Church practices and doctrine that seemed to defy reason, and frankly didn't make sense. (Wait, I'm really more righteous than my 7 year old brother? And that is why he will someday have the priesthood?)

So I loved John Donne's plea to his three-personed God to batter his heart. The brute force of God would still be kinder than the mental beatings I gave myself every time I flippantly refused to accept that God sees homosexuality as a sin, or dared to believe a woman could choose to stay at home or work outside it and still be a good mother. If God could somehow break and bend my cognitive dissonance into a temple recommend, into perfect Mormon compliance, I would be happy.

Still, I distinctly remember postponing my Patriarchal blessing because I was afraid God would tell me what I already knew. He would reveal my secret heretical thoughts to the patriarch and my parents. Until God battered the rebellion out of me, the least I could do was pretend.

Maybe I should just stick to e.e. cummings.

I was thinking about John Donne while driving home yesterday, listening to Christmas music on the radio. I've changed my position on God, but I think John Donne did get one thing right: God gave us reason to protect us.

It wasn't rebellion or sin to question my role as a woman in this church, it was the reason that God gave me. It wasn't sin to love my fellow man, Gay or not Gay. It was perfectly, beautifully, reasonable. God never answered my prayer to batter my heart, because my heart, though broken, was perfect as it was. I knew this driving home, just as the lines of "Oh Holy Night" played through the radio:

"...Till he appeared, and the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices."

That thrill of hope sustains me, as I stagger and bang with terror through the million, billion, trillion stars that constitute being Mormon and not-so- Mormon at the same time, especially at Christmas. Pulling into my driveway, I let go of my guilt for the last time, and rejoiced. My soul felt its worth. Now, instead of fearing the beating of a three-personed God, I simply and sincerely hope that what they say about Christ is true.

His law is love, and his gospel is peace.

I think I'll be a clown

2011-11-17T17:05:00.000-07:00

"I think I'll be a clown when I get grown," said Dill. "Yes, sir, a clown.... There ain't one thing in this world I can do about folks except laugh, so I'm gonna join the circus and laugh my head off."

"You got it backwards, Dill," said Jem. "Clowns are sad, it's folks that laugh at them."

"Well, I'm gonna be a new kind of clown. I'm gonna stand in the middle of the ring and laugh at the folks." ~Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird,

Oh, internet.

People frequently ask me how I'm feeling, which is nice and very social-normish. I always feel like I'm disappointing them though, because I'm five months pregnant, and have nary a horror story. I feel fine. I threw up a few times, (once while driving to work, which required some orchestration since I didn't want to teach covered in barf.) and my pants don't fit.

People run through the checklist of possible symptoms, almost hopeful I'll say yes. Heartburn? No. Cramps? No. Just wait, it's coming! Okay. I'll wait. *

I feel like I'm disappointing them, frankly.

But if they spent less time asking me about my body, and more time asking about my head, I'd have a textbook worth of symptoms.

Where is the chapter in What To Expect When You are Expecting that explains what happens when a student at your school dies, and you spend the week with heartbroken students, and then you watch them struggle through a long and painful funeral. And then you go back to school the next week, feeling like you teach in a mausoleum.

I don't know about the books would say, but I say I get angry. I get mental heartburn, because I don't understand the senselessness of the whole thing. My heart cramps up with rage because I don't get to feel grief like a parent or friend. My role is to watch everyone struggle,and hope that if the situation arises, I say and do the right thing.

I get mad because I can't protect my goofy, funny, lovable students from tragedy. All I get to do is teach them about themes, foils, and character archetypes, and it doesn't feel like enough.

Remember, students, in To Kill a Mockingbird when Jem finds out that Nathan Radley filled up the hole in the tree with cement, so that Boo couldn't leave Jem and Scout gifts anymore, and Jem cries, but doesn't know why.

We never learn why Nathan Radley is so unnecessarily cruel, bent on taking away any source of happiness for Boo. We never learn why sad things happen, and it makes me mad.

I feel impatient, with little social manipulations and power struggles, with the day to day human interactions where no one says what they really mean, or what they really think, and we all just dance around each other.

I don't feel like myself, these days.

Oh. (That isn't what people want to hear.)

Do you get cramps?

No.

On Monday, during a fairly dry (by nature of the subject) discussion of The Federalist Papers one of my students started giggling uncontrollably. He couldn't stop. Like a hilarious virus, it spread, until everyone was shaking with quiet laughter and looking at me apologetically through happy tears.

I pretended to be very put-out. But secretly, I was happy not to be angry anymore. Happy to know that there is something (even if none of us knew what) to be laughing about. I hope I remember that, when this first little daughter of mine comes home hurt, or angry, or shattered because she doesn't feel quite like herself these days, and her friends think she's lost it.

There is still something to laugh about, I just don't know what, right now.

*Murphy's law says I will experience all of the above mentioned pregnancy ailments. Probably starting now.

MCB: emotional ranting until early April...and most assuredly beyond...

2011-11-07T21:30:00.004-07:00

Can I do an "all call" to the internet asking for a bit of a break? Recently I got two "trigger" comments, comments that were not intended to be mean, but sort of made my overly sensitive soul hurt. One was on a very old post claiming that me/commenters on the blog didn't appreciate motherhood, especially SAHMhood.

I'm so tired of being told I don't like SAHMS. I like SAHMS. If you are a SAHM, odds are I like you. Good job. Is that what you want?

Said comment then proceeds to tell us all how it is much harder to be a SAHM than a working mom. (Do they have an acronym yet, the working moms?) Ask anyone, they say, it is way easier to go into work.

Because what the world needs now isn't love sweet love, but apparently yet another line drawn between women, another stupid gauntlet thrown on who has the hardest life. How about we all put our hands in a circle and agree that being a woman is hard sometimes. Having kids is hard, not having kids is hard. Working is hard, unemployment is hard, SAHMing is hard, and working moming it is hard. But it is all probably pretty wonderful, at times.

And aren't we so damn lucky that we even get to have this conversation, however belabored? That some of us are lucky enough to SAHM when we want to, and some of us are lucky enough to work and still be moms, if we want to. And really, I suppose the only truly hard thing is not having any choices at all. That. Is. The. Hardest.

The which-very-privileged-life-is-hardest argument exhausts me. So stop it. Stop saying things like "I decided my kids were more important than work" crap. Because the equation for working or not working isn't as simple as math equations where x is greater than y and kids equal x for some and work for others.
Likewise, stop trying to make SAHMhood seem like eternal drudgery for the spotless mind. It is insulting, smart people SAHM all the time. Your paycheck is not a qualitative reflection of your IQ, it is a reflection of a choice. Stop trying to make insulting a SAHM's intelligence happen. Like "fetch," it never will.

Why is the idea of "different strokes for different folks" so difficult to live by? It rhymes! Doesn't that make it easier to remember?

I want to know what exactly we gain from comments intended to belittle those who didn't make our same choice. Does it feel good to put the gold star on all by yourself?

I'm pregnant*, and I don't know if I'm going to SAHM or work, part time or full time. I expect I will do all of the above, at various times. Did you know you can work for my school district .78 time? or .625 time? Does that mean I'm only .22* of a mom? or .375? That I love this kid 3738494% less if I work? If I don't work does it mean I think Moms who do love their kids less than me? What if I confess that I want to keep working? What if I confess that I don't?

If I work, my kids will have a role model who shows them how wide the world is, how it is possible to balance the seemingly impossible (however imperfectly, at times.) If I don't work, my kids will have a role model who shows them how wide the world is, how it is possible to balance the seemingly impossible (still imperfectly.) The ratio of things balanced might be different- family, work, self-identity, but they all add up to the same thing: You have a choice.

My kids will know that feminism means choices. I like to joke** with my students that math is a pointless subject that they will never use in real life, because real life can't be determined by "less than" or "greater than," and especially by "no solution" Life isn't math, and parenthood isn't math. It is making the best choice for you and yours, and not leaving passive -aggressive comments on the internet that make pregnant women want to stab you with the pee-stick she promised never to display on the internet.

It probably isn't very fun, being fair and being kind, and giving people the benefit of the doubt, and you don't feel like you got a gold star at the end. But if x is greater than y, I'd say that x is not having a pee stick lodged in your sternum, and y is having that self-applied gold star because you claim to love your kids the mostest/ you're too smart to just parent.

Do that math.

*Yep. Not as awesome as Beyonce's announcement, but the hormones released writing this post should mean I get to avoid the "fake pregnancy" conspiracy thwarting my beloved B.

** Totally a joke! Math is important! Girls can do it just as well as boys, as it turns out! Hurray math! Can you use it to build me a time machine?

a rant mcranterson

2011-10-29T23:29:00.002-06:00

There is no other purpose in this post except to give a short rant, based on a book synopsis I read while browsing Barnes and Noble online. Seriously, that is what this is and I understand if you want to skip.

It is the end of first quarter, and I am exhausted. I'm teaching three different grade levels this year, co-advising National Honor Society, and trying desperately hard to meet the needs of all of my students.

But despite my best efforts, I cannot reach all of them. Of my six classes, my smallest is a class of 27 sophomores. My largest is class of 40 seniors. Take a minute to imagine how long grading essays takes.

This is not to say I hate my job. I like/love my job. I do, most of the time. I feel like I am a good teacher, and each year I improve. I want to be better every year. I may not be able to reach each student, but I feel like it is my obligation to try.

I am however, tired of books and movies (sometimes written about or by teachers) that tell me my obligation is to give up my entire life in order to teach. Apparently, in order to be a good teacher I am supposed to give up on my marriage and my family, spend every waking moment focusing on teaching, and sacrifice any sense of personal self. For less pay than the manager at McDonalds.

Furthermore, these books/movies never seem to tell the whole story. An elementary school teacher at a charter school has all 19 of his students reading on the college level. Fantastic, but how many of those kids were severely special-needs? Or learning English as a second language? Also, ever notice how long these teachers actually teach? Two or three years before they quit to write their teaching memoir.

Even if the teacher has a class-load similar to mine, and just as many students, with just as many disabilities, is it unreasonable to still assume that every situation is different?

I believe in high standards for teachings. I'm angry at bad teachers for the same reasons you are. It denies students a right to a quality education, which they deserve. It puts an added burden on good teachers to catch up students after a year with a lousy one. I get it. Along with higher pay, I'm entirely fine with raising and maintaining standards for educators. Also, as a side note, if you want me to personally tutor each and every student every day, you might not want to give me 27-40 of them per class. Just a thought.

So next time you read a book, watch a documentary on some teacher who has their students over at her house every night doing practice ACT exams, remember that there is a difference between high standards, and committing emotional and physical suicide for your job.

I won't be able to be a good teacher if I burn out after two years because I'm living at my school. I help no one if I'm angry all day at school because I stayed up until midnight in order to grade essays the day I receive them. I'm a better person, and teacher when I wait a day to grade and spend some time outside instead. Outside! Can you believe it?

Last Tuesday I came to school at 6:45 am. I left at 7:20 pm after teaching all day, grading all afternoon, and putting on the NHS Induction Ceremony. Unusual? Yes. But fairly indicative of how much work goes into working at a public school.

Despite all this effort, some of my students still failed this quarter. I truly believe there was nothing I could do. Especially for the student who came to class three times last quarter, and earned 9% in my class,

But if you believe the "inspirational" movies and books, I should have been at that student's house every morning, driving him to school. I should have spent every day after school re-teaching my entire curriculum, so that this student could pass. Then I should have held his hand every day and walked him to each class, and made sure that he stayed and turned in all his assignments. In between classes, I could maybe wipe his nose, and tie his shoes.

And at the end of the quarter he would have passed all his classes, and Ivy League colleges would want to give him scholarships. He would stand dramatically on his desk on the last day of school, and pledge his loyalty to me, "Oh Captain! My Captain!"

And then I'd return home, to my husband who I haven't seen all year, burnt out and exhausted, and deciding to quit teaching after two years to write my inspirational novel, where I lecture other teachers on creating Freedom whatsits, or how to teach with their hair on fire, or wait for superman, blah blah blah.

I admire teachers who make a difference. But not as much as I admire the teachers who make a difference and have a life outside the school. Why? Because those teachers stick around. Thirty years later*, they never have a book deal, they've failed some of their students, but they are still there. They are good teachers, getting better every year, and making a difference a thousand times over.

If no one stands on their desk reciting poetry in my honor, I'll survive.

Rant over. Thanks for playing.

*I know that time teaching isn't an indicator of greatness, I've worked with crappy 30 year teachers. But I do think that a good teacher who makes teaching part of their life, but not their entire life, becomes a better long term teacher.

Now I'm really done.

For real?

I hear that one inspirational teacher with the book is kind of a bitch in real life.

Just kidding. I'm done.

not like riding a bike

2011-10-23T20:36:00.004-06:00

Hi interwebs.

In case you were wondering, blogging is not like riding a bike. I keep opening the new post window, and can't think of what to say. What did I used to talk about?

TV
Mormon rage
Teens

All of those things are still an important part of my life, I just forgot how to write about them in a way that is even remotely amusing. Also, I think somehow I lost a lot of my funny. Sometime last year. I now replace funny with profanity. Shit. Damn. Hell. Pretend I told a joke instead, if swears offend you.

If swears offend you, why are you reading my blog? If you are reading my blog because you get some sick high from being pissed off at strangers online...well good on you. I totally do that too. Except instead of swears I get pissed off at things like not acknowledging privilege (Everyone could be as successful as me if they just tried harder,) and not so subtle hints about their husband's income (Even though he works for my dad, Hubs is totally a self-made man.)

But it is okay, according to the gospel of Stephanie, to read blogs just because they sort of piss you off. Sometimes feeling superior is the best medicine, and also cheap, and doesn't require health insurance.

In case you haven't noticed, my ADD is out of control this year. Most of the time, I consider my ADD under control. It has been under control since college, when I got to pick my classes and schedule, and really loved what I was studying. Despite scary pamphlets, I've managed to get multiple degrees, get married, have friends, and stay employed. ADD/Mischief managed.

Recently though, I've really struggled. I feel like I'm re-learning skills that I thought I had mastered. Things like Remembering Deadlines and Staying Organized. It is funny how these things come back and haunt you.

Managing my ADD though has re-taught me a few things though:

1. I am not my ADD. I am still a good teacher and person, even though I've hit a rough spot. I have a student who was recently diagnosed with ADHD, and his mom is very worried, even though he does well in school/life. I think she has forgotten that her kid is the same kid as before, just with more awareness of how his brain works. I'm already pretty damn aware of how my brain works, so suck it ADD. I will manage the hell out of you.

2. ADD means my desk will never be organized, but (some of) my lessons will be awesome.

Remember when I told you I couldn't get into Modern Family? I keep forgetting to tell you that I have repented. Modern Family is really funny. Please don't tell me it isn't cool anymore, or how the second season just isn't as funny. My heart can't handle it. I really like Cam.

So. Checklist. Teens. Done. TV. Done. Mormon rage? I will give a pass for today, since it seems to freak my Mom out sometimes. Uchtdorf is hot, even if I don't like being compared to flowers. That isn't rage, just a personal preference.

What is new with you? Catch me up on the most awesome parts of your life.

the people who make them.

2011-09-29T22:26:00.007-06:00

When studying culture and civilization in my Humanities class we often discuss Zora Neal Hurston’s quote “Gods always behave like the people who make them.” The Greeks, obsessed with the human form made human Gods, complete with man-made foibles: jealousy, rage, passion.

Sumerians, perhaps terrified of a world they did not understand planted wide-eyed prayer figurines in their temples. Ensuring a constant source of prayer to the mysterious and unintelligible heavens. Different worlds, different customs, but always complete with a matching set of Gods.

I don’t care much for the Old Testament God, who alternately destroys and saves at whim. Kill your son, Abraham! Or not. I will take everything away from you Job, but give it back once I win this bet with Satan. Locusts for some children and manna for others.

Then, somewhere along the line, the Judeo-Christian God became a single-parent. What were we thinking, when we gave up our right to the Divine Feminine?

When I start to wonder what redeeming qualities can exist in a species that creates horrific Gods, I remember that amongst all our violent and vengeful Gods, we create kind and loving ones. Patron Goddesses of childbirth, Gods that lead us to enlightenment, Shiva does not just destroy, but transforms. A God who sends his son to save us all. Gods who I must believe still speak to us, in some form or another. If you believe Hurston, believe that people create Gods that behave like their creators, then we humans cannot be all bad.

However, Hurston also warns us that “Anybody depending on somebody else's gods is depending on a fox not to eat chickens.”

For years, I relied on somebody else’s God. A patriarchal one, who denied blessing to some, changed his mind regarding others, and tells me that one family is better, or more real, than another. He was a scary God. At times, this God seemed less concerned about my soul and more concerned about the number of holes in my ears. Someone else’s God, but I depended on him until my yard was filled with bloody chicken carcasses. People told me God wanted it this way. We knew this because it has always been this way. Would the God we created ever lead us astray?

But Gods always behave like the people who make them.

We are patriarchal, we change our mind on who receives blessings, and when. We define our families by what is familiar, clinging to stability in an uncertain time. We deify tradition, and culture, and we care a lot about earrings. We make Gods to match our values and shirk change, afraid of insulting our creation.

So when there was nothing left, I remade my Gods. I threw out the carcasses, and I went back for the mother I didn’t know I left behind. I reacquainted myself with the Father who sent his son. I felt peace.

I worry though, often, that my Gods can be no more or less real than the others we create. How do I know the God who created me, the one who made me in their image?

Through raising new hatchling beliefs, I’ve learned that I know I’ve found God by the way I treat others. When I am kind, I recognize some part of God in me. When I forgive, I remember that a divine God forgives, and a man-made God seeks revenge. I am God-like when I love my enemy, transcendent when I choose peace. When I seek out other travelers, sometimes hurt on the side of the road, I am too busy to create a false God.

After all, God was here all along, waiting to be found.

please excuse Stephanie

2011-09-25T10:43:00.003-06:00

When my students are late for class, they have the office make them an official-looking note explaining why they are late. It looks all legit, but I know the office ladies are kind, and my students wiley, and that the label "personal" can mean "at a very important appointment" just as easily as "I used my mom's phone to call and say I was sick."

I guess I'm confessing that if blogger made notes excusing neglectfulness, mine would probably include a stupid fake reason. Mostly that I have been feeling grumpy and ragey, and not in a productive way. Waking up at the butt-crack of dawn to teach Hawthorne will do that to you.

Also? I logged on and blogger was all changed and re-formatted. The hell? I hate change in my technology and social media. Remember when you needed a college email account to join facebook? Grumble, grumble.

Clearly, I'm a little rusty in my blogging. A list of random and incoherent thoughts to jump-start the process.

Things that make me judgey because I am a grumpy and sleep-deprived buzz-kill these days:

1. I maintain very complex feelings about the Dance Company portraits hanging up by the Gym at my school. Most of the individual portraits are girls exhibiting their favorite dance move, which I'm sure looks stunning for the split second it exists on stage. Captured on film? Well... there are a lot of in-your-face crotch shots and a lot of heads titled back so you can't see their faces.

Part of me says the photos over-sexualize 16 year old girls. Can't you take a nice picture in a less dramatic pose? One that shows your face, maybe?

The other part of me worries that I am body-policing and slut-shaming girls who are simply celebrating their body and it's capacity for self-expression. Gross boys be damned, they have a right to do whatever they want. The problem is with me, not the photos.

I don't even know. Thoughts?

2. Sometimes, a funny thing happens when you and your child-bride spouses and peers start to grow out of adorable child-bride-and-groomness and into real adulthood. When we were all barely off missions and still in college, most of us were desperate enough to realize we didn't know what in the Sam Hill we were doing, and were therefore content to hang out in our crappy apartments and go to free concerts.

Now that most said peers are nearing their thirties, I'm noticing a disturbing trend I call "Sudden Desire to Be My Parentsitis." It is a silent social killer. You know your friends have it when they start combing over their hair, even when not balding, and start bemoaning the "youth of today." Suddenly everything is a sign of the damn times, and they are purging their R-rated movies, and wanting to discuss modesty*, as well as their recently acquired 401K. When did hanging out turn into a Righteousness Fest? I don't like it. Also, I don't think people who were dry humping their now wife and mother to three-children a mere 4-5 years ago have any business criticizing the "youth of today."

However, I get to criticize my peers because I am sometimes guilty of SDTBMPitis. I find the cure is self-awareness, occasional bouts of immaturity (like spending unreasonable amounts of money on sour candy at Winco,) and swearing profusely. There is a cure, dammit!

Anyway. This is getting embarrassing. Kids these days.

*Discussing Modesty as in "Girls who dress like that make it difficult for my son to focus in sacrament meeting" not "What's the deal with Church and shaming girls into being accountable for men's behavior?" I will participate in one discussion of modesty, not the other.

waiting with their light

2011-09-11T13:14:00.000-06:00

If there is ever a day to post a poem...

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

— Wendell Berry

Hoping that each of us can take a moment to rest in the grace of the world, and be free.

notes from the salt mines (now with photos)

2011-08-29T15:59:00.003-06:00

Well. That was an unintentional blogging break, now wasn't it? It is now the second week of school, and here is what you non-teen interactors are missing:

- Harem pants are actually a thing. I was hoping they would stay trapped in the realm of back-up dancers in music videos, but alas, they are worn by girls who list "Seminary" as their favorite class. I think you can determine how mainstream something has become when conservative Mormon girls accept it as normal. And yes, I saw one tuck her EFY t-shirt into said pants. I miss pre-distressed denim now.

-More alarming, Hugh Hefner style slippers are in now too. How did that happen?

-Last year, I grew fascinated my a set of twins I saw wandering about, and I hoped I would have one or both of them in my class. They just looked so other-worldly and creepy, with their dyed black hair, multiple piercings, and dinner-plate size ear gauges. As luck would have it, I do have one of them this year, and he is very nice. I've since noticed that when they walk together, they walk so close that their shoulders touch, and they lean inward to talk. More endearingly, they subconsciously (I assume) match their strides, looking like the winners of the three-legged race at the annual Goth and Alternative music convention. I don't know why but the image makes me feel all warm inside.

Signs you will do well as a high school teacher: You find yourself fascinated by people others would not want to meet in a dark alley, and you find brotherly affection twixt teens adamndorable.

-I am teaching two Honors English classes, and find the eager-beaver mentality of some of my students off-putting. Where is the challenge in teaching a kid who triple checks his work? I'm used to reluctant learners, but shall carry the burden of working with over-achievers, somehow, if I must.

We can discuss the hideousness of harem pants, among other things, in the comments, if you would like.

But Brutus is an honorable man

2011-08-16T18:58:00.002-06:00

Years of reading and watching romantic comedies taught me the following: the words "Do we have to put a label on it?" are the kiss-of-death in budding relationships. If you aren't willing to label your love, you aren't ready for a happy ending. You've got to be able to commit to the thing relatively early if you want to last the full 118 minutes, or 341 pages.

I suppose I also learned this lesson in high school, when I, or a significant other inevitably proposed a "DTR," an awkward chat designed to "Define the Relationship," to "put a label on it."

Thus, I am found of labels. My relationship as a wife is labeled by law, and irrational or not, I enjoy the institution of marriage and the label in a form of a marriage certificate.

I am equally proud of my label as a teacher, my teaching license and the degrees allowing me to continue my almost unholy worship at the shrine of literature and words, and get paid.

Those papers and labels remind me that I am committed. Committed to my spouse and my career, and myself.

Despite the lack of official looking cards (which I really want, by the way,) I very much associate myself with the label of feminist. Even though I don't always agree with every incarnation, or every other feminist, the overall cause is important enough to me, important enough to willingly embrace a label. Even when that label associates me with a minority few that "hate men" or burn bras.

The label of feminist reminds me of the inherent worth of every human being, of myself, and of my choices. Feminism allowed me to marry not out of economic or social need, and to teach out of devotion to education, not because it used to be one of the few "female friendly" jobs in a world with a low glass ceiling. Sometimes, I identify so strongly as a feminist that I get annoyed when other equality-minded people do not. I am aware that this is a little irrational. But truly, do you not want to commit for the long haul? Get the happy ending? Don't you know that you can be a feminist even if feminism isn't a perfect social movement? Or are you going to lecture me on the failed institution of marriage, I mean, feminism.

I guess that is the thing about labels, what they represent doesn't need to be perfect in order to be good.

Despite my affection for labels, and my belief that perfection isn't necessary for goodness, I still hesitate to embrace any label concerning my religion. To clarify, I am quite able to embrace some aspects of the LDS label. The Of Jesus Christ part is easy, Christianity, like feminism, reminds me of the inherent worth of every human being. But the Of Latter-Day-Saints part troubles me at times. It's the cognitive dissonance keeping me up at night. The LDS label reminds me of ideas I value: family, charity, humanitarianism, while simultaneously reminding me of ideas I don't: exclusion of certain types of family, Victorian gender roles, and a degree of group-think (more kindly referred to as "Mormon Culture,") that could make Orwell shudder.

But what about embracing labels even when they are imperfect? Don't you want to commit for the long haul? Don't you know you can be a Mormon even if it isn't a perfect religion? Or are you going to lecture me on the failed institution of marriage, I mean organized religion.

Like the romantic partner unwilling to "define the relationship," because they aren't sure of the future, perhaps labels in religion are not always effective. Labeling something assigns it a degree of stasis, permanence that can be rewarding and reassuring, but can also close the door to change, halt evolution, and lead to stagnation. I like labels that help reaffirm who I am, but not when they define me entirely.

While I always want to be a wife, an educator/amateur thinker, an advocate for human equality, I do not know if I want the stasis that comes from the label of religion. I'm not saying I don't want to attend church ever again, or that I have nothing to learn or gain from my LDS background. I'm simply saying I want the luxury of choice. Can I become some incarnation of LDS without being LDS? Can one be Of Jesus Christ always, but Of Latter-Day-Saints in part?

There is one thing I do know: labels are easier. That is certain.

But not all who wander are lost. (Tolkien.)

snooze button panic button

2011-08-08T15:06:00.002-06:00

There is a single blog that I read in order to keep relatively up-to-date on things I am interested/invested in: politics, feminism, race relations, education. Doesn't that sound like a dream blog? All that information all in one place?

I unsubscribed from that blog two weeks ago, because I felt it was crowding up my reader. Then I felt extremely guilty. I have a whole separate file for sewing and craft blogs, and another for read-to-mock lunatics, but I can't handle a single grown-up blog? I re-subscribed.

But the blog is making me stressed. Ten posts on how the economy is going to hell? Five posts promising that my kids will probably be fighting in Iraq by the time they are 19? Rape and bigotry 60 years after the Civil Rights movement and Women's lib?

Shit. SHIT.

Forget the stress of resuming teaching in two weeks, is there even going to be a planet in 10 years? (According to said blog, probably not, and if so, will be run by Republican zombies.)

I'm feeling anxious and stressed, and I don't know where the line is. As a human, and especially as an educator, I feel obligated to be relatively well informed about the world around me. I do not want to be yet another ugly blissfull and ignorant American buying luxury goods when people in my own country can't afford groceries.

But I cannot read one more article on how corporate America indirectly supports Rape-culture, or how we are entering another Great Depression (but without the hero-making WWII panacea.) I find myself struggling to sleep at night because haven't you heard? We are all going to be jobless in two months.

So what do I do? Keep reading my happy sewing blogs? Occasionally pick up a Time and hope for the best? Accept my role as a future minion of the well-coiffed* Zombie Republicans?

Talk me through this.

*I bet you can guess who the president is in that scenario, long-term readers.

Gluten-free Mormonism

2011-08-01T11:12:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, it is easy to enter a Zen-like* state during church meetings. A lot of the stuff, while sometimes meaningful and faith-affirming is simply a repeat of last weeks, months, and years meetings. In Relief Society, I had just settled into my center, breathing slowly to the familiar mantras spoken by the instructor: Faith is like a seed, there is always one conference talk that I believe was "just for me," conference is intended to comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable, so it is important that we don't become "Cafeteria Mormons" who try and pick and chose what doctrines to follow....

Hold the phone.

What does it mean to be a "Cafeteria Mormon?"

Like the title implies, a "Cafeteria Mormon" is someone who doesn't like the "yucky" food that comes with the Lunch Of Mormonism. For instance, a Cafeteria Mormon probably tries to pass on the brussel sprouts of tithing, and goes instead for seconds on the "yummy" stuff like Ward Ball and Super Saturday. Bad, bad, Cafeteria Mormon! You cannot go to recess (Celestial Kingdom) unless you eat the brussel sprouts (pay tithing.)

There are several things wrong with the Cafeteria Mormon analogy, starting with the basic assumption that if you do not clean your plate, you aren't a "true" Mormon. But if we extend the analogy even further, it reveals some disturbing ideas about what it means to eat in the LDS cafeteria:

1. God is a grumpy lady in a hairnet, who does not care about your individual nutrition needs or desires; you are simply one of many "customers," who paid for the same meal as everyone else. If you want special treatment, or need an extra serving of mercy, grace, or forgiveness, you're out of luck. The God of the Cafeteria does not see every sparrow that falls, or number the hairs on your head.

2. Not only is there no accommodation for those who would like some extra chocolate pudding of the Atonement, but there is no recognition of individual allergies, implying that an inability to digest certain foods is a faith issue, not a blessing of personal revelation.

For the record, I am allergic to modesty lessons that teach people certain body parts are "bad” and set-in-stone life "roles" based on gender. I cannot tolerate the gluten found in polygamy (Apparently, most people are born moderately gluten-intolerant, but their body adapts over time..)

I wish the cafeteria would serve more talks by Uchtdorf, and am sad the cafeteria seems out of talks Elder Faust. I loved that man.

3. The Cafeteria does not serve "spicy" food very often. "Spicy" food must be cleared by a priesthood holder, does not pray in General Conference. It is naturally more "spiritual" than regular food, and therefore doesn't need to be served very often, even in the Young Women manual.

4. Even when laced with preservatives, all food eventually goes bad. You wouldn't eat moldy canned tomatoes, so why do some members still claim the counsel against inter-racial marriage and women working outside the home as their favorite food? We have fresh tomatoes now! President Hinckley and Elder Cook grew them outside in their gardens! They may even be organic...

Trying to eat both the moldy and fresh tomatoes leads to indigestion. There is no shame in passing on the moldy food in favor of the fresh stuff, especially when polygamy is involved.

Lastly, the "Cafeteria Mormon" analogy is flawed since we all know Cafeteria food is bad for you. Eating all of it simply means you ate a lot of preservatives in the form of frozen chicken nuggets. Not exactly what we want to be serving under the auspices of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

In reality, the best cooked meals are made from scratch, using fresh ingredients, and cooked al dente. When you make your own food, you can use as much spice as you want, and just a pinch of the stuff you don't want. You can be a vegetarian, should your own personal revelation guide you there. You can use recipes passed down by people that love you, or create your own. Either way, when you pray over the food, you can rest assured that it wasn't made by an angry lady in a hairnet, but with the aid of Heavenly Parents that care about your nutrition.

And know that you are allergic to polygamy.

i can't decide if lyla is a mediocre actor, or a mediocre character....

2011-07-28T22:17:00.002-06:00

Confession: I usually skip out on The Bachelor or The Bachelorette after the hometown dates. It is just boring after all the crazies go home, and everyone pretends to be nice, and that they really are falling in love. I do however, love the "Women/Men Tell All," because the crazies come back. I also feel like the show gets boring after the hometowns because there are simply not enough people to participate in the insane dates that have nothing to do with building relationships. Wrestling! Boat racing! Gathering of a suitable dowry! Ritual animal sacrifices! You aren't really ready and open for love unless you are willing to face your fears of paganism! Okay, I'm exaggerating. I told you the show gets boring....

Tangent: My sister Laura and I were recently discussing lame excuses people use to justify bad behavior. Things like "I didn't know you felt that way," after being called out for saying something insulting. This excuse implies that most people don't feel bad when being treating poorly, being insulted, etc., and that you are sort of crazy for being upset.

Similar, and used frequently on the internet, is the "I didn't understand the context" excuse. Oh, I didn't know this wasn't a site for insulting the writer, my bad! This excuse implies that the behavior is somehow okay in other contexts, and that the bad behavior was simply a mistake.

I never buy this particular excuse, but my sister said it best with this analogy: "Claiming they didn't understand the context is like saying 'Sorry I pooped on your face, I didn't realize your head wasn't a toilet.' No. Not okay."

Helpful hint for online interactions: there isn't really a context in which face pooping is okay, or nasty online comments.

Obsession: After a disappointing run with watching Make it or Break it on Netflix, I decided Friday Night Lights would be my summer show of choice. Best decision ever. Matt pretending to be his Grandpa to calm down his elderly Grandma! Anything Landry! Tim Riggins! Tami Taylor!

In fact, I think Tami is my favorite character. Behold her response to a whiner student caught cheating:

"It's my job to make sure you don't grow up stupid. It's bad for the world."

Can I commandeer that for my own personal use? Also, "Clear eyes, full heart, can't lose!"

Any confessions, tangents, or obsessions you want to discuss?

we will probably end up feeding them or something

2011-07-24T00:21:00.001-06:00

While driving home, stopped at a light, Spouseman and I watch some Elder missionaries cross the street. I quickly avert my eyes. Like whole wheat bread and G rated movies, anything that wholesome makes me immediately uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, Spouseman honks, and leans across me to wave.

The fact that we like each other is a constant reminder of a miraculous God. Miraculous, with a healthy appreciation for situational irony.

Can this soapbox be saved?

2011-07-18T22:15:00.002-06:00

A potentially preachy soapbox! Maybe your FHE needs some spice?

On the whole, I'm not a huge fan of gendered statements. The whole "men are from Mars, women are from Venus," stuff. Not because I don't acknowledge differences between men and women, but because I don't see those differences as interplanetary. For example, say we use a scenario oft found in women's magazines:

Woman has a problem. Men hear about the problem and offer a solution, infuriating the woman who didn't want a solution, just a listener. Enter a bunch of "Can this Marriage be Saved" hijinks, fade out on Lucy and Ricky hugging it out. Lucy promises to tell Ricky how he can best respond to her problem, Ricky promises to listen. Yay!

I understand how that scenario is appealing, and how many, maybe even most, women and men identify with it. So I'm not going to say it isn't valid in some cases. However, I would not go as so far to say that men always want a solution, and women always want a listener. Sometimes men like listeners too, and saying otherwise implies that they are just Tarzan -like doers that must be trained to listen. Sometimes women like solutions, and saying otherwise implies that women aren't solution oriented.

Gendered language bothers me because it easily dissolves into exclusionary language. A person's masculinity or femininity shouldn't be defined by a series of black and white statements.*

Surprisingly though, the previous paragraphs are not my "main" soapbox today. In fact, it is just a cleverly disguised disclaimer for a gendered statement I'm about to make:

(Some)women are mean. We've all watched it on TV (Tina Fey** at least makes it funny,) read about it books, and most importantly, experienced in real life: the girl-on-girl woman-on-woman hate that eats at our souls and makes men call us "crazy."

(Some) women are mean, but I don't think it is an innate behavior. I don't think women are born mean, or that there is something in about double X chromosomes that make us meaner than our XY counterparts. (Evidence: High school, where I've seen boys gossip, and girls sport black eyes.)

I do however, believe that we live in a culture that encourages women to be mean, especially in areas relating to physical appearance. For instance, in my experience, a man calling a woman fat is generally thought of as a pig, but if a girl makes a comment on how "She shouldn't be wearing those pants" well, that's okay. It is especially okay if done in a funny and sarcastic way, or by a very pretty girl.

Other areas in which it is okay for a woman to pass judgement on a woman's body:

Breastfeeding without a cover (Gross! You're making me feel uncomfortable!)
Pale skin (If you can't tone it, at least tan it!)
Anything over a size four (Ewwww, muffin tops!)
Clothing not found, or at least similar to, clothing found in magazines. (Frumpy!)
Personal Hygiene routines that do not feature razors, waxers, and make-up prominently (It is your job to use these so that men will like you!)
"Immodest" clothing (Slut!)

I know it is socially acceptable to mock these things because I've been guilty of it, and gotten away with it. Past selves have made comments on how she's "let herself go" or "gotten big" or "frumpy." I've said it, but seeing in crop up, and even celebrated in the blogosphere makes it seem less funny than the Means Girls sequel, and more depressing than, well, the Mean Girls sequel.

The idea that our foremothers would fight for control over their own bodies, only to have their granddaughters dissect them on a limited and superficial scale...it is just mean, and it ought to stop. I don't think girls develop negative self-image simply from seeing air-brushed photo on Cosmo, they develop negative self-image from the women who tell them they are failures for not looking like the images they see.

So here's the deal, from now on, I'm not going to-

1. Tell you how often you need to shower, wash your hair, shave your legs, or wax, in order to be "attractive" or even "clean." I will trust that you know your body, and what it wants. This also includes comments about how much or little you need to weigh in order to make me happy.

2. Tell you that your husband, boyfriend, significant other, or partner "deserves" a version of you that requires you to alter your physical appearance. If you want to wear make-up, wax yourself bald, and strut in high-heels, I salute you, but not because it will make your husband happy. Because it makes you happy. Apparently.

3. If you chose not to cover up your body while feeding a baby, I will realize that I too have control over my own body and mind. I can chose whether to see boobs as "awkward" and "gross," or I can chose to see it as natural. Thinking breastfeeding is gross doesn't make it gross. Making comments about how disgusted you are is gross.

After all Lindsay-Lohan-acting-as-Caddy-written-by-Tina-Fey said it best,

"And that's when I realized,making fun of Caroline Krafft wouldn't stop her from beating me in this contest."

So from the vaguely- hippie- liberal -soapboxers- who -sometimes- forget- to- shower to the shower- nazis-grossed-out-by-bus-breastfeeding-moms-plastics: making fun of us won't stop us from beating you in this contest.

What? I said we shouldn't be mean, not doormats.

* Including statements about providing and nuturing, but you already know how I feel about that.

**Tina Fey is not mean, Regina George is mean.

Controversial post check-list: Gender relations? Check. Breastfeeding? Check. Soapbox? Check. What am I missing, what am I missing? Oh, right: BENTLEY WILLIAMS IS A JERK.

a million billion trillion stars

2011-07-12T17:28:00.003-06:00

I'm stuck in an airport for 5 hours. It is time for some poems.

a man who had fallen among thieves, e.e. cummings

a man who had fallen among thieves
lay by the roadside on his back
dressed in fifteenthrate ideas
wearing a round jeer for a hat

fate per a somewhat more than less
emancipated evening
had in return for consciousness
endowed him with a changeless grin

whereon a dozen staunch and Meal
citizens did graze at pause
then fired by hypercivic zeal
sought newer pastures or because

swaddled with a frozen brook
of pinkest vomit out of eyes
which noticed nobody he looked
as if he did not care to rise

one hand did nothing on the vest
its wideflung friend clenched weakly dirt
while the mute trouserfly confessed
a button solemnly inert.

Brushing from whom the stiffened puke
i put him all into my arms
and staggered banged with terror through
a million billion trillion stars

I memorized a this poem once, at a time where I felt certain my life would consist of nothing but staggering and banging through existence, filled with terror. I found it comforting that if this were true, I at least would do it through the stars. I also really loved the unbuttoned button, personified and "solemnly inert." I've never buttoned an article of clothing the same way after this poem.

I also love the twist on the good Samaritan story. Most of us would help an innocent victim on the side of the road, but it is harder to help the drunk man covered in puke, pink vomit oozing from his eyes.

There have been a great many self-inflicted drunks in my life, and I haven't always chosen to pick them up and carry them through the stars. It is overwhelming, sometimes, to think of having to treat people kindly, not just through a million stars, but through a million billion trillion stars.
And because it is a literary Sophie's Choice to talk about only one e.e. cummings poem, here's another:

a total stranger one black day

a total stranger one black day
knocked living the hell out of me--

who found forgiveness hard because
my(as it happened)self he was

-but now that fiend and i are such
immortal friends the other's each

I like the jumbled words, a result of having "knocked living the hell out of me--" Eventually though, we forgive ourselves, our immortal friend. Despite the fact that our more rational selves, a total stranger on our blackest days, sometimes knock living the hell out of us.

My Planned Parenthood Story: Mormon Child Bride Edition

2011-07-07T21:50:00.003-06:00

As many of you know, I got married when I was 20 years old. What most of you may not know is the health insurance battle we went through during our first year of our marriage. We were a few months away from our college graduations, and every single private health insurance company had rejected our applications. Too many pre-existing conditions. Well, one company accepted us, they wanted to charge us an arm and a leg for partial coverage. We were unemployed, uninsured, and uncertain.

A few months into our marriage, my prescription for birth control (the one I had when I was unmarried and insured under my parents,) expired. I couldn't afford birth control without insurance, let alone an annual exam. I made an appointment at Planned Parenthood, covering my unease with jokes about driving to the "ghetto" Planned Parenthood in downtown SLC. My unease was rooted in the fear-filled rumors I'd heard growing up in a very conservative environment. Planned Parenthood was dirty, disease-ridden, and determined to force an abortion on every unsuspecting young woman in the valley. I wanted to get in, get my birth control, and get out.

But I was wrong. The people at Planned Parenthood treated me with respect and kindness, more so than many of the doctors who treated me previously, who often lectured me on getting married young, and insulted me for not being "smart enough" to be insured. In contrast, Planned Parenthood walked me through all my birth-control options, and helped me stay healthy, both emotionally and physically, when no one else would.

When the health-care system rejected me, Planned Parenthood kept me informed, and helped me understand my own body. They helped my husband and I make the best choices for our situation: (young, unemployed, uninsured students.) They got to know me as an individual when insurance companies saw me only as a liability. They didn't care about my pre-existing conditions, they cared about me.

I believe in Planned Parenthood. I believe in men and women making informed, smart decisions about their bodies and overall reproductive health. I respect any organization with the following mission statement:

Planned Parenthood believes in the fundamental right of each individual, throughout the world, to manage his or her fertility, regardless of the individual's income, marital status, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, age, national origin, or residence. We believe that respect and value for diversity in all aspects of our organization are essential to our well-being. We believe that reproductive self-determination must be voluntary and preserve the individual's right to privacy. We further believe that such self-determination will contribute to an enhancement of the quality of life and strong family relationships.

I will be forever thankful to the organization that helped a naive Mormon Child Bride grow into an informed woman who knows how to care for her body. To show my thanks, I will advocate for, vote, and support any person or organization that maintains that right for men and women everywhere. Planned Parenthood For The Win.

This is a post for the "What Tami Said" Blog Carnival in support of Planned Parenthood. Click HERE
to read more stories from people who are proud to support Planned Parenthood.

some people write the great American novel during their summer vacations...

2011-07-05T23:19:00.001-06:00

Turns out, I'm not the most self-motivated person on the planet. I mean, I obviously manage enough to show up to work and not get arrested, but when left with no real deadlines or responsibilities, not much happens. In fact, when people ask me the inevitable "What have you been up to all summer" question, I usually respond with "absodamnlutely nothing." Which makes my righteous friends cringe because of the swear, and my heathen friends cringe because "absodamnlutely" sounds sort of awful.

HOWEVER. I am waaaaaaaay to busy to babysit your kids. Let's get that straight right now.

Anyway, have you seen THIS? I think it is sort of gross. I mean, I'm not exactly queen of political correctness, but altering a dead person's photo to correspond with a semi-inflammatory article about what they would be up to if they had not died young crosses a line for me. Aren't we all glad I found my line of human decency? On one side of the line, we have Mormon douchebags, open criticism of religion, reality TV, general mockery of Republicans, and all manner of things in poor taste,but heaven help us if Newsweek messes with Princess Diana. Line crossed.

I don't want to speculate about what Princess Di would be doing if she was alive because I posses a brain very ill-suited to imaginative play/suspension of disbelief. For instance, there are many things I shun solely because accepting it would require me to change a previous acquired mindset, and that just isn't going to happen. I cannot tolerate: Fan-fiction, remakes of classic movies, replacing any member of the original movie cast in said movie's sequel, digitally remastering anything, and cover songs. I know. I'm a purist. But I really don't care about if Diana and Catherine would get along, because it won't happen. I don't want to read an alternate version of Harry Potter where Dumbledore falls in love with Harry, (if I wanted to read something ridiculous and implausible, I'd re-read Twilight,) and I most certainly don't want to see Zac Efron coming anywhere near Footloose.

I worry sometimes about my inability to accept gray areas in popular culture. I mean, if I can't hypothesize about Princess Diana, why do I frequently want to hypothesize what will happen if Mitt Romney is actually elected ?(Prediction: huge spike in Rogaine sales, men going into salons asking for the "Romney swoop.") Furthermore, why do I always want to hypothesize about past and present changes in the LDS church? I mean, and I ask this sincerely, isn't the whole church just (sometimes) divinely inspired fan-fiction? What would Nephi be doing if he was still alive?

You will have to ponder that intellectual gem on your own. I'm clearly very busy this summer.

An example of the believers...

2011-06-27T13:18:00.001-06:00

It should come as no surprise to long-term readers or friends that I struggle with my identity as a Mormon. I've written about things I no longer believe, things that frustrate me, as well as the things that I love about Mormonism, despite how those things occasionally conflict (but sometimes interact quite beautifully,) with the things I love about other things: feminism, equality, how good a sincerely spoken "damn" feels in moments of annoyance...

I've shared these frustrations in a very public place, and since the very beginning, mixed in with praise and support, the same comment reappears: spoken by different people, but using almost the exact same words. Statements along the lines of " you are giving the Church a bad name," "what if a non-member wants to join the church, and on the day of her baptism, finds your blog and decides not to! Her salvation will be on your head!*" My favorite comment, from a person known only as "Julie"** came in response to my post on Mormon Douchebags-

"Not to be rude but I think that this was very unnecessary and uncalled for. Yes Bentley is an idiot, as are a lot of people out there. But you gave the LDS Church as bad of a name as he did."

I need to write this down so I stop forgetting it: if one starts out a mean comment by saying "Not to be rude," or "No offense," it is guaranteed to be rude. However, it is apparently seen as a socially acceptable way to be rude. Excellent resource for when I'm feeling nasty, but don't want to get kicked out of the Celestial Kingdom.

Either way, to many people, expressing questions, criticisms, or doubts about Mormonism,or a Mormon, means that I am not acting as "An example of the believers." (Timothy 4:12.)

According to some, a true believer is someone who does not question, speak, or wonder out loud about things that do not seem right to them. Even if something seems wrong, a true believer does not do or say anything about it. A true believer pretends that all is right in the church "world," so that other people will believe the same thing they do. A Mormon can go on national television and treat others unkindly, but if another Mormon comments on it, her words, not his actions are what gives the church "a bad name."

But if we return to Timothy, the scriptures tell us something different: "Let no man despise thy youth; but be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity."

I've wondered often about the phrase "Let no man despise thy youth." Especially since it is separated by a semi-colon to the phrase "Be thou an example of the believers." The semi-colon suggests that the ideas are related, but can also stand as independent ideas. What does it mean to despise thy youth?

Looking back at my yearbooks, photos, and even some old journal entries, I can honestly say that moments exist where I "despise" my youth. Truthfully, there are moments from last month in which I despise my youth. I see the mistakes, the lapses in judgement, the stubborn devotion to ideals that no longer ring true.

But in my youth, and hopefully still, I yearned for something better. I believed in an innate potential inside me. Despite all my questions about the LDS church, I still very much believe that someday I can "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father (and Mother,) which is in heaven is perfect."*** (Matthew 5:48)

The LDS church is also, a "young" church. Consisting of, and led by people still in the "youth" of our full potential. I hope that someday our church can perfectly mirror the gospel of Christ, but I do not think we are there yet. I am not there yet.

Thus Paul, speaking to Timothy, tells us we should not despise our youth; but be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.

For me, being an example of the believers stems from being honest: in word and conversation, about the things we may "despise" about of youthful indiscretions as a church and a people. Not to despise ourselves, but our errors.

A true believer has charity, the ability to love those who disagree with us, or whose journey through the gospel differs from ours.

A true believer maintains the spirit and faith required to say the things which are difficult, in hopes to make us more pure.

It is true that I am sometimes not the most perfect example of the Believers. Sometimes I am too angry, hurt, or cynical to act in a manner of faith.

However, I am not always an example of the believers because I question, but because I fear the answers with the potential to change how I think. Patricia T. Holland states "We must have the courage to be imperfect while striving for perfection." (“One Thing Needful: Becoming Women of Greater Faith in Christ.” Ensign, October 1987)

Sometimes I fear the imperfect: in myself, in my church, in the culture I find myself immersed in. It takes courage to be imperfect, but I do not believe the way to alleviate imperfection is to pretend it doesn't exist. The Emperor has no clothes, and pretending otherwise doesn't change it. It does, however, provide a very good recipe for Kool-Aid and Nike shoes.

So let no man despise thy youth, or my youth. After all, "It takes courage to grow up and turn out to be who you really are." (e.e. cummings.)

*Slight exaggeration.
** Truly anonymous Julie, not one of my many friends by the same name.
***Feminist addition mine, not King James'.

SLC Art Festival

2011-06-25T00:20:00.003-06:00

Pros: Art

Cons: Humanity

Conclusion: Such a shame one cannot exist without the other.

assistance?

2011-06-24T10:16:00.004-06:00

If anyone knows how to get the timestamp thing to show up on my blog, you should email me: mormonchildbride(at) gmail (dot) com.

Note: I already tried the basic edit settings stuff, but it still won't show up....

OR If you just hate my blog layout (I do!) and want to tinker with it to improve the general suckiness of it, that would be awesome too.

Otherwise, we are all doomed to mediocrity due to my laziness. Which is fine.

Update: fixed! Thanks, Annike

woot.

"this is the music I will die to"

2011-06-21T00:56:00.000-06:00

Greetings, e-travelers.

Here is a list of things I have been thinking about as I am enjoying my summer of fununemployment.

1. Can we all agree to take a break from instagram? I'm starting to forget what the real world looks like. It doesn't look vintage? The sky doesn't look nuclear fallouty in real life? What do regular people look like? Just a break. We can resume normal activities after I remember what reality looks like.

2. My sister and I frequently buy candy together, since she shares my affinity for candy combinations that make normal people sick. Her combination of dark chocolate and knock-off sour patch kids from the dollar bin, and my black licorice coupled with Airheads caused our cashier much concern. He told us to remember to brush our teeth, and that he no longer had an appetite. He wanted to know if we really eat it all simultaneously. We do.

3. My title today is from the out-takes of tonight's Bachelorette episode. After we are done taking breaks from instagram, can we all acknowledge that the out-takes are always much better than the actual show? Let us cut all the fake drama and strange dates and just watch a bunch of fame whores muck around the house of 6 weeks. Or lock Bentley and Michelle M. in a porta potty together. You are welcome for the idea, Chris Harrison.

4. I think this is the first post I have ever written where I have said nothing offensive or remotely controversial. It feels boring. I'd feel bad about this, but it must mean I am enjoying my summer.

Fear not, pilgrims, I'm sure something will enrage me shortly.

in the family of things

2011-06-10T14:13:00.000-06:00

Wow. Lots of people have thoughts on Bentley, Mormon Douches, and the women who love them.

While it is sort of exciting to get lots of comments, it is also sort of intimidating. What do I say now? I feel like the wedding guest who chimed her glass at the reception, ready to give a speech, only to discover she has nothing more to say.

Or, as wife-beater-wearing commenter raysugarray so aptly stated: "I can't wait for all of this Bentley hype to dissipate so that this pathetic blog will go back to the depths of anonymity where it belongs."

Me too, ray, me too.

Then I realized that my career has already prepared me for this moment. Whenever I want to ensure that 90% of my students will stop listening to me, I bust out the poetry. And not the fun, rhyming, full of blood and guts and bleeding roses and angst poetry. (Teens love them some angst and bleeding roses.) Instead, I bring out the Creative-Writing major, hippie, in tune with your inner tree-hugger, poetry. Even better if said poem has no concrete point. I'm hoping that if I do the same thing on my blog as I occasionally do in my classroom, 90% of you (especially the trolls,) will stop listening. After all, to quote an oft used Bachelorette line, some of you (again, trolls) aren't here "for the right reasons."

I've been thinking about this poem a lot this past year, and especially towards the end of the school year, what with all the Graduation speech tryouts, and the school board telling students to PREPARE FOR THE FUTURE and FIX ALL THE PROBLEMS. I think it especially applies to my honors students, who have been overachieving for so long that the world must seem like one big AP Calculus exam. Plus, I just really like Mary Oliver.

So, without further ado:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Even if you aren't a hippie English teacher, don't you find the idea fascinating?

You do not have to be good.

I keep reminding myself of this every time a lesson plan flops, every time someone logs on to tell me about what a bad Mormon/person/feminist/woman I am, every time I find myself tempted to walk on my knees, repenting for having an opinion that someone else doesn't like. I do not have to be good. My body loves what it loves, and I have a place in the family of things.

That sound you hear? Hundreds of randoms hitting "unsubscribe" simultaneously.

unfortunately, not endangered.

2011-05-31T20:32:00.000-06:00

Interntet, are you watching The Bachelorette? You should. Don't worry, you can listen to NPR after if you need to. (Listening to NPR after watching The Bachelorette is like taking the morning after pill after having unprotected sex. Doesn't make having unprotected sex a good idea, but at least you won't get pregnant/permanently annihilate brains cells you may need later.)

Was that too raunchy of an analogy? I don't know anymore. I spend so much time being perfectly neutral and teen-appropriate all day, my filters are wonky. Judging space, should you require it:______________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
_______________________________________________________________

Anyway, for those of you not watching The Bachelorette, let me introduce you to an excellent contestant.

Meet contestant Bentley Williams. Bentley is a 28 year old divorced Mormon, BYU alum ( he has a degree in...wait for it... Family and Consumer Sciences. Just kidding, in Finance.) He has a daughter named Cozy, and an ex-wife who sells headbands on Etsy. Hobbies include general misogyny, being jealous of guys who get more attention than him, hair products, and plaid.

People seem unusually confused by Bentley's behavior on the show,since it is extraordinarily douchey, even by reality TV standards. But it really is not that hard to explain. Bentley is a textbook example of a rare specimen of Mormon maleness known as the Mormonus Douche Maximus, or Mormon Douche.

How can you tell if you or a loved one is dating a Mormon Douche? Here are a few tell-tale signs of the species:

1. Mormon Douches give good face. In public, especially around their significant other, they are often charming, overly-polite, and gregarious. It is only behind your back that the Mormon Douche will rank your physical appearance, try to date your younger sister while simultaneously flirting with you, and text his ex-girlfriend. This can make a MD incredibly difficult to spot, so be on the lookout for other signs.

2. On the surface, MDs appear to be devoted to their religion. They will have served a mission, and will brag about being Zone Leader or AP. (They will not mention that they worked in the President's office solely so that their Mission President can babysit them for two years after catching them making out with the Bishop's daughter.)

While seemingly devout on the surface, they have strange little exceptions made to suit their needs.

For instance, an MD will openly criticize people who watch Modern Family, since it clearly supports a malevolent Gay Agenda. However, they have no problem watching Californication, or anything featuring hot girls, boobs, and bikini's.

3. Likewise, they will assure you that their porn problem is "taken care of," but still be unusually interested in shows produced by HBO. Mysteriously, you will find much from the "Adult Chanel" on their Netflix queue.

4. Naturally, a true MD will major in Finance, Dentistry, Law, or Medicine. He will have average grades, but excess charm, and will temporarily be wildly successful. However, a few failed tests will result in a sudden interest in alarm systems.

5. The MD will promptly quote Church talks or Proclamations that support a woman staying at home with her children, mostly because he doesn't want to have to compete with them in his Macro Economics class, Law School, or Medical School.

6. While MDs can and are often found outside of Provo, the isolated and often inbred species, Mormonus Provoian Douche Maximus will only be interested in dating UVU students, hairstylists, or Nail Technicians. This is not met to degrade any of the previously mentioned females, but simply a reflection of the more insidious characteristics of an MD: they don't like to compete with others, especially their wives. They will actively seek a mate who is perceived to be less intelligent. Bonus points if they actually fulfill the dream.

Allow me to clarify: a true Mormon Douche is highly competitive with other males, but would combust if forced to compete at home. Prolonged interaction with female missionaries, engineering students, and professors (all known by Mormon Douches as "bitches,") would cause his head to explode. Survival instinct and an intense urge to propagate the species makes the successful female a natural enemy to the Mormon Douche.

7. Similar to the trait examined in #5, Mormon Douches are drawn to older Church Doctrine that most find wildly outdated/offensive. He uses quotes and snippets from such talks (Think Packer, McConkie, and Benson,) to support embarrassing beliefs involving racism, homophobia, and general misogyny.

8. Mormon Douches generally fear, and simultaneously admire the Gay Population. They fear them because they sense common ground on certain stereotypical standards: hair, clothing, and gym equipment, the same things they often surreptitiously admire. This causes them to question their masculinity, leading to outbursts involving the words "fag," "queer," an"that's sooooooo gay." They will assure you they do not "mean it."

9. At one point, all Mormon Douches wore pukka shell jewelry.

10. At one point, all Mormon Douches popped their collars, often popped multiple collars, and perhaps tried on their girlfriend's jeans. Just to see.

While sightings of the Mormonus Douche Maximus are frequent, any first hand experience or expertise in contributing to the analysis of this fascinating species is welcome in the comments. Good luck, Ashley H., you were doomed the day you signed up for Dental School.

toast spiders

2011-05-23T16:57:00.000-06:00

Things I Enjoy

1. Articles and magazine columns that tell me things about myself based on seemingly minimal character traits paired with broad generalizations. Oh, hello there, magazine. I DO in fact style my hair the same way every day. That means I am a genius who prefers to focus on saving the world? That is why I rock the bob? I had no idea. I thought I was just lazy.

Tiny character trait + broad generalization= contented reader Child Bride. I wear red, I am passionate. I wear black, I am mysterious. I prefer watermelon to cantaloupe= I am great in bed. Really? I love you, magazines.

I especially like that the magazines will never tell you something bad about yourself. What if I start wearing my hair differently? Never fear, that just means you are a creative free spirit who sees her body as a work of art. Oh. Good. I was worried. You wear yellow? You are a sociopath. Just kidding, you are friendly and good in bed.

All of them seem to go back to that, I’ve noticed.

2. I enjoy pretty, pretty designy blogs and fashion blogs so long as they don’t attribute a sense of morality to certain design trends. I do not like pretty, pretty design blogs that try and tell me things about myself based on minimal yet broad generalizations. You have a sweater from Anthropologie? That does not mean you are a creative free spirit. It means you had $90 bucks of disposable income. I reject design/fashion blogs that make consumerism a personality type.

I’m not saying the correlation does not exist, because hippies buy Subarus, not Suburbans, and for a reason, I’m saying I don’t want to read about it. I don’t want to read about how wearing a vintage apron from etsy will make me feel more feminine. I like the photo of the potted orchids, but it does not inspire me. Just show me the picture, for hells sakes.

This is getting sidetracked and muddled, let us go back to things I like.

3.I enjoy feeling superior to people who made different life choices than me, and are therefore less successful. Especially if those people tormented me in junior high. This makes me a bitch, but a successful one.

(I enjoy that feeling until the guilt starts seeping in under the cracks of my bravado. Fortunately, this is usually when I am humbled by a group of angry teens who don’t understand why I keep trying to make them read things. The universe finds a way of balancing itself, does it not?)

4. I enjoy Ray Bradbury. I would venture to say that Ray is one of my very favorite authors, which seems to shock people. Like I am supposed to say Shakespeare or Milton, who I also love. But there is something about Ray Bradbury’s accessibility (his characters swear when they stub their toes, no need for a dramatic monologue when a “damn” will suffice,) coupled with that heart achingly beautiful language:

“Montag’s hand closed like a mouth, crushed the book with wild devotion, with an insanity of mindlessness to his chest. The men above were hurling shovelfuls of magazines into the dusty air. They fell like slaughtered birds and the woman stood below, like a small girl, among the bodies.”

See?

Not to mention all the inventions. A nursery that comes alive and eats the parents! Automated houses that make pancakes until it collapses upon itself! Talking cars! I always tell my students that while most of our technology has caught up to Bradbury’s imagination, I am still waiting for Apple to create a tiny mechanical spider to make my toast, and little brass cockroaches to clean my floors.

What do you enjoy?

as we all know...

2011-05-13T22:34:00.001-06:00

blogger sucks and deletes things. Like your comments. So let us just all agree that no one should be named Mckenzie, and be done with it.

mckenzie

2011-05-11T21:31:00.000-06:00

We need to stop naming our kids Mckenzie. Or any variation Mckensie, Mckensey, Mckenzeeee, etc. Because I have at least three of them in each class, and it is getting confusing. Unless you want your child mentally labeled as Blonde Mckenzie, Ginger Mckenzie, Mean Mckenzie, Nice Mckenzie, Hates Reading Mckenzie, Mckenzie-looks-like-a-girl-I-knew in high school, Mckenzie-looks-like-a-girl-I-knew in college, etc. Also, it is really hard to grade a paper simply labeled as "Mckenzie" when ALL THE MCKENZIE'S HAVE THE EXACT SAME CHEERLEADER HAND-WRITING.

Is there a special camp where cool and popular girls go to learn the official hand-writing? It must be invitation-only, and fairly intensive. Do you get kicked out of the club if you slip out and use your natural writing?

Girls, it is really hard to grade what appears to be nothing but repeated heart-shapes and stick figures.

I'm sorry if your name is Mckenzie. I will grandfather you into the system immediately, it is a very nice name.

Before you get mad, remember that I am no stranger to adding my last initial to my first name to distinguish myself. Growing up, I was always Stephanie N. I share my maiden name with a Utah celebrity (prompting me to change my maiden name to my husband's because I was tired of people emailing me to see if I had been in a plane crash.)

Moral of the story: (besides the fact that there is no real point to this post?) I'm starting to think names like "Apple," and "Moxie Crimefighter" aren't so bad.

list makers.

2011-05-03T14:33:00.000-06:00

Guys- 4.5 weeks of school left. I think I might make it. I am at the stage where I consciously force myself not to think about summer too much. I'm afraid if I think about it for more than two minutes, I will walk out of the building and never come back.

Thus, a few things I think about to occupy my mind.

1. Signs your student is raised by fascist Glen Beck worshipers: His self-starter for today talked how he wishes it was Obama instead of Osama. (Oh! What a clever joke! I haven't heard that 1,000 times in the past 2 days!) His other self-starters are all about how everyone on welfare is mooching off the government! He has a right to bear arms and shoot illegal immigrants! They are invading his property as a tax payer! Speaking of taxes.....

I sigh, roll my eyes, and hope he doesn't end up in my ward someday. Or the state legislature.

2. Vampire Diaries. There seems to be a lot of sequences when people get drunk, listen to loud music, and dance. Usually alone. Does this strike anyone else as odd? I mean, I get that drunken debauchery happens, but it will be all ACTION ACTION ACTION, and then we will pause for a five minute intermission in which one of the extremely attractive characters dances around drunk. Also, they dance so very sexily. Which, as we have previously discussed, does not bother me, but in this case it seems kind of pointless. No one is watching. All the other characters are busy trying to kill Klaus. Why try? Oh wait. No one is watching, except a bajillion TV viewers.

Aren't you glad I updated my blog today with that riveting commentary?

3. Annoyance: When you disagree with someone on a spiritual topic, and they advise you to pray about it. That is not the annoying part, the whole believing-God-still-speaks part.

The annoying part is the motive. Like they haven't considered that you might have already prayed about it and still disagree. You have issues with gender inequality in the church? I don't. Pray about it. It will go away. Also works for being gay, a democrat, and acne.

In my admittedly limited life experience, praying doesn't usually make deep issues of the spirit (or acne,) go away, but you figure out how to deal with it. I'm sure there are some miraculous exceptions.

However/Likewise, I hate it when people tell me that they USED to have issues, but prayed about it, and then those issues went away, and therefore their experience should be enough for me. I testify that my opinion on this is right. Therefore, you should not have issues anymore.

What if I prayed about it and got a different answer?

I'm sensing that I'm going to get lots of comments on what people meant when they say things like that, or that they have had issues of the spirit taken away via prayer, or analyze my wording to the point that it becomes irrelevant.

All I'm saying is that to assume that dissatisfaction in the church stems from the idea that someone just forgot to pray about it is sort of silly. It makes it seem like gospel questioners are just little kids with tummy aches. Your tummy hurts? Have you eaten something? No? Oh you silly goose, go eat some cereal and you'll feel better.

You thought you were going to get out of here without a religion lecture. HA.

I have nothing else to add here. This is where you come in.

tiny update

2011-04-26T18:57:00.000-06:00

If you think you're stealing my jokes, you probably aren't. Didn't mean to engage the paranoia machine, which is silly, because if I was not me, and I read what I wrote, I'd be freaking out is was me too. I've been there! But it isn't you. Cheers!

things that do not

2011-04-26T14:35:00.000-06:00

There are a few events in my life that repeat themselves so often that I just accept them. For instance, come every August I turn into a raging insomniac. I don't know why. End of summer blues? Birthday rage? Mysteries.

Likewise, I always turn into a terrible blogger in springtime. It's definitely not due to the nice sunny weather found every year in Utah. I can't even use excessive sunshine as an excuse.

But you know what? I've accepted these things. They do not bother me. I intend to turn into a vampire come August. And I will blog sporadically throughout spring.

SEGUE MACHINE: OTHER THINGS THAT DO NOT BOTHER ME.

1. Sex in books. Sometimes people suggest books to me, and at the end of their glowing recommendation, exclaim "And it's clean! You don't have to worry about sex or anything!" Now I'm not saying that I require book sex, or that I seek out book sex explicitly, I'm just saying that it won't deter me from reading the book. I’m not worried.

People have sex. It is part of the human experience. What does bother me are people who classify ALL sex as dirty and censor-worthy. There are smutty porny books out there. Grapes of Wrath is not one of them. You know? Nod, please.

My standards for movie and TV viewing are a little different, but I guess I’d have to say that in general, humans being humans does not bother me. Because that’s what sex is, when you take your prude glasses off. Humans being humans. Mom, if you are reading this, don’t worry, I don’t watch porn. I do watch Shakespeare in Love.

2. Swears. They do not bother me. I understand that there are places where it is not appropriate. I do not have some weird hierarchy where one swear is worse than the other. Somewhere, my past self is proudly proclaiming to her peers that she has never said the “f” word. My current self is waving at her happily, and frantically trying to cross the time-space continuum to tell her that life gets a whole lot better after junior high, damnit.

3. Teens. As I teacher, I get a lot of the patronizing, “I don’t know how you spend all day with high schoolers!” I don’t know how you spend all day with office douchebags, or small children. But to each their own. Teenagers are like regular people. Some are nice, some are annoying. Yes, they tend to be a little emotional and extreme, but they are also very creative and funny. Their pre-frontal cortex has not developed fully, but neither has their single-minded –to-the-point-of-insanity cortex. I mean, come on, some of them don’t even know if they are Republicans yet! Do you see the influence I have here?

So, there you have it. Several things that don’t bother me, that in retrospect seem vaguely related. Can I hijack my own post though, for a bit of housecleaning?

SOMETHING THAT DOES BOTHER ME.

People who steal my jokes, rearrange them a bit, and put them in their own blog posts. I was reading a post the other day, laughed at a little jokey phrase the author used, and realized it was funny to me BECAUSE I WROTE IT. Was the post a word-for-word copy? No, but my joke was inserted, very word-for-wordy, and now that blogger’s two readers are laughing at a stolen joke.

Immature of me? Sure. But still, write your own jokes. You can do better.

What doesn’t bother you? What does? I’m equal opportunity!

i am that annoying student with my hand always in the air.

2011-04-10T12:48:00.000-06:00

1. This has become a Church Blog. Nine times out of ten, I dislike all- Church- all the- time blogs. But I don't like talking about my job, (too risky,) or most aspects of my personal life (none of your business,) so Church blog it is. Until I sew something (sorry, non-crafters,) or read another Jack Weyland novel.

2. A few days ago, I inadvertently annoyed one of my family members with my posts on a Conference talk. She asked "why can't we just be happy that a General
Authority is trying to address issues that matter to us even if it is not exactly what you wanted?"

Which led to me saying something snarky and mean. Which led me to apologize for saying something snarky and mean. So while I hope she doesn't mind me talking about this (I spoke with her in person, so I think yes,) her post caused me to seriously wonder about my need to rehash, analyze, and yes, question, most of the things I learned growing up.

One could perhaps blame it on my experience as an History major/English minor. Why is that event important? What was the result? Why did that poet use personification in that stanza? But not all the others?

In school, it was never enough simply to read the poem, read the book, fill-in-the-blanks. The assignment was not to just be happy that the book exists, the assignment was to question.

Or, maybe my questioning nature comes from my job? Why is that kid struggling? What do I do? Did that lesson work? How do I make it better? Should I just be happy that the students are in class?

Or maybe that is just who I am. You get what you get, and don't throw a fit.

Here is the thing about questioning the paradigm you grew up in: It is uncomfortable. It is painful. Sometimes it is so uncomfortable, and so painful, that it dissipates to those around you. And if they do not choose to question, that nuclear fallout can be seen as an unkind invasion.

I chose to openly question, I chose to drop that bomb. But I cannot choose who gets annoyed, upset, or hurt by the results. I don't get to decide who will retreat into their concrete shelters because of what I say.

Or is it not a bomb? Is it as simple as turning on the lights in a dark room, thus annoying the sleeping inhabitant, who then must squint and rub their eyes as they adjust to the light?

I don't know.

What I do know, is that poetry becomes more meaningful when I question. Events in history stand out, clear in my memory because I studied them, learned their faces, and remember their names.

The first time I had an honest-to-goodness faith shattering crisis, I found myself at the U of U Institute Building, listening to this talk: LINK

Later, during another crisis, my friend sent it to me again.

"My dear young friends, we are a question-asking people. We have always been, because we know that inquiry leads to truth. That is how the Church got its start, from a young man who had questions. In fact, I’m not sure how one can discover truth without asking questions. In the scriptures you will rarely discover a revelation that didn’t come in response to a question. ...

Some might feel embarrassed or unworthy because they have searching questions regarding the gospel, but they needn’t feel that way. Asking questions isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a precursor of growth.
God commands us to seek answers to our questions and asks only that we seek with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ. When we do so, the truth of all things can be manifest to us by the power of the Holy Ghost. Fear not. Ask questions. Be curious. "

Or, as my good friend Walt Whitman said, (I consider any poet I studied in college my friend,)

"Be curious, not judgemental."

chaos, adjustment, balance.

2011-04-04T15:11:00.000-06:00

It wouldn't be a Child Bride post if I did not hash and rehash the same subject, possibly to death.

I'm still thinking about Elder Cook's conference talk. I still like it. But, immediately after I hit "publish," I started to feel some doubts. Am I being apologetic towards a patriarchy I do not believe in? Am I justifying otherwise questionable content based on sincerity of the speaker? Though I do not have concrete answers to these questions, I do have some ideas.

1. I do not see Elder Cook's talk as a sign that our work has been done. There is still more work to do.

2. In order to have any positive feelings regarding the Church as an institution, I must, absolutely must, celebrate small victories.

3. I can celebrate small victories while still yearning for more.

4. Small steps towards egalitarian relationships in the church reveal that patriarchies are cultural, not doctrinal in nature. Additionally, inconsistencies in church rhetoric "A man is the head of the house, the woman is the heart," vs "Men and women are equal partners," further reveal the cultural, and thus, impermanent nature of patriarchies. I do not need to accept patriarchy to be a good person, Christian, or Mormon.

5. If patriarchies are temporary and cultural, what is eternal? I believe that relationships are eternal, not institutions. We may not always have a patriarchy, but we will always be children of our Heavenly Parents. That is the relationship I want to foster and protect.

So, yes. We have much work to do, but any tiny step that brings us closer to that ideal relationship with ourselves, and our divinity, I celebrate.

Plus, Quentin is just a really cool name.

why I like my family, and why my first son might be named Quentin.

2011-04-03T20:18:00.000-06:00

I come from (and am fiercely proud and loyal to,) a typical Utah Mormon family. My Mom's family being particularly "Mormonesque." For instance, I am the oldest of 37* grandchildren. Many of my aunts and uncles live within a 2 miles of each other. We visit my grandparents nearly every week. I do not go a day without seeing a member of my extended family, or at least talking to them on the phone.

Members of my family tend to be proud of the following things:

Their pioneer ancestry

Devotion to the Republican Party

Mitt Romney.

I know they don't agree with me concerning most of the things I write on my blog, especially the stuff about the Gays. And the swearing. (But J. Golden Kimball swore, so there is still hope for me...)

Nevertheless, they all took time to congratulate me on my City Weekly thing. They are supportive and kind, even when we don't agree entirely.

Because we agree on the important things: we recognize the value of each other. My family loves and includes me, even when we don't agree. Plus, I think I got my Aunt to at least tolerate the idea of universal health care.

On Saturday I listened to Elder Cook's talk on women in the church. I was prepared to have my feminist feathers ruffled, even turning to Spouseman and warning him "this is not going to end well."

But then I noticed something. I noticed that Elder Cook stressed marriage as an equal partnership no less than three times. He never once said the word "preside" in reference to a husband's role. For the first time, over the pulpit, I was told that I could be just as valiant if I chose to work outside the home as a mother.

If I chose. Not if my husband died, or if we had a financial crisis, but if I chose.

While some people saw the bit about balancing church callings, (When a woman receives a time intensive calling, her husband will serve in a less time-consuming role,)as a tangent, I was pleased to hear about women acting in positions of authority and value in the church. That their role could be important enough to merit dad staying home, and, dare I say it...nurturing their children.

Plus, did anyone else think the part about the Bishop delegating responsibilities implied a delegation of responsibilities to women?

Most importantly, he was sincere. He was earnest. I could tell that he was trying very hard to reach out not only to the traditional LDS woman, but to those of us who so often feel excluded from the culture of the church. I don't think Elder Cook would agree with the more radical concerns of Mormon feminists, but I felt like he knew those concerns, and was listening.

He listened, and in very subtle, with carefully chosen words, made significant changes to the way we talk about women in the church. I mean, seriously? Are we going to get our undies in a wad over a somewhat-silly story about the contents of a woman's purse when the man said we can stay at home, or work, and still be valiant? DOES IT GET ANYMORE FEMINIST?

Yes, actually, it does. Someday, I hope to listen to a talk that promotes complete gender equality in the structure and organization of the church. I anticipate conference sessions where women not only are given the OK to pray in sacrament, but conference as well. My children and I will listen to more than two female speakers during 10 hours of Conference talks.

I look forward to revelations, authority, and blessings not currently offered to me because of my gender. Someday, we will not offer somewhat patronizing lip service on how awesome women are, because we will be working right alongside our male counterparts as equals. We will know of our potential not based on our gender, but our work.

So despite the fact that Elder Cook did not fulfill all my LDS feminist fantasies, for the first time in a very long time, Elder Cook made me feel like a valued member of a Church family. We don't agree on everything, but we recognize the value of each other.

Now what are the odds I can convince him to support universal health care? *? I think.

well. look at that.

2011-03-30T21:36:00.000-06:00

Interwebs! Did you know I am famous? More specifically, did you know that according to City Weekly, I have the "Best (Sane) Mormon Blog" of 2011?

Here is a link.

But more importantly, here is the super nice stuff they said about me, direct from the source. Always trying to minimize the clicks.

"No, this isn’t a blog about polygamy, and there are no cookie recipes or photos of place settings or children, either. Rather, the author, Stephanie—a devout Mormon who’s a liberal, a feminist and a teacher—blogs about her faith, her frustration with closed-minded members of her church, being an educator and, occasionally, the TV/books that she likes/hates. It’s an always-revealing and often funny glimpse inside the mind of someone who speaks up for gay marriage, feminism and faith in God, eliciting praise and verbal stonings from all sides. As the sidebar on her blog says, “I’m either a complete apostate Mormon, or I’m just saying what we are all thinking.” Let’s hope it’s the latter, and that others start speaking up."

Of course, this has increased my already inflated ego to planetary proportions.

So I called my Dad, who told me he was proud of me. "Now every homeless guy who looks at the ads for cheap lingerie can read your blog."

I'll have you know, father, that my little blurb is next to an ad for a weight-loss supplement, and a DUI lawyer.

Then I called my Mom, who said I immediately needed to blog about something interesting, because my last few blogs suck. She recommends my post about the Cessation of Suffering. I recommend searching for anything I've written about Jack Weyland. Just Saying.

When my brother read the part about being a "liberal, feminist, and a teacher," he looked at me, and with nary a trace of irony on his face, proclaimed, " they basically think you're a failure." Thanks, Grant.

Anyway, thanks City Weekly, for making me sound a lot cooler than I am, and being nicer than my family.

ps: Thanks to my reader friend di for telling me about my great accomplishment (Sane! Mormon! Revealing!). I had no idea.

Blurgh

2011-03-29T14:43:00.001-06:00

Well, Blogger hates me and won't let me publish my post.

Well, it will but only in one huge block of text. For awhile, I thought I put arbitrary spaces in my blog posts because it made it look cool, or it was all artistic and meaningful, like an e.e.cummings poem.

Looking at my huge text block of a former post, all riddled with swears and lacking coherency, I realize I use spaces because I am lazy, and don't want to take the time to write anything more advanced, like transitions.

Learn something new every day. So you did not miss much.

Readers Digest version:

1. 3rd quarter is over! Beginning of the end!

2. Red Riding Hood = schadenfreude.

3. Mormons who make broad generalizations about their own doctrinal interpretations are annoying.

four years is 48 months longer than Brad and Emily's relationship will last.

2011-03-15T11:54:00.000-06:00

Greetings internet!

Today is my anniversary, so let us all stop and wonder at the miracle of my 4 year old marriage. Woooo.

Spousetotheultimateproviderman and I celebrated last weekend by going out of town. And by out of town, I mean traveling from one suburb of Salt Lake City to another so that we could spend the weekend in a bed and breakfast eating chocolate cake for breakfast. Chocolate cake is breakfast food at bed and breakfasts, so long as it is also served with fruit. The things you learn.

Today, the actual anniversary, has proven not so exciting. Things that put a damper on celebrating:

1. 7:00 am faculty meetings where we don't end early enough for me to actually eat the provided breakfast.

2. The student who told me today that my hair looked frizzy, "like a black man!*" and followed up with "but it is okay, you are married, you don't have to look pretty anymore."

Is it misogynist week on the nature channel or something? Between freaky "I want to wave the Proclamation in your face" lady, and "women are just shiny pretty objects for men to collect" student, I feel like we need to consider resurrecting Alice Paul. (Tangent: let us all take a break to imagine an enraged Alice Paul sitting up in her grave, screaming, and then hauling ass out of her grave to right all the gender-oriented injustices of the world. Kapow! Equality! Bam! No more sexual harassment! I'm sorry. My feminist fantasies often get mixed up with my sci-fi fantasies. Please disregard.)

3. Anyway, I am also really upset at myself for not responding to the student in an appropriate way. I should have sternly rebuked him, explained why his behavior was inappropriate, and alerted him to the consequences should his behavior continue.

Instead I sort of ignored it/make a weird joke and moved on to the next group of students. Sigh. Feminism fail. Please let me keep my ID card. I promise to do better.

4. The massive amounts of tests I need to grade by next week. I should probably stop blogging. Julius Caesar awaits. (Yes, I love that I am grading Julius Caesar finals on the Ides of March. English nerds unite!)

I am as constant as the North Star,

Stephanie Mormon Child Bride.

*Racist AND Sexist. What a gem. I'm waiting for the homophobic remark so I can label him a true triple-threat.

i don't think it means what you think it means

2011-03-13T19:14:00.001-06:00

My favorite Sunday activity is meeting with friends and family to hear what nuttiness went down in church. Holy? Hmmmm. Fun? Yes. Also, I have a sneaking suspicion that God watches what goes on in church, and sometimes does the same thing. Like with Gabriel. Hey, Gabriel, did you HEAR what they are doing in the 11th ward?

Just saying. No offense. Bless her heart. Whatever other cliches I can say and not get in trouble for that hypothetical.

Anyway. The winner today was the lady who told her class that she "Sees all these young women down at BYU training to be professionals, and she just wants to wave the Proclamation to the Family in their faces and say: Get with the program!"

Sigh. Sometimes I miss being in an all-white ward of extreme privilege. Your world is so very, very pretty in black and white.

Anyway, we nodded in sympathy and outrage and reassured ourselves that comments like that wouldn't happen in our ward. We promised ourselves that we would stand up for ourselves if it did. (Most of us in the conversation were- wait for it....young female professionals.)

One person sagely pointed out that opinions like this occur elsewhere. In fancy- pants wards. And Saudi Arabia.

But it still stung. I'm still upset about it. It still makes me question how on earth the Gospel of Jesus Christ got so horribly sidetracked. Why don't we talk about Jesus at church?

What makes me really uncomfortable is the fact that it makes me wonder which one of us would be considered the nut. Is she the crazy one, for insisting that you can't be a "primary caregiver" and a "professional" at the same time? Or is it me? For hoping, thinking, and almost believing that I can?

moonshadow

2011-03-08T21:41:00.000-07:00

Today is my Dad's birthday. He does not read my blog, unless I am there to "get on the internet thing" and show him "how the hell to go down the page." Occassionally, he has his secretary email me with a request to print out my blog posts for him to read. "The good ones, not the crap."

So Dad, if you ever read this, Happy Birthday. Thank you for teaching me to mistrust Republicans, hate hotel art, keep an extra pair of fleece pants in the back of my car, (in case I need to go on a walk!) love God, and serve others.

After all that, teaching me to swear like a sailor with tourettes is just a bonus.

I'm your girl,

Steph

Today

2011-03-07T17:47:00.000-07:00

I taught this piece of really important literature by Erasmus:

Julius Excluded from Heaven: A Dialogue, “You’re All Belches and You Stink of Boozing and Hangovers.”

Whatever you say about teaching, don't you dare say it isn't fulfilling. I bet whatever you did in your cubicle today was not nearly as awesome.

The end.

I'm also a meanie.

2011-03-05T14:22:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think about dressing up in my very cutest hipster-chic wear, having my Spouse take pictures of me, and posting them on the internet. (I will, of course, assure people that I don't do this because I am vain, but because I CARE ABOUT FASHION. AND SELF-ESTEEM. AND ACCOUNTABILITY-because dressing cute means you are accountable. For something.)

Clearly, I don't get fashion-blogging. Can someone explain?

Edit: Is this like reality TV? Fun to watch but not necessarily life-affirming? Or is there some deep life-secret behind having 17 photos of your skinny jeans posted online everyday? So much to ponder.....

all about me

2011-03-01T20:06:00.000-07:00

Because why pretend that this blog serves any other purpose? Sure, I could claim that I write because I really want to develop my talents, or inspire people, but whatever. Really? I like to talk about myself.

1. A major Child Bride life philosophy: I can do anything for a year. You would be surprised how many major life events to which I apply this mantra. Including but not limited to- graduate school, substitute teaching, waitressing, serving in various church callings, marriage (hey, I thought it, don't judge,) real-teaching, and living in my grandparent's basement while they served a mission.

Usually, I do it for a year, and I come to Conclusion A or Conclusion B.

Conclusion A: I can do this for a year, but if I do it for one day longer, I will incredible Hulk myself out of the situation. Hulk Smash! Applies to graduate school, waitressing subbing, and living in my grandparent's basement. (I did live there more than a year, and I did incredible Hulk on several occasions.)

Conclusion B: Hey, I actually like this, and shall continue to do this. Marriage,(phew!) real-teaching.

Things still undetermined: Owning pets, current church callings.

Today, however, I proved my theory wrong. My school received a grant to give all the Juniors the ACT for free. We had to provide all the proctors and supervisors. While supervising, you are not allowed to read, grade, or do anything besides stare at stressed-out teens for 3 hours.

I do not know how people do that for a living. If you are a full-time ACT proctor, I salute you. You either do not have ADD, or possess a near-lethal prescription for Ritalin.

In fact, I grew so bored that my highlight of the day was watching a student I really dislike getting kicked out of the test, and having his form voided, for texting.

2. That is another thing about me: I glory in karmic justice. After a year of constantly telling that student to stop texting in my class, it was nice to see him receive a tangible consequence. (All I could do was take his phone for the day.) Especially since he clearly thought he was the exception to the rules. The instructions state no less than 5 times that the use of any electronic device is prohibited, moron.

3. I can do anything for a year, but that doesn't mean I don't harbor a whole lot of righteous indignation the whole 12 months.

Does my theory work for you? Am I quitter? Or just awesome? What level of Dante's Inferno would be reserved for being unusually pleased when douchebags are punished?

Speaking of which, say a prayer that Parent Teacher Conferences goes well tomorrow.

like those moms who lift up semi-trucks.

2011-02-21T14:45:00.000-07:00

To anyone who subscribed to my blog for five minutes, only to promptly unsubscribe once they couldn't find my last post: I think you are awesome. That is totally what I would have done. Hooray voyeurism! Hurray internet!

I think I've found a nicer way to say what I meant, but it involves a cheesy and somewhat untenable metaphor. Can you handle this? I don't think you can handle this.

My last post was a really strong reaction to a nasty comment I got on my suffering post. The line that bugged me was this:

"That article could have been written from a completely different viewpoint. People who focus too much on LDS culture do not understand the deep meanings of the gospel."

****************SWEARS AHEAD SWEARS AHEAD********************************

Shit. Damn. Effing mother of pearl. Nothing drives me more nutty than some self-created cretin of an omniscient who gets on the internet to tell me about my understanding of the gospel. Go to hell. Really? You know about my understanding of the gospel? From one blog post you read after your friend sent you the link? Again, damn. I'm jealous of the omniscient.

***************REPENTENCE OF SWEARS REPENTENCE OF SWEARS COMMENCE READING*****************************************

See. This is the nice version of my post.

I took down the mean version because it seemed unfair to post a nasty reaction to one comment when I have had so many wonderful, kind, and supportive ones. I spent a lot of time thinking about why I let one person bug me. One person who doesn't have the decency to write out their name when commenting on my post.

I've decided that my relationship with my faith is a lot like a parent-child relationship. Sometimes, you kid drives you nuts. Sometimes, you are bugged by your kid so you hire a babysitter to watch it for a few hours. Sometimes you make mistakes with your kid.

But it is still your kid. You still created it, you still love it, and your relationship with your kid brings you closer to the father of your child. My faith is a result of my relationship with God. I'll stop the metaphor there before it gets too blasphemous, but I made this little faith-person and grew it inside of me, and I'm naturally protective of it.

There are lots of mommy-bloggers in the world who only tell funny/amusing/stories about their kids. They do this for a myriad of reasons, but I think sometimes they do that because the more sacred parts of parenthood don't belong on the internet.* They tell the story about a blow-out on an airplane. I tell stories about how I used to pray to marry a spiritually average man so I wouldn't be asked to practice polygamy.

Nobody with a will to live tells a mommy-blogger that because she only blogs about poop she doesn't love her kid. Nobody with a smidgen of integrity should tell someone they don't understand "the gospel" because they only share parts of their relationship with God, or the LDS church on the internet.

Like it's mother, my faith is a little bit special-needs. When other faiths reach benchmarks and achievements with ease, my faith struggles. Sometimes my faith won't look me in the eye. It doesn't always play well with other children.

So it doesn't matter how many people look at your kid and love them despite their snotty noses, or their tantrums. You will always defend your kid against the one jerk who tries to make your kid feel small or insignificant. You will resist the people who try and push your special and unique baby darling into a mold. You will fight the people who try and crush their spirit. You do crazy things for the people you love.

Sometimes you even write really angry blog posts.

*Some people write really beautifully about parenthood. But those people would throw off the groove of my post, so they get an asterisk note. Sorry.

blargh

2011-02-20T13:48:00.000-07:00

Hi internet.

I had a grumpy post up, but I took it down. I'm all about smiles, posts showing me posing in my clothes and telling you where to shop, and crafting.

I don't know if you can still see the original in your reader, but let's put on our "Act Natural" faces and drink a diet coke in honor of how neurotic the internet makes us sometimes.

guten tag, e world

2011-02-11T21:48:00.000-07:00

Goodness, internet, where have I been?

First, thanks to everyone who took time to comment on my Cessation of Suffering post. It was alarming (I am alarmed by vulnerability,) to write that. Learning that what I send out into the internetverse will be met with kindness makes my cold dark heart melt a little bit.

Secondly, I don't have a ton to say beyond the usual "Republicans are Gross!" and "Patriarchy is bad!" grumblings, so I'm going to keep this update short.

Additional reasons for short blog post:

1. I'm in San Diego right now.

2. I'm using my sister's laptop and she will be displeased if I monopolize it much longer.

The End.

The Cessation of Suffering

2011-01-31T09:41:00.000-07:00

Last summer, one of my mother's neighbors lost a teenage child in a very sad and very unexpected accident.

In many ways, the community, particularly the LDS community, (as the child was Mormon,) rallied around the family. They held memorials, and people tied ribbons around their trees, lampposts, and street signs. A constant reminder of the unanticipated loss.

Last week, in a unit on World Religions, my students and I learned about Buddhism. We studied The Four Noble truths, the first of which acknowledges "The existence of suffering."

Now, every time I drive past a frayed and discolored ribbon, I remember the existence of suffering. Somewhere, someone lost their world.

Over time, however, it was interesting to see some people react to the mother's seemingly prolonged, and still very raw suffering.

"She just needs to move on,"

"She needs to remember that she will see her again"

"She should count her blessings, she was blessed with that sweet spirit for 16 years"

"She just seems to have lost her faith. It is so sad when people let these experiences shake their faith."

After a certain point, for many people, it becomes inconvenient to recognize the existence of suffering. It cuts into having fun, watching The Bachelor, and, dare I say it? Baking cupcakes.

For some Mormons, we struggle to reconcile the need to recognize suffering with our beliefs. How many Jack Weyland novels held a funeral where the only LDS person in attendance wore a "lovely shade of blue" instead of black? Symbolizing that Mormons are special because we don't need to mourn. Why mourn if we really have enough faith? We tell potential converts that our funerals aren't sad, but rather a "Celebration."

The Second Noble Truth emphasizes the "Cause of Suffering." In order to transcend this world, we must allow ourselves to identify the cause of our suffering. Whether it is loss of a child, or simply the pain of living in an imperfect world.

When many LDS people felt pain after hearing Elder Packer's conference talk, the response by the LDS community varied. Some acknowledged the existence of suffering: It is hard to be Gay and Mormon. It is hard to be politically liberal and Mormon. Sometimes, it is just hard to be Mormon.

But many did not want to acknowledge the existence of suffering. Suffering became a sign of a lack of faith, a lack of conviction, a lack of testimony in the Lord's anointed.

"It breaks my heart to see LDS people react this way"

(Responding to your own suffering, but not the suffering of others, does not lead to Enlightenment. It leads to conflict, which Buddhists recognize as a hindrance to personal growth.)

"They just need to get over it."

"If they can't follow the prophet, then they should leave the church."

"This is the sifting and of the wheat and the tares."

"Choose not to be offended."

In LDS culture, it is considered a commandment not to be offended. A simple request not to cling to hurt feelings turned into a complete disregard of feelings associated with pain or hurt.

I've always identified with the LDS Hymn "Where Can I Turn for Peace." Most notably because it recognizes the existence of suffering:

Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When, with a wounded heart, anger, or malice
I draw myself apart searching my soul?

Where, when my aching grows?
Where, when I languish?
Where, in my need to know?
Where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?

Anger, malice, anguish. Feelings that when recognized, allow us to draw closer to God, the quiet hand that calms us, teaches us what we need to know, and heals our wounded hearts. Is it possible that in our desire to be faithful and not offended, we turn away from opportunities to converse with God? When we acknowledge suffering, do we allow ourselves to find answers?

According the the New Testament, when the Savior found himself in the Garden of Gethsemane, he wanted his friends to stay awake with him. He didn't feel the need to prove his faith in a time of adversity. He did not see it as a lack of faith to acknowledge his pain. He did not feel shame for questioning a very difficult plan.

The Third Noble Truth tells us that "Elimination of suffering is possible." The Fourth Noble Truth tells us that we must find "The path to the cessation of suffering."

I submit that we must find that path together. Not just by hanging ribbons, but by staying awake with our friends during the long nights of suffering. Even when those friends doubt, disagree, and force you to question your faith. After all:

"Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only by love; this is the eternal rule. "

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."

well then.

2011-01-29T10:15:00.000-07:00

After offending SAHMS, people with cooking blogs, Mormons, and probably you, I decided to take a breather. Being offensive is really hard work.

No. Seriously, can we be friends again?

Here is an update on my life, because I am fascinating.

1. Spouse-to-the-man (Would I bug people if I started referring to him as THE PROVIDER in an ironic/sarcastic way? Because I apparently made a covenant to do that ((the provider part, not the sarcastic part, anyway,)) NEWS TO ME.*) went out of town for the longest 3 day business trip known to humankind. Longest because apparently, according to weather on the East Coast, 3 days means 6. Okay, New York.

2. Because Spouseman was gone, I had no one to distract me with various Hot-Girls-Solving-Crimes TV show marathons, so I was able to kick major ass as an educator. I mean, I always try, regardless of what Jennifer Love Hewitt is doing, but this week was a show up at work at 6:15 am week.

If anyone told me that some day I would consider 5:45 am "sleeping in" I would have punched you in the face. I want to punch myself in the face.

3. Last night THE PROVIDER MAN OF PROVIDING came home and got me nine kinds of addicted to Criminal Minds. That show is creepy the heck creepy. And also good.

4. My cousin apparently grew up with Crazy SLC Michelle from The Bachelor. Some people have all the damn luck.

What is new with you?

*Said in the comments of a previous post.

i don't trust you if

2011-01-15T18:09:00.000-07:00

1. You have unusual facial hair. Male or female. (Including but not limited soul-patches, weirdly manicured side burns, and most abhorrently of all: ironic mustaches.)

2. You sincerely enjoy working out.

3. You like Sarah Palin, or her familiar, Glen Beck.

4. You are "inspired" by material objects, or photos of material objects. (Thanks for the rage, Gurr.)

5. You believe that the "Bachelor" is not scripted/manipulated in some way.

6. You wear clothing from Urban Outfitters, or Anthropologie. Yes, this mean sometimes I do not trust myself.

7. You turn the words "thrift," and "gift," into verbs. (Can I get an "Amen?")

8. You have more than one blog.

9. You don't like school.

10. You like Thomas Kinkade.

11. You don't eat carbs.

This doesn't mean I don't LIKE you. I like tons of people. I'm just suspicious of you/think you aren't entirely human/am upset that you aren't sharing whatever you are on/would like some of your Kool-Aid, etc.

Who don't you trust?

inevitably, this will have people convinced that i hate them. i don't.

2011-01-13T18:35:00.000-07:00

I'd like to discuss SAHMs, and a thing that they do that bugs me. No, it isn't staying at home with their kids. Frankly, so long as you aren't abusing them I don't care how child-care goes down in your home. To each their own.*

I do hate it though, when SAHMs go to great lengths to explain why they aren't doing something else. Especially when it sounds accidentally smug. Accidental smugness happens when you say something about yourself in a nice way while simultaneously insulting everyone else. **

For instance, the oft-said:

"I decided to make my young children my priority."

Um, as opposed to working moms who work in order to support their families? Since when was making sure your kid had food a bad priority? Or piano lessons?

Or:

"I want to be there for all my baby's firsts!"

Well, so does the rest of the world, so see previous paragraphs. The other thing that bugs me about this is the illogical conclusion that good, devoted, SAHMs spend every moment with their kid, gazing longingly into their eyes, and engaging in meaningful interaction. * Not so.

There is always going to be something that takes you away from your kid. Some people just get paid for their thing. If you don't that is totally cool, just own it.

Look, I understand (as much as a childless person can,) that SAHMs are under- appreciated, and it is hard work, and important work. But life is hard, and important, and the way to get me to appreciate you more isn't to tell me my (future, as not pregnant,) priorities are out of whack should I choose to work it up and Mom it up at the same time.

Lets all just make a promise that no matter what we do, we just admit it. I'm a SAHM because I wanted to, and I could. I'm a working mom because I wanted to and I could. I'm an overly opinionated blogger who will inevitably get misunderstood for this post, but I wanted to post it, and I can.

The end.

*Dude, one of the biggest "God wants you to stay home" proponents I (e) know openly acknowledges spending eleventy million hours a day online. I'd rather get paid.

**SAHMs, if this post really bugs you, feel free to express how annoyed you feel when people tell you they could never do your job, because the need more external validation because they have such huge brains, or whatever. I'm sure being accidentally smugged (they are essentially saying you're too stupid to realize you're bored,) sucks just as bad.

your sunday heresy

2011-01-09T13:06:00.000-07:00

Last week, Dan invited the missionaries over to dinner. Generally, I am fine with missionaries. But one has to admit, some are better than others. Last time we fed the missionaries, the Elders ignored me, but had no problem looking over my DVD collection and asking my husband which movies were good.*

Like most human interactions, though, I find that if I keep my expectations low, I am generally not disappointed.

Monday rolled around, and the new missionaries came on time (bonus points,) and were polite and gracious. I've noticed that missionaries tend to get paired with an opposite. For every gregarious Type A Elder, there is a Type B.

Elder A was charming and funny, he made us answer doctrinal questions over dinner, which I obliged because I was feeling kind, and I understand that in his world, it is the DOCTRINE OF GOD 24/7.

Elder B was quiet. He mentioned that it was hard for him to introduce himself to others. He was shy in a lovable way that suggests he would never want to deliberately offend. He takes deep breaths before he speaks.

I liked him. I remember when I first went away from home on Study Abroad, that I prayed that my roommates would like me. I suspect he might have done the same. While Elder A and my husband talked shop (THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST.) Elder B and I discussed our mutual interest in World War I.

At the end of the meal, however, Elder B ended the conversation, turned to my Spouse, and said "As head of the household, would you please call on someone to say the closing prayer?"

Pulling the "male presiding as head of the household" card is like Kryptonite to me.

Normally, I would have informed Elder B that my spouse and I were equal partners in leading our home. If I were feeling particularly vindictive, I may have mentioned that when my husband and I pay our bills, I pay the mortgage on our home. Financially, this household exists because of me. (And all our other amenities exist, including our business, because of my Spouse. Due credit.)

But I didn't. Because I liked Elder B. Because he was kind and sweet and smart, and I knew that he would never deliberately hurt my feelings, or offend me.

He simply thought that because my husband and I were obviously righteous missionary-feeding Mormons living in Zion, that we must abide by the very traditional gender roles of many church members. Perhaps he was raised in a home where loving parents taught this example.

He didn't know, and his reality was different than mine, so I refrained from my usual feminist beat-down, and my husband called on Elder B to say the prayer, and the missionaries went home.

I've been thinking about Elder B all week, because as obvious as it may be to some of you, I learned something not so obvious to me.

Not every male, traditional, gender-is-essential-Proclamation-hanging-in-every-room Mormon is an enemy to me, or my beliefs. We can co-exist. Elder B didn't change my mind, or make me less enthusiastic about gender equality in the LDS Church, but he did help me become a tiny bit kinder, and a tiny bit more Christ-like.

Wonderfully enough, he treated me with more respect, perhaps, than some of his more liberally minded peers.

He saw me as a person, with valuable opinions (on World War I weaponry, to say the least,) and a voice worth hearing.

Isn't that what I've wanted all along?

*Boo. No one log on to tell me that the Elders were just unsure of how to talk to me because I have lady parts. Elders are perfectly capable of speaking respectfully to women without having lustful thoughts. Politeness is not something one gives up when serving a mission. (DVDs, however, are.)

the _____________ of the story

2011-01-03T12:05:00.000-07:00

WARNING: Here is a long and essentially pointless story, which I am telling you because I am back in school and teaching my class this morning felt like running into a brick wall. Repeatedly.

Once upon a time, when I was a brand-spanking new mid-year hire, I discovered the magic coke machine. Sometimes, when you put in a dollar bill for a 75 cent diet coke, the machine would give you an extra quarter back as change. Magic coke machine!

Legend had it that the coke machine could predict the future. Extra quarter= good day. No extra quarter= bad day.

I am already a superstitious person. I did not need any extra help believing in the machine. I also may have made a spreadsheet documenting correlations between cheap coke and good teaching days, but I may have not done that, either.

Sometimes, though, shit happens and you don't have a dollar. So you frantically dig through your bag and your desk searching for 3 quarters.

But alas, in your early morning delirium you mistake a nickel for a quarter. You come up short. It is going to be a very bad teaching day. You accept this, and hit change return.

And get back 4 shiny quarters.

You try the same tactic again the next day, and it works. And the next day. You get your diet coke, and you make a small profit. 55 cents = 1 dollar= 45cent profit=Diet Coke for 30 cents.

And then you feel bad. It isn't a magic Coke Machine God that capriciously grants you an extra quarter and a good day of teaching. It's a broken piece of machinery that you deliberately manipulate every day so you don't have to pay as much to feed your addiction.

This of course causes much internal reflection. Am I stealing? Do I care if I'm stealing from the Coke Corporation? Is it my fault the machine is broken? What about that one time the machine ate my dollar? Can I consider this compensation for how little I get paid?

If I clutch my husband's coat-tails firmly enough, can I make it into the Celestial Kingdom despite my morally bankrupt quasi-thievery?

What do you think?

No seriously. Either help me rationalize, or sermon me into repentance.

Like college only I have a slower metabolism

2010-12-31T01:21:00.000-07:00

When I started Grad School, my professors were always talking about providing "timely and meaningful feedback" for students. So they would probably frown on the fact that I have papers here dated from November 30th. (Wait, Wait, Professor McStandardyson, I've been out of school since December 17th, is 2.5 weeks still considered timely?)

Anyway, I promised myself I would get them all graded over the break, and I had very good intentions. But first I had very important things to do, like debate the merits of picking up Ghost Whisperer* into my T.V. routine, or if I instead should focus on more important things, like Mike and Molly.**

Fortunately, my guilt/anxiety complex kicked in shortly after Christmas, and I got all organized and ready to start a massive grading marathon. Unfortunately, every time I tried to log onto Skyward, (my school's online grading system,) I was foiled. The system was down! The system was down!

Now, could I have gone old school and grade everything by hand and enter it in later, but that seems like a waste of time. Like doing the job twice. Well, maybe 1.5 times. I don't have that kind of time. Not with two weeks off for Christmas break, and Jennifer Love Hewitt's*** surgically altered pouty lips solving mysteries.

Last night, however, I decided to try logging on around midnight, just for fun. Miracle! Apparently Skyward is up from about Midnight to 5 a.m.

Are you getting what I'm putting down? That's right. I've been pulling all nighters. Just like college. For those of you who want to play along, or are so old and senile to remember what college is like, here is a recipe for an all nighter:

1.Caffeine. Tons of Caffeine. Hide the evidence later.

2. Mac N Cheese. In college, when your metabolism was that of a jack rabbit, you could eat a whole box in one sitting. If you do that now, you'll feel really bad about yourself. Best to spread the box over the course 5 hours. If you get snacky in between sessions chocolate is always a good idea.

3. When eating 3,000 calories worth of chocolate makes you incapable of grading one more paper on Modern Rhetoric, bundle up and take a walk. Ignore any inner naysayers that tell you that walking around in a snow storm in the dark at 3:00 am is weird. Also, try walking in the middle of usually busy streets. It will make you feel powerful. Powerful enough to stay up until Skyward crashes at dawn.

4. Gilmore Girls on DVD, perfect grading background noise, and when you feel weary, remind yourself how Rory Gilmore would never quit grading before the job was done. Then again, Rory didn't go to a State School and become a public servant. Damn you, Gilmore. Damn you and your perfect hair and high standardized test scores.

5. Log on to your Gmail account frequently to see if anyone is around to chat. Bemoan the fact that college really is over, and all your friends are now adults and not randomly online at all hours of the night. This also impedes on finding a companion for greasy food runs, which is probably for the best.

6. Ignore your Spouse when he accuses you of having a Peter Pan Complex. Remind him that it is his fault you have any interest Ghost Whisperer in the first place.

Did I miss anything?

*Thoughts?

**I will name my firstborn child after the person who can guess what piqued my interest in Mike and Molly. I'm sort of serious. I'm terrible at picking out names. Contest excluded to people named after Book of Mormon characters, or have weird spellings of normal names.

***I refuse to confirm the spelling on her last name.

in n out

2010-12-27T20:46:00.000-07:00

I've never actually eaten at In N Out. I don't say that in some "I'm too cool for trendy crap" (because I love a whole bunch of trendy crap,) I'm just stating a fact. I've had Five Guys though, and that was good.

SEGUE MACHINE

Speaking of trendy crap, I've compiled a list of trendy things I'm over, and trendy things that can stay. Because I am an expert. It's also kind of like X96 and their "Things that Must Go." I still listen to Radio from Hell in the morning, even though I don't like emo rock.

OUT

1. Can we be done shoving our pants into boots? Mostly because I am too OCD to ever do it, and it makes me feel like a fashion failure, and I shame spiral.

2. Silhouettes. Mark my words, someday, we will look back in horror and realize that Sillhouette's are the orange shag carpets of the 2000's. It was cute the first 4,000 times. Seriously, I look forward to the day where we treat Sillhouettes and weird Etsy wreaths like shag carpet and vertical blinds.

3. Blogs where the writer has developed such a large Cult of Personality that it is no longer about the information, or the conversation, but about the writer saying something, and their sheeple nodding in enthusiastic agreement/defense.

4. Married Child Brides calling fictional characters/movie stars their boyfriends. In fact, Married anyones calling anyone their boyfriend. You are married. You have a husband, or, if you prefer, a Spouse. I will even allow you to borrow the Spousetotheman moniker if you stop referring to your husband of five years as your boyfriend. Or Zac Efron.

5. Douchebag hats. I'm not going to explain to what they look like. Just know that girls wear them with big big sunglasses and put flowers on them. And I hate them.

IN

1. Birds. I don't care. I still like them. I'm not going to cover them in glitter and put them all over my house and in my hair, but I will happily wear the bird-motif pajama pants my Mom made me for Christmas.

2. Sewing, Crafting. Because everything I make is darling, and makes me feel included in LDS culture in a way no other things can.

3. (Some) Design-ish blogs. Interesting ones, not some bored stay-at-home-wife with a Pottery Barn Catalog.

4. Blogging, obviously. And although I am not on the Twitter myself, it amuses the heck out of me, so it can stay too.

What say ye, gentle readers. Would you like to play a game of In N Out in the comments? You should. I love audience participation. It can stay.

My father, upon sneaking into the Grand America lobby after seeing the lights at Temple Square:

2010-12-26T23:04:00.000-07:00

"I like it here much better. Less children. More rich people."

Merry Chritsmas, From Childbride and her Faux-Scrooge Dad.

ich verstehe nicht

2010-12-20T16:08:00.000-07:00

(I do not understand.)*

1. I'm watching What Not to Wear and the lady they are making over is being a biyotch. I'm not exaggerating. I do not understand. If you don't want to give up your lingerie-as-outerwear wardrobe, do not take the $ 5,000.

2. I went to Joanns today (Can you tell I'm out of school for Christmas break? Crafting and Reality TV? Yes, please,) and witnessed what I can only describe as a white trash verbal beatdown. Can I say something elitist and rude? Of course I can, you can choose to unsubscribe if you don't like it:

There is nothing more depressing than two morbidly overweight sweat-pants clad Terrys (My name for people who have no features to help distinguish their gender,) fighting over who got in line in front of who at a craft warehouse store that is only one small step above Walmart.

Terry 1 "I got here first!"

Terry 2 "You did not!"

Terry 1 "If you think that, you live in an alternate reality!"

Terry 2 "It's always people like you who think they are the exception to the rules!"**

Terry 1 then started asking for audience participation from fellow line standers. Terry 1 turns to me and asks "Who got here first?!?"

He/She was very distressed when I said "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

You know why? Because I wasn't. I'm an anti-social borderline Aspergers person who was too busy being horrified by humanity to notice who actually got where first. I'm also too smart to get involved in the drama by indicating a winner. The last thing I want is Terry 1 telling me I live in an alternate universe.

Back to the point: I do not understand the need for conflict. We all have to wait in line. Terry 1 will wait 5 minutes longer. Either way, in 20 minutes, none of this will matter. Likewise, I do not understand people who claim drama ends in high school. No it doesn't. People just get fatter and more ghetto.

3. By now, biyotchy What Not to Wear girl has calmed down. I do not understand why it took her 30 minutes to do that, but whatever. She has good shoes now.

If there is something you do not understand, you can say so in the comments.

Or you could help me come up with more gender neutral names to label people who are so fat you cannot tell what gender they are. I can think of nothing that would elicit Christmas spirit more.

* I took German in 9th Grade.

** Um, Terry 2, people like who? You are both in need of a shower, are both wearing sweatshirts with wolves/kittens on them, and are wearing Crocs outside of the garden. What, in your opinion, distinguishes you from Terry 1?

things i like

2010-12-08T12:21:00.000-07:00

Even though I'm not supposed to. (See my list of things I don't like HERE)

1. Carbs

2. Gay Marriage

3. Private/Charter schools. (Some public educators think they encourage people not to value and invest in public education. Sometimes that is true. But sometimes it means one less kid in my class. Sometimes they have a better education experience in a school with different resources. And sometimes it means that kid comes back after a month at a "Charter School" where all they do is eat pizza and watch you tube. Lesson learned. Either way, I'm all about options.)

4. President Obama. I know lots of you don't like him anymore, but I'm still faithful.

5. Vampire Diaries, notably Damien.

6. My married name. Am I a bad feminist for taking, and liking, my husband's last name?

7. Childless evenings at home doing whatever I want.

8. Processed foods.

9. Caffeine

10. Politically incorrect phrases of derision, usually involving a swear.

What do you like? (Even though you are not supposed to.)

things I used to believe

2010-11-30T20:09:00.000-07:00

Sigh. I can already see all the Sweet Mollys and Righteous Peters who read my blog cringing over this one. That is okay, Mollys and Peters. My reality doesn't have to be your reality.

The point is, I feel totally fine poking gentle loving fun/critiquing Crazy Mormon Thoughts because I had/have a lot of Crazy Mormon Thoughts. It isn't me making fun of everyone else (at least not all of the time.) There is a whole lot of self-mockery going on too. So without further ado, things I used to believe:

1. That the most rebellious thing I could do as a youth is listen to non-LDS music on a Sunday.

2. That if a priesthood holder said it, in church (or similar setting,) it had to be true.

3. That when I died and went to the Celestial Kingdom (duh, obviously,) and people asked me what time period I lived in, they would audibly gasp and bask in my righteous glow when they found out I was a youth in the year 2000, since my generation was the greatest ever. Sorry, pioneers who buried babies in the cold frozen tundra/Abinidai/Helaman's Stripling Warriors/Emma Smith/Holocaust victims.

4. Speaking of Emma, I used to believe that it was just so sad that her testimony wasn't strong enough, since she obviously was going to hell for not sustaining Brigham Young as prophet. Good thing Joseph had a bunch of other wives to keep him company up in Heaven.

5. Speaking of polygamy, I used to believe that really righteous people would be chosen to practice polygamy in heaven. I would secretly pray to marry a nice but spiritually average man so we would not be chosen.

6. I believed that because I used to believe that women were inherently more righteous than men (hence why they needed the Priesthood to quell their wildebeest-like dispositions.) More righteous women=pairing up to share the few men effeminate (femininity=righteousness)enough to make it to heaven. I'm embarrassed to admit how long it took me to realize the obvious logical fallacies there.

7. I used to believe that if I said something in a prayer similar to a previous prayer, that I was engaging in vain repetitions, and would be sent to hell. Where bad prayers would be happy to be.

8. That Mormons don't talk about Heavenly Mother because she isn't important.

9. That I was personally responsible for keeping the thoughts of any male I encountered pure by dressing modestly and not tempting them with my awkwardly pale skin and non-existent boobs. (Boys=wildebeests.) If they looked at me and had lustful thoughts, and then got addicted to porn, and they turned gay, it was all my fault.

10. People unhappy in the church were weak people who probably just relied on their parent's testimonies, or had never read the Book of Mormon. Or something.

Any of these sound familiar?

What did you used to believe?

PS I'm going to tell you right now that my parents didn't teach me any of this. When you grow up Mormon, there are lots of people who try and teach you things, including aged slightly-racist relatives, weird Seminary teachers, EFY counselors (whoa....whole other post....), and some of it I just made up in my own warped brain.

Basically, when a village raises a Mormon, hilarity is bound to ensue.

nothing amuses me more

2010-11-28T15:02:00.000-07:00

Than wanna-be sorority girl cougars acting all put-out about a game they didn't watch. Your team lost, you didn't get jilted at the altar.

You can rebound with Heaps next year when he pulverizes us.

i have to post it before it becomes irrelevant

2010-11-27T14:25:00.000-07:00

So you have a blog? What do you blog about?

Uh, well, my Mormon rage, dumb stuff my students say, dumb stuff my peers say, and crap I make because I am genetically and culturally bred to sew and hot glue.

Oh. Um. How interesting.

Yes, and once every few months I post a photo of something I make.

Oh cool! I only read blogs if there is a picture! Especially if it is essentially the same photo, just from a slightly different angle, or in a different outfit.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That said, here is a wreath I made when I was really ticked off about something. When I get really mad, I engage in really elaborate craft projects.* This time it involved hand-sewing dozens of tiny felt flowers. The end result matches the shag carpet my grandparents used to have, but oh well. I think it was very festive for fall.

Yeah. That is a crapload of felt flowers.

Also, please appreciate that I moved the wreath into my orange bathroom in an attempt to color coordinate. A slight improvement over photographing it on one of the numerous gray walls throughout my house. I'm boring.

*I've said it once, and I've said it again: Crafting is cheaper than therapy.

Now it is your job to tell me how talented and creative I am, and beg me to open an etsy shop instead of using my degree at a real job.

i don't care if you think she is annoying

2010-11-26T11:28:00.000-07:00

I think those Target ads with the crazy blonde lady are hilarious.

Mostly, because with enough caffeine/concerta, I could BE that woman.

a very critical thought. (also known as rage)

2010-11-22T18:27:00.000-07:00

For the women of my generation (born to the first generation of "liberated" women and granddaughters to the women who fought for it,) we were given limitless options.

We were told we could be anything.

But sometimes, I wonder, with all the options available, why many of my peers chose to be nothing.

No jobs. No school. No kids. Just expensive taste in clothing and cameras and unlimited time to take photos of themselves.*

Yes, I intend to teach my children that with a combination of hard work and luck, they can be anything. But I damn well intend to include an addendum: they have to be something.

Mom. Dad. Stay-At-Home. Work. Work-from-Home. Start a business, write a novel that never gets published, readers, thinkers, learners, yes, even photographers (hopefully they might consider taking a class.)

Something besides shopping and taking pictures of their food.

Am I missing the point?

*Do it. Call me on how mean and nasty I sound. Tell me there is nothing wrong with a near pathological obsession with Anthro, J. Crew, and Nikons. I don't mean to call out individuals, and I like shopping and pictures of myself too, but I want to be sure that when I die I can say more about myself than "Wow. I sure did stare at my vintage shoes a lot."

If this were a real internet tutorial, I'd have pictures for every step

2010-11-20T10:43:00.000-07:00

Tutorial: How to Insult (and yes, I just accidentally typed "Inslut",) a Mormon.

For a group of people that believes we belong to the only true church, (that takes confidence,) insulting Mormons is surprisingly easy.

Here's a How-To list based on my own experiences. (AKA things people have said to me.)

1. You need to be less prideful/gain some humility.* Someone once brilliantly proposed I engage in a humility fest.**

2. Non-Mormons who read your blog won't join the church, because you are revealing all our Crazy Mormon thoughts. You are a terrible member missionary.

Sheesh. Hope those same Non-Mormons also don't shop at Costco, where you can buy a whole bunch of books on how we used to practice polygamy and kill Indians. All for the low, low price of $8.95.

(Internet, the jig is up.)

3. Once you discover your divine role as a female in church, you won't be so discontent. (Fancy way of saying "Get pregnant.")

4. If you don't agree with me on ______________(insert political opinion here,) you obviously don't sustain the prophet.

5. If you feel that way, then this isn't the church for you.

6. You used to be such a nice Mormon girl. (Optional: replace "nice" for "classy.")

7. I promise you that if you pray about it, you will have a spiritual confirmation that my opinion on this matter is right.

8. You are misusing personal revelation to justify sin.

9. Some people will just be happier in the Telestial Kingdom.

10. You must be such a burden to your righteous parents.

Did I miss anything?

*A Mormon telling another Mormon to be less prideful is the religious equivalent of a scantily-clad sorority girl calling another scantily clad sorority girl a skank.

** Um. No. That would interrupt the flag football Righteous Fest I'm playing in. You didn't know this, but I'm on an Intramural Team called "LDS Liberals who judge LDS Conservatives for not supporting Welfare Programs that Benefit Children." We are playing the "LDS Conservatives who believe LDS Liberals don't believe in being Self-Sufficient" team.

Obviously, I'm very busy.

please explain.

2010-11-19T14:12:00.000-07:00

Hellcats.

More specifically, why do I not love Hellcats?

(It is a mystery why I do not like Hellcats. It has cheerleaders. Slutty cheerleaders. Fake lawyers. Southern accents. Bad hair. Bad acting. WHY DO I NOT LOVE THIS SHOW MORE?)

updates smupdates

2010-11-10T15:33:00.000-07:00

Hi internet.

I'm procrastinating some major teacher work here, and thought that the most noble way to procrastinate in my job would be to talk about my job. So here we go.

1. I'm Reaganing.* And it feels so good. Seriously, the last couple days have been excellent teaching days. I feel like I'm teaching awesome material (To Kill a Mockingbird and Rhetoric in the Roman Republic.) I feel like my students are learning and growing and enjoying most of the process, and I feel like I'm finally making progress as an educator. Woot Woot Child Bride!

I kvetch about this job a lot, and I usually only respond with sarcasm when asked how my job is going, but damn, I love this crazy behemoth of a high school. I'm still not perfect, I had a rough start with some class discussion topics today, but overall, I'm improving. My students are improving.

2. My co-workers are talking to me. Last year, when I was just a temporary replacement teacher, I felt sort of shut out of the day to day co-worker interactions. I understand their perspective. Time and energy are precious commodities in teaching, and it's hard to reach out to someone who may not be there in four months. But now that I'm here, it's been great to branch out and talk to other teachers. I live for those moments when we all reaffirm that what we do is important. Regardless of the crappy paychecks, the bad stereotypes, and the lack of societal respect, we do good work.

I also live for the times when a teacher confesses that she often misspeaks when talking about Huck Finn. During teacher evaluations. And yes, she said what you think she said.

So there you go. I like my job. Even though I'm breaking out in ways worse then when I was actually a teen. Even though my weight is fluctuating like a beauty queen between competitions. Even though I keep waking up earlier to get here hours before school starts, and I stay hours after it ends, this is a good job, and I like it here.

Fin.

insert grumpy face here.

2010-11-07T21:30:00.000-07:00

Can we all agree that asking someone when they are going to have a baby is just rude? Especially if that is the only thing you ask them? Ever. Every. Time. You. See. Them.

Can we also agree that reminding someone how long they have been married, in an attempt to force them to have a baby is just pointless?

3.5 years. I know. I was there.

things I don't like

2010-11-03T19:02:00.000-06:00

Even though I'm supposed to.

1. Voting

2. Real Christmas Trees

3. Modern Family. Put. Your. Pitchforks. Down. *

4. The UEA

5. Anthropologie

6. Your kid.**

7. FHE

*Look. I get it. It is funny. I'm just too busy watching every Community episode 3 times in a row. I don't have time for Modern Family. No matter how adorable the gay couple or Asian baby.

** No, no, not your kid. I LOVE your kid. Of course.

What don't you like? (Even though you're supposed to...)

And General Conference is the Super Bowl.

2010-10-30T13:01:00.000-06:00

Righteousness Fests: When a bunch of Mormon people get together and bash on something they think is evil, and congratulate each other on not participating in said evil thing.

Righteousness fests are a complicated sport, with more rules than football. Like football, you can be penalized for "excessive celebration" of your own righteousness. One too many self-congratulatory remarks and you come off as "prideful." But if you're sidelined the whole game, refusing to comment on how you just don't understand how a member in good standing could watch that R-rated movie, well, then you're not truly playing on the side of the Lord, are you?

I've participated -either via the sidelines, (unrighteously,) or as a running Quarterback,(obnoxiously,) in a great many Righteousness Fests. Since I was raised in the Mormon Church, one could even suggest that I'm close to being the Brett Favre of righteousness. No comment on how many times I've threatened to retire.

If Righteousness Fests are the Mormon Cultural Superbowl, and if you expect to take home the Celestial Trophy, there are a few "plays" you need to know.

1. You must constantly talk about "the good old days" where people valued the traditional family, and the youth were respectable. Openly longing to live in the 1950's will get you a field goal. Ignore topics like segregation, civil rights, women's rights, and the atom bomb.

2. Have a copy of the Proclamation to the Family posted prominently in your home. Make sure to twist the text when you quote it so that your point seems the same as the Prophet's point. Quote it even when irrelevant for extra yardage.

3. Lastly,my favorite play- insult people who have more education, or money, than you. Mormons love to do this. In fact, I heard the following mantra mis-quoted in both Sunday School, Relief Society, and Sacrament meeting last week.

Mis-quote: quoting the 14 Fundamentals and pointing out that "the two groups that have the hardest time following the prophet are the rich and the learned."

Oh my. This is the Shot Gun formation of Righteousness Fests. Mormons love being rich, and love being educated, but they have a hard time with people who are richer, or more educated.

How many times have you heard "Oh her Daddy paid for her college tuition, she's not a hard worker..."

"Rich people don't know how to really work..."

"Yeah it would be nice to have more money, but you know, rich people have a hard time following the prophet. Their boats become false idols...." (That was from Sunday School last week.)

or

"I wanted to finish my degree, but I realized that the Lord had better plans for me then to listen to the words of men..."

Want to know the actual quote?

"The two groups who have the greatest difficulty in following the prophet are the proud who are learned and the proud who are rich. "

It isn't about how your roomie from college had more parental financial support than you. It's about pride. And it's bad in any form. Being prideful about your spouse's six figure income as an attorney is annoying. But being prideful, and insisting that you are the better Mormon because you "worked harder" to "make it on your own" is annoying too.

It is annoying, but but it's also ineffective. Sadly, even though every Mormon uses Play #3 in a Righteousness Fest, it usually results in an obvious fumble.

Because like NFL football players, only certain types of people get to participate in righteousness fests about the evils of wealth and education. People who complain about boats being a false idol are the people who have access to boats.

They are usually white, American, middle-class Mormons who simply by being born in the U.S. already have access to more riches and learning than their brethren in South America.

I'd venture that if the Chileans (mascot: a Habitat for Humanity Representative) who had their homes destroyed by an earth-quake had to play the Mormons-in-My-Ward (mascot: an SUV) in a Righteousness Fest the Chileans would win. Due to their awesome defense, I mean, humility.

But go on, keep smugly arguing that you're the better Mormon because you don't have a boat.

Fantasy Football time: What teams would you like to see in a Righteousness Fest? I'm waiting for the game where the Modesty Nazis play the Anti-Halloweeners.

crap.

2010-10-28T07:52:00.000-06:00

Last night, as I was washing my face, I got really frustrated because I could not seem to get all the smeared mascara off my eyes. I kept scrubbing and scrubbing.

Then I realized that I wasn't dealing with smudged mascara. I just had really big dark circles under my eyes.

This job is killing me.

something we can all agree on. *

2010-10-18T17:17:00.000-06:00

This bag is really cute.

I'm an amazing crafter.

*Seriously, I love a good debate on religion, but if you don't think this bag is cute you are either a.) a dude b.) apostate.

Edits.

2010-10-14T15:48:00.000-06:00

For a moment, I focused on the negative. The one "you're a bad Mormon" comment left on my last post. The comment is still there if you are a glutton for punishment. I promised myself I would publish every comment on that post, and I did.

But then I realized my error in focusing on the negative, so I am editing my post. Instead I would like to say Thank You for all the kind and supportive words everyone else left. Even those who disagreed did so in a kind and civil way. Thank you.

For those who shared similar sentiments, it was good to know I am not alone. I do feel very alone sometimes, in my journey through Mormonism, and it was nice to have people walking with me for a few miles of that journey.

We are all enlisted 'til the conflict is o'er.

even though nobody asked.

2010-10-11T16:12:00.000-06:00

Like a lot of people, I was upset at Elder Packer's conference talk. But, like a lot of people, I was comforted when the talk was changed to reflect the church's previously stated stance on homosexuality. (link HERE).

It did not comfort me because I am satisfied with the LDS Church's position on homosexuality. I could lie and say that I was, but again, I would be lying.

I was comforted because changing a General Conference talk shows that the LDS church is willing to change, and to correct error. Right now, it is a few words in a very complex talk, given by the person next in line to lead the church. A complex talk because I agree with him on the nature of the atonement. I believe God is always there and willing to forgive. I do not, however, believe that people choose to be Gay. After all, I did not choose to be straight.

I also believe in prophets. I believe in prophets who listen to God's voice, but have to listen just like the rest of us. Who may struggle to hear that voice amidst louder voices. The louder voices of personal bias, cultural upbringing, and fear. Sometimes those voices drown out other voices, even if that voice is God. Even if you are the prophet.

This makes being Mormon extremely difficult for me. It would be easier if I could simply believe that everything said in General Conference was direct revelation from God.

It would be easier for me if I could believe they were all lunatics.

But I don't.

What I do believe is that the church can change. We can recognize errors, fix them, and progress. It is an agonizingly slow process. Change in the church is like the child who slowly peels off a band aid. There are times I want to rip off the huge band aid of being Mormon, because watching it peel back hurts so much.

But for whatever reason. I'm still here. Forcing myself to listen and pray every time I hear something that does not sound right. Every time I question, and yes, every time I doubt.

If I have learned anything from Elder Packer's talk, I have learned that I am the only one responsible for my testimony. I cannot rely on one man to determine my relationship with God. I can only listen and hope to hear God's voice. Sometimes he speaks through someone else, sometimes he speaks through the scriptures, and sometimes he speaks to me. Because he loves me.

So no, I am not satisfied with the LDS Church on many of their positions. But this is the church where I learned to pray, where I learned to listen, and where I learned I am a Child of God.

For now, that is enough.

Um. No.

2010-10-06T15:02:00.000-06:00

We are preparing to read Oedipus the King in my Humanities class.

I was looking up lesson plan ideas online, when I stumbled across one suggesting that I have the students make finger-puppets, and act out the main events of the play.

Um. No.

No.

Not okay.

oh parent teacher conferences

2010-10-01T13:54:00.000-06:00

The bane of my life.

Fortunately, this year I had no crazies. Remember the PTC where the mother of an expelled student came and yelled the word that caused her son's expulsion over and over? To prove that it isn't a "bad word" and that "people say it all the time?" Oh memories. I wonder how that parent is doing after she got escorted off school premises by the school cop.

I did have some weirdos though. Just people who don't quite get appropriate human interactions. As a person who often struggles with appropriate human interactions, I'm usually sympathetic. However, I also realize that if I, one prone to slightly odd behavior, find something weird, then it is definitely weird.

I had one parent come talk to me about their kid, leave, come back, see I had no one in line, and proceed to sit down and tell me how terrible it was that they wanted to build a mosque right next to Ground Zero. He also felt the need to explain to me that I might not think two blocks away is right next to Ground Zero, but blocks are different in New York. Two blocks really is right next to ground zero. Apparently.

However, weirdly, about ten minutes into his spiel, I got the distinct impression that he really didn't care about the mosque. Something was bothering him, something was not quite right in his world, and the best way for him to deal with it was to rant about terrorists and mosques and oh-my-heck-this-country-is-going-to-hell.

Maybe it was because I had 4 hours to sit and think about whatever I wanted (well, until the next parent came, at least,) but PTC made me think about all the other "issues" we may latch onto to hide what really bothers us. Prop 8, The War, Taxes, Obama, do we really care? The world keeps going on, no matter who is President, who gets married, who pays taxes, the world keeps on spinning. I'm not suggested we don't care entirely, because we do, but is the Ground Zero Mosque really what causes us to sit down and lash out at an unsuspecting teacher for 25 minutes?

What's really bothering us? The fight we had with our kid this morning? Or spouse? The soul-crushing feeling we get sometimes when something we wanted doesn't happen, or isn't as great as we thought?

Is the idea of gays getting married in Massachusetts really keeping you up at night? Or is it the stress of your job, feeling unappreciated at home, the realization of what it means to have a chronic illness?

I include myself in this analysis too, recognizing that the times I get most passionate about things usually coincides with some personal drama. So, in an attempt to prevent myself from accosting some teacher someday, I will tell you some things that are bothering me right now.

1. The fact that many of my loved ones would rather give each other the silent treatment then talk it out and work out an issue. This has bugged me for years.

2. The fact that despite being smart, capable, and well-educated, I still make mistakes as a teacher. I want so badly to be good at my job, that anything less than perfection is painful.

3. I am not confident enough in myself to write this without worrying what specific people will think of it. Will she think I'm oversharing? Will he think I'm dumb?

What is not bothering me right now-

1. Anything the Tea Party is doing. It doesn't impact my life in anyway. I think they are crazy, but this doesn't keep me up at night. There. I said it.

What's bothering you?

(Ps. If I tagged by entries, this would so be tagged under "emo posts"

Maybe I should tag my entries. Aha!

smrt

2010-09-13T11:07:00.001-06:00

Ask any Church Youth leader, teacher, parent, grandparent, or anyone given the opportunity to work with teenage girls what they want most for the women in their life, and you will always get variations of the same answer.

I want my daughter to know that she is smart. I want her to know that I will support her in whatever dream she chooses, I want her to know that she can be anything she wants. I want her to know that she is capable of greatness. If you are Mormon, or religious in anyway, you might respond with "I want her to know that she is a Daughter of God."

We want a lot of things for our girls/young adult women. We've come along way from simply wanting them to be pretty and silent.

But if my interactions on the internet and in the classroom are any indication, while we pay lip service to the idea of a smart young woman, we don't always want her to know that she is smart. We'd rather have her be demure, overly humble, self-deprecating, and doubting. So very often, a boy who knows he is smart is confident, self-assured, and a leader. A girl who knows she is smart is arrogant, cocky, and aggressive.

I speak from experience. If I even hint at being smart on the internet, I get a couple comments, and a couple more emails, from people accusing me of all sorts of nonsense. I'm a snob. I'm an elitist, I think I'm better than everybody else. Once, someone who read my blog complained about me to my mother. It was so rude of me to say that I was smart, and I was hurting her feelings.

I never claimed I was the smartest (the ability to conjugate is apparently a lost art,) I simply acknowledge that through a combination of hard work, and luck, I am smart. I see no crime in acknowledging that there is a spectrum between the intelligence of the primordial single-celled sludge I evolved from, and, say....Einstein. I fall somewhere in that spectrum. Hopefully closer to the Einsteins then the sludges.

However, I also acknowledge that I fall in different places in different subjects. I am a microbiotic parasite when it comes to chemical equations. I used to feel insecure around people who did understand chemistry, until I realized that their talents are no more or less important than my own. If you ask me to analyze the significance of polytheistic religions in Ancient Near East cultures... well, I can work with that.

Speaking of the Ancient Near East, I recently held a discussion with my students. We were analyzing the effectiveness of the Sumerian class system in maintaining social order. Riveting. I know. Many students, both male and female, made intelligent comments. However, I noticed that many of my girls seem addicted to disclaimers: "I don't know for sure, but......I could be wrong but.....I think....."*

It was almost as if they worried that stating a strong opinion would hurt the Ancient Sumerian's feelings.

Whether it hurts our feelings or not, if we really want girls to know anything, we need to let go of our own insecurities and let them truly know things about themselves without the minutiae of disclaimers tying them down. If they are smart, let them say so. If they work hard and become smarter, let them acknowledge their success.

The Ancient Sumerians are all dead, anyways.

* We can talk another day about the ills our society inflicts on teenage boys. I am aware of them, and acknowledge their validity, but decided to focus this post on girls.

more things you should know about me

2010-09-02T07:51:00.001-06:00

I've discussed this before: I have certain random words that I hate. They are the plague of my life. I don't listen to my voicemail anymore, because my family members and friends like to leave me random messages saying nothing but words used by Mormons in prayers about rain or snow, and words starting with a hard "p" sound.

I also hate paisley patterns. It looks like sperm. Also, the "p" sounds.

However, despite these feelings, I am strangely grateful to my friends Spence and Jess for this blog post. (link HERE)

If only because, for the first time in my life, I can leave someone a comment telling them how much their blog offends me personally. It is nice to be on the other side of that particular equation.

you should know something about me

2010-09-01T11:59:00.001-06:00

When it comes to Mormonism, and feminism, I'm a radical.

And I really liked this profile on mormon.org

http://mormon.org/me/1V45-eng/Heather

newsflash: collins isn't meyer, she's a quality writer.

2010-08-25T18:54:00.000-06:00

This morning, I read someone blog about their love of Mockingjay, followed by a resounding "TEAM PEETA!"

And I resolved that my next blog would be a one-liner: "I hate it when stupid people like what I like."

I mean, I talked about it a little bit HERE. But I thought it was worth repeating.

Then my e-friend, and co-reader- of- online- Jack Weyland -books Ru wrote about it HERE, and I knew the discussion was over. That is some damn inspiring rage, and I mean that as a compliment.

My favorite part? Why Ru (and I) hate it when dumb people like awesome stuff:

"Because I can't help but suspect that the lame people don't truly get it. That they are laughing at the wrong things, or misinterpreting the symbolism, or whatever. "

This brings me back to Mockingjay. I really love the Hunger Games series. I think it is quality YA literature. By combining a killer plot, romance, and a very likable protagonist, I understand why the teens can't put it down. But more importantly, I think it is quality YA literature because it lets you think. Or, more specifically, it allows the reader to think without pushing an agenda (abstinence before your vampire wedding, for example.) There are some heavy issues in Hunger Games, including our society's obsession with voyeurism (admit it, you'd watch the Hunger Games every year if you could,) beauty standards, (I love the scene where Katniss and Peeta come out into the arena naked,) and wealth. Even more heavy are the issues of a powerful government versus an ethical one, the value of free will, and whether it is noble or just stupid to sacrifice your life for a nearly hopeless cause.

Yes. There is romance. There is a love triangle. But Gale is not Edward, and Jacob is not Peeta. Hunger Games is not Twilight, and the idiots that were not satisfied with 4 drivel-filled vampire lust shouldn't try and get their fix off a truly wonderful piece of fiction.

Or, they should just stop talking about it on the internet.

Upon further consideration: I thought I'd disclaimer myself, and say I see nothing wrong with enjoying drivel-filled vampire fantasy, on occasion. I watch Bachelor Pad every week, and I love it. I take issue with people who can't tell the difference between quality and quantity. Quality of writing versus quantity of poorly written similes. His skin was like shimmering marble.....

PS. I have not read Mockingjay yet. Please, no spoilers.

Let us take a moment to salute my freak OCD flag...

2010-08-22T00:16:00.001-06:00

During my 4 hour (4 hour!) faculty meeting on district policy, I looked up all of my students on Gradebook.

Then I made excel charts for each class, categorizing students by grades, citizenship, and special skills. I may have experimented with bar graphs.

There is a reason I found my first gray hair before graduating from college.

a revelation

2010-08-16T16:51:00.000-06:00

I...previously thought? That people.....who speak? In....church....in a weird...cadence? And an unusually high.....pitched....form of....questioning?

Needed to be shot.

But now, my dear brothers and sisters, after hearing several Mormons speak, as if they were our beloved prophet or perhaps a favored general authority, I am reminded of the stories of my grandparents, told to me in my youth. It was all right then, as they were my grandparents, and were not trying to appear holier than they were. But now, dear friends, when a return missionary attempts to use a moderately funny anecdote in order to teach a treasured gospel lesson, and speaks in language uncommon for people under age 65, I realize in my heart, that I find insincere religious pandering, far, far, more offensive (and worthy of a firing squad,) than the magical ability to treat each spoken statement as a gerund. A beloved, special, and holy gerund.

Extra bullets if he or she was born after 1989 and uses phrases common in 1949. That just sounds particularly insincere.

That is all.

confessions. pop culture edition.

2010-08-11T23:34:00.001-06:00

I'm watching Raising Helen right now, and damn it, I'm enjoying it.

I watched Bachelor Pad today, and that is the most entertaining show ever. I was so bored by Ali last season that I didn't even watch the last two episodes. But I will watch hot people throw tantrums and play games half naked any day of the week. How crazy is Elizabeth? You tell everyone how much you love me, or me and all my girlfriends will get you voted off! Why don't you appreciate everything I do for you!

I always wondered about the behind-the-scenes action in the controlling-girlfriend relationships, and I now know how all those cheerleaders got those nice baseball players to stay with them forever. (Or all of senior year.)

Which do I need the judging space for- my obsession with Kate Hudson films, or my deeply rooted addiction to schadenfreude via Chris Harrison? Both?

Judging Space____________________________________________
______________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________
______________________________________________________

I base my non-reality TV selections on a weird sense of loyalty. For instance, I started watching Parenthood because Lorelai Gilmore was on it, and Mad Men because Zoe from West Wing was on it. I feel like it's my job to watch and make sure they are successful in their new endeavors.

It wouldn't be confession without audience participation. What embarrassing things do you watch? You should tell me, because it is my birthday tomorrow. I'm 24.

oh captain my captain

2010-08-06T02:09:00.000-06:00

"There are three kinds of teachers: Those who teach because they actively want to, those who teach because they like long summer vacations, and those who teach because they don't quite fit into the adult world."*

I wish it were that simple, and I wish I didn't identify with all three types.

There is a funny thing about teaching: Everybody seems to have an opinion on it, especially the everybodys who have never set foot in a classroom. I've seen no other profession more highly esteemed, and more ruthlessly mocked, than teaching. Especially public school teaching.

Consider every teacher in every movie or TV show you've ever seen. Movie/TV teachers fall into two categories: Messiah or Scum. John Keating (Dead Poets Society) or Ben Stein as the Economics teacher. (Bueller? Bueller?)

Freedom Writers or Clueless

Sure, the Messiah teachers start out rough. Someone plays a prank on them, or in the case of Mona Lisa Smile, already know all the answers. But fear not, by the end of the movie, the teacher has each and every student eating out of his or her hand. All in 90 minutes. If Julia Roberts can do it, what is wrong with you, Mr. Hall? (Hint: As if!)

And like Olympic Gymnastics, movie teachers make it look so easy.

Here's the truth: I actively want to be a teacher. I actively pursued being a teacher since I was 18, with a ferocity unusual for a regular person, let alone a person with "attention difficulties." I never changed my major, I never doubted. I actively want to be a teacher, except on the days I don't. Except on the days where I seriously contemplate getting "accidentally" pregnant so I have a socially acceptable reason to quit. I actively try to develop meaningful lessons, except on the day, when faced with a 62% failure rate, and three suspended students, I simply open the textbook and force my students to read. Silently. For an hour. I feel like I make a difference to my students, until they spend 30 minutes debating whether it's a zit or a hickey on my neck. **

I'd be lying if I didn't tell you I love summer vacation.

I'd be lying if I told you I didn't find solace in my profession. Yes, solace from dealing with other adults, who are much more complex than teens. (Mostly because adults still act like teens, but pretend they don't.) There is a solace in shutting the door to your classroom, and knowing that for the next 87 minutes, you are the (hopefully benevolent) God of your own tiny world.

There is also a sense of terror when you realize that it is you, the 23 year old adult against 37 teens.

But none of that fits into 90 minutes, or 3 categories. Or in a three line quote. I can't hope for students who stand dramatically on their desks, calling out Oh Captain! My Captain! in an act of cinematic loyalty. All I can hope for is that they learn something. And don't accuse me of selling drugs. ***

*Quote and not-necessarily related article found HERE

** Zit.

**Actually, I do think there is one movie that accurately depicts what is like to be a teacher, and you're going to scoff when I tell you. It's Mean Girls. The scene where Tina Fey spills coffee all over herself, insults a minority student accidentally, but still manages to encourage girls to do math? Substitute coffee for diet coke, and girls with boys and math with poetry, and I've almost successfully fulfilled my fantasy of BEING Tina Fey.

The second dumbest argument I've ever heard, ever.*

2010-08-04T00:38:00.000-06:00

"I hate it when teachers complain about low pay, they knew what they were getting into when they became teachers."

Not to be overly dramatic, or claim that the situations are the same....oh, to hell with it, let's be dramatic. It is the internet, after all.

But Rosa Parks knew what she was getting into when she sat down in the front of the bus.

Martin Luther knew what he was getting into when he nailed 95 Thesis to the door of the church.

Alice Paul knew what she was getting into when she picketed the White House during wartime.

As long as complaining leads to making the world a better place, I think we should keep doing it.

I'm a teacher, I knew what I was getting into, and you should pay me (and public education, in general,) more.

*If you know me, you know what I think the dumbest argument ever is, and you know I don't want to talk about it online, because it contradicts people with large followings of stupid people. Maybe another day.

i want to buy him a set of flaming batons.

2010-08-02T00:46:00.000-06:00

If I had to use one word to describe my neighborhood, I'd probably go with "Pleasantville." If I had five words, I'd follow up with "When it's black and white."

Seriously, children swinging on rope swings in the front yard, my virgin-Mary Laurels doing service projects throughout the neighborhood, and charming elderly people walking tiny dogs.

No, it is not as exciting as living next to meth dealers (our first apartment,) or worrying about things getting stolen out of our cars, but it is nice.

And it means I'm totally comfortable going on evening walks, usually around 12:30 or 1:00 am. Which is when I discovered this:

Three streets down, a man wearing nothing but a wife-beater and boxer shorts plays rap music in his backyard. He stands in the corner of the yard, holding rainbow neon light-up baton things, which he swings in carefully orchestrated routines. Under the legs! Flip! Swish! Swivel! Sometimes, he sings along with the terribly offensive lyrics. Swing, "F*^& yeah!" Swish, "Rap lyrics rap lyrics rap lyrics!" Swivel! "Hell yeah!"

For the sake of blog accuracy, I just checked. He's out tonight, this time playing some form of techno.

I don't think he can see me, but I think out neighborhood just got a little more colorful. Frankly, I'm relieved.

I'm sensing a theme.

2010-08-01T15:25:00.000-06:00

Person: So do you guys have kids yet?

Me: Nope. We do have two cats though!

Person: Well, that's not exactly the same, you know....

Me: Exactly!

I don't know why this amused me so,

2010-07-30T15:45:00.000-06:00

But it did.

This is an email from my Mom.

hey everyone. We are in coppenhagen We do not have cell service. We are happy and eating lots of food. it is beautiful. drew will gain 20 pounds. kallie is on the A team. all is well. tell brett. jess loves him it makes us sick. it smells like pasteries and nicotine here. we love it.
the family

She's an English teacher, too.

fact, theory, conspiracy

2010-07-29T17:58:00.000-06:00

Fact: If you have a blog, a facebook, a twitter, a tumblr, a flickr, and a formspring, you need to re-evaluate how much time you spend on the internet, talking to people you don't know in real life.

Theory: Planned Parenthood's main form of unwanted pregnancy/STD prevention is shame. They shame you into not doing something stupid. Particularly shameful? When the medical assistant asking you about your knowledge of "barrier methods" looks about 12. I felt like screaming I HAVE A JOB, A MORTGAGE, A MASTERS DEGREE, AND A MONOGAMOUS RELATIONSHIP, I DO NOT NEED PLAN B.*

I need to graduate from planned parenthood.

Conspiracy: Hipsters must all secretly hate each other. There's no way I'd let someone I really like go out with the hair/terrible pants/vintage grossness that some of these people go out with. I wonder what the end goal is? Who can convince the hipster queen to post the most unflattering photos of themselves online? In which case, I could probably name a few winners. But I won't. Along with being horrid dressers, hipsters are vicious. And I don't want to be labeled a "hater."

Isn't fact, theory, conspiracy a fun game? You can play too!

*When I'm embarrassed, I like to list my accomplishments to make myself feel better about myself. Funny how lots of papers resulting in lots of debt makes me feel better.

I'm sort of terrible at zumba.

2010-07-27T10:42:00.001-06:00

Does that make me a bad Mormon?

it makes me sad when...

2010-07-26T22:01:00.000-06:00

FF

Facebook shows a picture of Glenn Beck and says "Many who like The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints like this."

because no one says "sidekick" when asked what they want to be when they grow up.

2010-07-22T18:11:00.000-06:00

I know that every job has value and importance, and that there are also benefits to certain jobs (part-time options, flexible schedules, no need for expensive graduate degrees,) that other jobs don't have. So don't e-slay me when I say this:

Sometimes I get sad when girls only want to be (and are only taught to be) assistants, attendants, and aides to the main show in the career theater. Especially when we teach boys that they MUST be the main show in order to "provide."

Be the main attraction, ladies.

i said a boom chicka boom (in which i discuss girls camp, and get on an anti-twilight binge.)

2010-07-18T16:28:00.000-06:00

I survived Girls Camp. Not only did I survive, but I actually enjoyed myself most of the time, which is sort of miraculous. I sort of suspected that the Girls Camp likeability range would hover in the 30% like 70% tolerate range, but it was actually the opposite. In fact, the time we cooked brownies over the fire, and ate them out of the pan while still quasi gooey was more 99% like 1% concern over germs.

But that was not the only camp miracle! I got some sun at camp (Not enough to burn, but enough for random older woman to cluck concernedly and over to rub Aloe Vera on my nose,) and it seems this sun may actually result in a TAN.

I hope you have your food storage ready, because clearly the end is near.

It really is odd though, to look in the mirror and see a tan healthy looking person instead of an albino sickly one. Furthermore, I can sort of understand now how people get addicted to tanning. I look pretty! And athletic! Let us tan some more!

Fortunately/Unfortunately, I am a major proponent of slippery slope arguments, so despite the fact that I look less like a Cullen, I don't intend to let this tanning business happen again. Would you like to hear my slippery slope argument?

If I tan frequently, I will get addicted, and then get skin caner, and then die, and then Dan will remarry some Mormon princess who will want to watch Living Scripture movies, and we will all be stuck together in heaven*, making me the eternal third wheel who wants to sneak into the Terrestrial Kingdom for diet coke and PG 13 movies, while my sister wife bakes the demons in hell casseroles and cookies.
.

Plus, when I'm tan, I don't sparkle in the sunlight. Oh wait, that WAS the Cullens

*There is no doctrinal basis in my post-life fears. That is an example of what I call "Crazy Mormon Thoughts." All Mormons have CMT, but some people try and pass them off Actual Church Doctrine, and try and teach them in Young Women's lessons, and that's when Stephanie gets something called "Rage." In more extreme cases, people insert vampires into their CMT, resulting in poorly written adolescent literature that sets feminism back 1,2033033030 years. But don't worry girls, he's only mean and controlling because he loves you. Anyway.

pray for me

2010-07-12T13:48:00.000-06:00

I go to Girls Camp tomorrow.

Good news:

1. We have running water!

2. I am going as a leader, not as youth. This alone is the best part of camp. I will tell you why.

a. There will be no awkward fights over who gets to sleep in which tent with who. Girls are vicious, and someone is always left out. Usually because a group of girls decides that since they have been friends since elementary, they must all sleep in the same tent, and girls who they have known since junior high are simply not real friends and have to go sleep with the beehives.

Wow. Projecting much, Childbride? Anyway. I will be sleeping in the tent with the leaders. As adults, they must at least pretend to be friends with me.

b. I am an adult and I can bring any contraband I want, and there is no one to confiscate it. Yes, that means I will be bringing diet coke and I don't care if you judge me. If I am going to spend the better part of a week hanging out in a tent and eating food with dirt in it, (I don't get the appeal of camping,) I am going to have a beverage. I will also be bringing copious amounts of candy.

Moving on,

3. Our stake had the good sense not to impose some ridiculous theme on us. (Including but not limited to: Disney princesses, sayings that don't make sense (It's not the number of breaths we take, but the moments that take our breaths away,) or any other such nonsense. This is good, because I would not be able to tow that line without a hearty degree of cynicism. And the last thing my precious and righteous* young women need is a leader who is addicted to caffeine, hates camping, and makes fun of quasi-religious gatherings.

*Seriously, it's a post for another day, but my young women are waaaaaayyy more righteous than me. None of my laurels have even kissed anyone, let alone made a point to make out with as many of the young men as possible. (Still projecting.)

living in utah gets more amusing every single day.

2010-07-10T12:34:00.001-06:00

It finally happened- someone asked me if I was struggling with fertility problems- the only possible explanation for being 23, married, and childless.

it is the hottest, after all

2010-07-07T00:24:00.000-06:00

One of my friends was asked to give a modesty lesson to the Young Women in her ward. (No-Mo translation: Give a speech to the female youth of the congregation on dressing appropriately.)

She asked me for tips (Because I teach High Schoolers, I'm a teen whisperer...)and I wasn't very helpful. At all. She asked me if I remembered any good modesty lessons from my youth, and, even though I had a bunch of great YW leaders growing up, I don't remember any modesty lessons that really stirred my soul. Let's face it, it's hard to feel spiritual about long shorts and one piece swimsuits.

Furthermore, while the cynic in me could not identify any awesome lessons, I could identify some that fell into the following categories:

a. Unnecessary.

b. Offensive.

c. Ineffective.

Let's start with the beginning.

a. Unnecessary: I was never one to wear bum-cheek-hanging-out-the-back shorts, or boobalicious prom gowns. I'd nod and smile, and maybe read an excerpt from the Strength of Youth (No Mo translation: A teen handbook that helps you end up on a mission/not knocked up), and leave totally unaffected.

I just don't feel the spirit when I'm being told what not to do. I mean, I'll not do it, but I probably won't experience a great spiritual awakening every time I buy a besleeved formal dress.

I imagine a lot of youth feel the same way. Teach me about how to receive answers to prayers, and you just might impact me. Teach me not to look like Katy Perry and I will nod and smile. I wasn't going to dress like that. Still won't. Thanks.

Plus, give an already modest girl too many lessons on Modesty, and it might turn into....

b. Offensive. Sometimes, after the billionth lesson on SLEEVES SLEEVES SLEEVES, I'd start to get a little annoyed. Do you think I'm secretly slutty? Dumb? On the verge of a sexual rebellion? I get it. SLEEVES.

Even worse though, are the horror-story lessons from Mormon mythology. The lessons about how it's important to dress modestly, because if you don't, a boy might look at you! And think lustful thoughts! And when he gets addicted to porn and can't go on a mission IT WILL BE ALL YOUR FAULT.

Because teaching girls that their god-given bodies are evil is a GREAT way to bring them closer to Heavenly Father.

And lastly, there were those lessons that were just...

c. Ineffective. I've already covered the fact that I've never owned a pair of daisy dukes. But I knew girls who did, and I'm pretty sure their Laurel leader telling them not to did jack squat after the lesson ended. Why? Because it isn't the Laurel leader buying their clothes/ letting them out of the house. If their parents think tank tops and short skirts are okay, (and these could even be, gasp, good parents,) then the girl is going to wear them. Especially when modesty, despite the guidelines in the Strength of Youth, still harbors a whole lot of gray.

What does it mean to cover the shoulders? Don't tank tops cover the shoulder? Or, if you're like one of my friend's parents, does covering the shoulder mean only t-shirt style sleeves and beyond? (Seriously. Girl was not even allowed a cap sleeve.) If Sally down-the-street thinks tanks are okay, is she immodest just because her Laurel Leader has made a business sewing sleeves onto spaghetti strap cocktail dresses?

Can't we just talk about Jesus at church?

Apparently not. So, e-audience, you tell me.

How do we teach our girls to be modest?

(Or, if you have tips on What Not to Say/Horror Stories from Your Youth, I would be happy to hear those too. I'm nothing if not equal opportunity.)

conspiracy theory

2010-07-03T16:17:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I think those "Keep Calm and Carry On" posters are Mormon code for "Shut Up and Act Like Everything is Perfect."

sunday evening confessional

2010-06-27T22:36:00.000-06:00

Alternate Title: Sometimes I wish I was Catholic, because confessional seems awesome, and very therapeutic.*

1. Our kittens are freaking adorable, but I still maintain that becoming a pet blogger would be an unpardonable sin against humanity. Fact: I once unsubscribed from a blog because the couple got a pet and spent a month referring to it as "their baby" and having the pet guest post and talk to "mom and dad." I know. Harsh.

2. No matter what, Dan and I will always be approximately 5-10 minutes late for church. Regardless of what time it meets. Right now we have the coveted 11-2 time, and we still run late. I have some amount of guilt about this. Like if 10 is how guilty I feel when engaging in stupid e-feuds, and 1 is how I feel about my diet coke habit, I'm probably about a 3 on the Church thing. And now I'm shame spiraling for not feeling guiltier about the church thing (late for church should be at least a 4) AND the diet coke thing. Would you still read my blog if it was called Catholic Child Bride?

3. Can we talk about something that gives me irrational amounts of rage? Truly irrational. (In the sense that the punishment does not fit the crime, I still maintain that a lot of things that bug me really are that offensive. Anyway.) Dude hipsters that wear too tight clothing make me want to stab people with mechanical pencils. There are several things that annoy me about the dude hipster phenomenon:

Dude hipsters tend to be thin, (like listening to the shins, eating is sooo mainstream,) but also sort of unfit (can't get sweat on my vintage prada loafers,) so they have that little pooch belly. Pooch bellies are not a crime, but when you wear those tight little boy pants that are too short, and your old man suspenders and your snug plaid button down.....I just really wish you would fall into a pit. And, yes, I know this is unfair,because for a group of men who probably always have wedgies, most of them seem pretty nice. I still wish to inflict pain.

4. Did I tell you I'm a Laurel Advisor in my ward? I am. And we are going to camp in a few weeks, and we might not have running water. Someone may or may not be getting very ill just before camp. I'm a lot of things, and I don't necessarily need to shower (Heaven knows I rarely showered in Europe, and I had running water,) but I do need to be able to flush.

Judging space_____________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
_______________________________________________________________
_________________________________________________________

*In retrospect, Mormons do sort of have confessional. Like you can go talk to your bishop, if you want. But to my understanding, Bishop confessions are more for sexually active teenagers and not for wanting to stab male hipsters, but I could be wrong.

How many Hail Marys do I need to say now?

i've decided to blog less because it's a total waste of time.....

2010-06-23T16:36:00.000-06:00

BAhahahahaahahaha! Didn't that sort of rankle your feathers? Especially those of you who spend lots of time blogging/reading blogs? Bah.

I once had someone who was considering my Masters Program tell me they "didn't believe in going into unnecessary debt in order to be a teacher."

That rankled (doubting that's a word...) my feathers to0, but it took me awhile to figure out why.

Answer: Because people who feel the need to validate their life choices by putting down other people are feather ranklingly annoying.

If you don't want to get a Masters degree, fine. But it doesn't mean my degree was unnecessary. If you don't want to blog, fine, but that doesn't mean it is a waste of time.

I've found though, that the most frequent offenders of this crime are women, and the most frequent victim: children. Or lack of children. Or childcare.

It seems like nobody can have a kid, want a kid, have a job and a kid, without being subject to the "I'd do that, but...." clause.

For instance, how many times have we heard this gem?

"I'd like to have a career, but I don't want to sacrifice my baby for my own ambitions."

Right.

Because working mothers are just selfish and need to feed their egos.

or

"I'd love to be a SAHM, but I'd think I'd go nuts! I need more in my life than just being a mom!"

Right.

Because SAHMs are just mindless drones that don't need external validation.

It's just as bad for those of us without kids.

"I thought about waiting to have kids, but I realized that having kids was the most important thing I could do, so why put it off?"

Childless people just don't have the right priorities, you know?

And people who have kids right away are just dumb.

"I was going to have a kid, but people who have them right away usually don't know what they are doing..."

We've heard it all before. Heck, maybe we've even committed the "I'd do that, but I'm so much smarter than you" crime. I admit, owning your own life choices can be hard to do.

It's still annoying.

Either get a degree, or don't. Blog. Or don't. Work at home, stay at home, go to work, have a kid. Or don't.

Remember in kindergarten when we learned that "You don't have to put someone down to bring yourself up" phrase?

Still true. I should know. I was going to be a kindergarten teacher, but........

sewing blog.

2010-06-15T09:27:00.001-06:00

Well, I've threatened you all before, and now I'm telling you it just might happen. We're going sewing blog again. Since basically, that is all I do now that I don't have a bazillion papers to grade. And yes, I'm still a terrible photographer, and no, my husband isn't modeling this time.

Here is a bag I made for my Aunt Lissa who is HAVING HER 8TH CHILD THIS MONTH. Eighth. EIGHTH.

And her oldest is 15.

Anyway, her superhuman reproductive skills aside, here is her bag. She requested a bag with tons of pockets, and I obliged, AND I even put in a magnetic snap. I feel very official.

As usual, I think it is the cutest and most killer bag I ever made, ever. Until I make the next bag. And then I give the previously cutest bag in the world away. It's a good thing we are talking about bags here, and not children.

Also, the lining is awesome.