Tools of the Trade

Just the other day, I realized I had to do some studying for the first time in a while. Not just passive reading, mind you, but actual studying complete with highlighters, pens, and notebook paper. I was actually looking forward to working out my brain. I went upstairs to get some lined paper but when I set foot in our office I quickly realized that I had no idea where to look for it.

And I was stunned by that realization.

The surprise was in no small part because as wife and mother of our home I am expected to know the location, state of repair, time until replacement, and approximate remaining battery life (if applicable) of roughly one million objects on demand, so I was floored that I could be so easily stymied. The main portion of the shock I experienced, however, was that it was only a few short years ago that I was never more than an arm's length from college lined notebook paper. I was once utterly surrounded by office supplies, five subject notebooks, both full and empty, reams upon reams of note paper, and quite possibly 100 pens. If I was away from home, I carried paper on my back, along with several books. I was at the bookstore buying paper at least every couple of months. You could argue that for most of my life, I was quite literally defined by my proximity to notebook paper. I was a hard core student, and my collection of office supplies was a testament to that fact. It was a physical testimony of what made up the majority of my personality, and where I spent my time.
Fast forward to Monday afternoon, and I was digging through my home office on some sort of deranged quest to find that one pack of paper I was absolutely positive I had seen floating around when we moved in. When I finally unearthed it, it wasn't even open. I found myself shocked all over again, and actually a little bit sad. Never had it hit me so hard that a major portion of my life was unequivocally over. I was saddened because apparently I hadn't even really noticed until a few years later.
Perhaps I never noticed that what had once been an object so central to my very being was now gone because I wasn't all that sad to see it leave. By the time college graduation finally came due, I was so thrilled to be finished with the years of slavery I didn't care if I never saw another notebook again. I guess I took what I thought at the time was a flippant joke truly to heart. Maybe it took me nearly five years to notice the absence because if I'd realized it any sooner, I would simply have felt continued relief. I'm not at all sorry to not be in school anymore, mind you--I wouldn't go back and trade what I have now if you paid me--but after all these years, I guess what I'm sorry about is that I could be so oblivious to the sweeping changes I've made.

This got me thinking about what objects have defined me since I left behind the lined paper days. When I was working full-time, it was always nasty microwaveable lunches at my beck and call, I suppose. When I was pregnant, it was baggies full of dry cereal to stem the desire to heave. And now, I'm never more than a few steps away from a size 3 Luvs diaper. I suppose diapers have become my new paper, a physical testament to what my life is really about and how I spend my time. Not that my daughter brings nothing to my life but poop, but that diapers represent what I always have at the ready, what I am in constant need of, that my time and energy is not directed at me, but a very small person who still pees her pants. I'm happy with that, but if you had told me in the lined paper days that I wasn't that far away from trading it all for diapers, I'm not sure what I would have thought about that.

I've also been thinking about my brother in context of all of this "defining myself by the objects that surround me" thing. He is now home after spending two years as a missionary in Mongolia. Virtually overnight, the objects that defined him, and how he spent his time, and where is priorities are, have to change. There are so many things that are part of your everyday life in the countryside of the third world that simply don't apply to the everyday in the good old US. But it's not just that. No more does he always have several copies of the Book of Mormon with him, strapped to his back, ready to share. Sure, he might plan to carry some around, but the day will come when his textbooks will outpace his back strength and he will have to take them out of his backpack to make room for what he needs right then. That doesn't mean he has traded something great for something so-so, it just means his immediate needs have changed. I don't know what his new objects will be, all I know is that he is in a state of confusing limbo right now. It's hard to let go of what you always had at hand, and it's even harder to realize that they have let go of you. That's what life is about, evolving and changing from what was important right then, to what is important now. And I want him to know that it's okay. It's okay to let your definitions change, or you might never find what brings you the most joy. You won't find the objects you want to keep if you don't collect new ones.

Today, while I was laying on the floor doing ab exercises, Samantha decided she needed attention right that very second, so of course, she came and sat on my face. It was at this point, I realized she had a diaper completely full of poop. Now, there was a time in my life, in fact any other time in my life but right now, that I would have been completely undone by another person sitting on my face with poop in their pants (diapers or no, it's gross). At this stage in my life though, I just got her off my face, explained that it's rude to sit on Mommy's face, and went to snag a clean diaper. After so many experiences like this one, I can honestly say I won't be sad to see the diaper stage of my life go either. But if my experience this week has taught me anything, years from now I just might be moving furniture and find a long lost size 3 Luvs, and while I won't want that time back per se, I'll certainly wonder where in the world it all went, and feel just a little sad.

Bear With me

Please bear with me and my long absence. It's only going to get longer.
Right now, we are anxiously preparing for my brother's homecoming, and life is a bit of a mess. I'll be ready to wax all philosophical and emotional again soon.

In the meantime, here's an illustration of what life is like now that Sam is old enough to understand most of what we say.

The other day, Sam was touching something she knows she's not supposed to. It happens a lot, and she flashes this "aren't you going to come stop me?" grin every stinking time. I was super busy with chores, which is why I just looked at her and said, "Samantha, you are doing a no-no. Would you like to go to time out?!"
Sam looked right at me, yelled "Yeah!!!" and came running over for her punishment. I don't really know what to do with that other than admit that it's probably time to change our method of time out.
Since Sam is a bit of a wiggle worm (major understatement there), up until now "time out" has consisted of her having to sit on Mommy or Daddy's lap with her arms folded and not being allowed to wiggle or play. Unfortunately, now Sam is old enough to figure that out and she gets herself "sent" to time out by acting up when she just wants some cuddle time. I got played.
It's like 20% flattering, 80% super obnoxious.
Besides, now I have a conundrum, because she is still too young to sit on a naughty stool and not get up for time out, but clearly too old for the time out on Mommy's lap. Not that she seems to understand the principle of time-out anyway, it's just a good chance for her to calm down. Having a baby who is smarter than me makes me sleepy.

"You Keep Using That Word..."

Near the beginning of the all-time classic movie The Princess Bride, Vizzini kidnaps Princess Buttercup with the help of his two cohorts, Inigo Montoya the Spaniard, and Fezzig the Giant, while being pursued by the mysterious "man in black." Each time Inigo announces that the man in black is still hot on their trail, Vizzini hilariously exclaims "Inconceivable!!!" complete with his insane lisp. Eventually, after a final "Inconceivable," Inigo (played by the brilliant Mandy Patankin) stares at him and responds--"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

Much like the uber-intelligent criminal mastermind Vizzini, a large portion of the world today keeps throwing around a word that does not mean what they think it means, and those most energetic about its usage seem to be the most ignorant of the meaning. The word is: Intolerance.

According to dictionary.com "intolerance" means: "The quality of being intolerant; refusal to allow to others the enjoyment of their opinions, chosen modes of worship, and the like; want of patience and forbearance; illiberality; bigotry; as, intolerance shown toward a religious sect." More importantly perhaps, is what "intolerance" does not mean, and much to the chagrin of the screaming public, is does not mean "simple disagreement with others' opinions."

Intolerance is my least favorite word in the English language, because it is no longer used without making the speaker look like a hypocrite. Currently, people are labeled as "intolerant," when they do not wholeheartedly agree with and embrace the other sides' views. This is ridiculous! If one uses that definition, the word becomes utterly impossible to use. Follow me through the steps of logic if you will: If I disagree with you, I am therefore intolerant of you. However, if I disagree with you then you must also be in disagreement with me. If you are in disagreement with me, by your definition, it therefore makes you....oh my gosh!...intolerant!!! It not only makes you intolerant, however, it makes you a hypocrite for calling another what you are yourself. Bummer.
(As a side note, I was clearly paying attention in 8th grade Geometry, because I did learn how to make a proof.)

Intolerance means that you do not allow others "the enjoyment of their opinions" and I don't care what planet you are on, allowing you to enjoy your opinions does not force me to agree with them. If you can not enjoy your opinions without everyone else on earth agreeing with you in every aspect, I wish you the best of luck with finding said enjoyment, but it is never going to happen. You can believe whatever you wish to believe, I will never hunt you down, or actively try to prevent you from saying your piece--because that would be intolerant. I will not even trample on the right of white supremacists or others I find morally reprehensible because I understand that the same amendment that grants them the right to spew their disgusting vitriol gives me the equal right to call them hateful, ignorant, monsters. You can not take away the rights of one without trampling on the rights of the other, and eventually, there will be no one left to fight when it's my rights on the chopping block. When we incorrectly use the word "intolerance" to describe anyone who does not see things the same way we do, we are actually saying that our beliefs are more correct than others, and others should therefore not be granted the same rights we are because they are "wrong." What a dangerous precipice to stand on!

I have already mentioned what I do not have the right to do, so what remains is to assert what I do have the right to do. If, you ask me a direct question, or ask me to vote and therefore choose sides on a controversial issue, I have every right to answer you with what I believe--no matter which side it falls on. That does not make me intolerant any more than choosing the opposite side makes you intolerant. It makes us different--which is why we have a democratic process in the first place. The founding fathers obviously picked up on the fact that you can't please all of the people all of the time. This is the most fair system we've got. If you did not want to hear what I had to say, you shouldn't have asked or backed me into a corner and forced me to choose sides.

So, what is a real-life example of intolerance, according to proper use of the word? Hmm, I don't know, let's see... Oh, how about firing someone for giving the "wrong" answer to a question you asked that wasn't supposed to have a "right" answer? Miss California USA may have been fired for "not upholding her commitments," but I can not help but wonder--not upholding her commitment to what? Her commitment the unspoken rule that she must fall to one specific side of a controversial issue? Her commitment to agree with a gossip columnist whose only "credibility" and "celebrity" comes from harsh comments on real celebrities goings-on and wardrobe choices? I'm sorry, but the whole point of asking controversial questions in a pageant setting is to that the contestants have the right to fall on either side, as long as they defend their points. If there's a specific answer to be found, maybe they should ask obviously one-sided questions such as "Puppies--cute or ugly?" or "Adolf Hitler--horrible monster or stand up chap? What do you think?" They should avoid the hornets' nest of issues that divide voters virtually in half altogether! Heck, maybe to avoid confusion in contestants who might actually speak for themselves, instead of asking questions, they should just make statements. "Gay marriage is right. Please expand on this established fact."

Regardless of what side of the gay marriage issue you stand on, this is just not right, any more than it would be right for one of those creepy little girl pageants in the deep South to decrown a contestant for saying she did agree with gay marriage (which by the way, the ACLU would be all over like white on rice). Disagreeing with someone is not intolerance, but firing them as a passive aggressive "punishment" for disagreeing with you, surely is "a want of patience and forbearance." It's real intolerance, by definition.

So, stop using that word, unless you are willing to understand what it means and use it correctly. Understand that the meaning of a word does not change just because the actual meaning does not meet your immediate needs. The more you call me "intolerant" for simply believing differently than you, the more it's not myself I consider ignorant, and it makes me want to buy you a dictionary.

Compare and Contrast

I've been thinking a lot lately about making comparisons. It seems like human nature to always being comparing yourself to another person in every way imaginable, and women seem particularly addicted--"I could never get my hair to do that! I can't can homegrown vegetables! I could never be a stay-at-home mom like her! I could never be a working mom like her!"
The whole thing is insane, but I'm right there in need of a straight-jacket myself. The real question is why are we so nuts?

Considering how few years I've actually been old enough to hold "grown-up" callings in the church, I've certainly done my time in nursery, and in multiple wards at that. When I was in college, I'd work in the nursery whenever I was visiting home. Once, we were having a lesson on Easter Sunday, and it was about the resurrection of Christ. The teacher held up a picture of Christ during the crucifixion when suddenly, one of the three-year-old boys screamed at full volume "NO FAIR!!!!!!"

Thinking that the picture of Christ in pain had frightened or touched him particularly strongly, we stopped the lesson to make sure he was okay.
The little boy continued with the meat of his complaint by adding "my mom never lets me go outside in my underwear, and there is Jesus in his underwear!! Outside! And my underwear even has Spiderman! His is boring."

There you have it, folks. He was not upset that Jesus was undergoing a horrible, violent death at the hands of his own people, he was jealous that the Savior of the world was sporting what looked to be underwear, outdoors. He was out of his mind with envy. Apparently, every boys' dream--running around in your underpants. Basically, he was three. I don't think I have ever laughed so hard, or tried to hold it in so poorly.

This brief but hilarious experience has been popping up in my muddled brain constantly lately. I can't help but wonder how many times we look at someone else, and not seeing the whole picture, we assume we are getting a raw deal and they are the lucky ones. Certainly, if he had understood what the picture really depicted, my little jealous friend would not have given his right arm to trade places with the Savior, at least not in that particular moment of time. Someday, of course, he will understand what it means, but how many years did he waste in envy before growing up enough to figure it all out? I think of all the people I know that I think have it better than me, and I think about all the people I don't know that I think have it better than me. I can make myself feel so picked on--and to what point and purpose? To waste my time being jealous of a situation I don't even understand?

I remember several years ago, watching the show Jon and Kate Plus 8, and being slightly irked at the fact that they get so much free stuff. These people happened to have a bunch of kids (accidentally by they way), and now, they are making bank off of it! It's not like they set out to do anything remarkable, and how fair is it that there are families out there who have just as many kids, or multiples, or children with special needs, but can barely make ends meet because their surprise wasn't massive enough to sway the attentions of a cable network! Where's the justice? I know they need to support their family and all, but other families in equally bad shape don't have the option of letting people film their everyday lives and give them vacations to keep food on the table. They work real jobs! I saw the show again the other night, and I can't believe I wasted even a minute of my time being angry at the world or jealous of them. Look what all that "awesomeness" has cost them! I don't know the whole story or the real truth any more than the next gal, but just the simple fact of having your supposed marital problems splayed all over newsstands for your kids to see and the world to judge would outweigh the benefit of the money right there. I can't imagine the pain of having your children living in constant fear that the horrible things people say about their parents are true! Forget whether or not there was any real infidelity or actual "wrongdoing," just watching the way they interact now (or more accurately, don't interact) is proof that fame has affected their family in a very negative way. They are never together, they don't smile like they used to, and the real joy the show used to showcase, just doesn't seem to exist anymore. But, they do have a bus driver and a luxury bus to take them places! I can't help but feel like I was watching someone on the deck of the sinking Titanic, and feeling jealous of their beautiful bracelet I didn't have.

As my little friend reminded me so many years ago, and life has harshly continued to remind me since, there is no benefit to comparing yourself to others, because you never fully understand what we are comparing ourselves to! We never know the entire story of what exactly makes that grass greener on the other side of the fence, and it is futile and damaging to our own lives to pretend we do. Which is why, despite the fact that it goes against my nature as a human being and a woman, I am doing my best to just stop comparing and contrasting. I am myself, I am no one else. I don't think exactly like anyone else, I don't live exactly like anyone else, I don't look exactly like anyone else (though remarkably similar to my mother). I am just going to start embracing the fact that I like it that way!

Got it all figured out

I was trying to get some chores done this afternoon, when Sam decided to follow me around screaming. I'm not a fan of the new tantrum phase, which is (naturally) combined with her "if Mom is busy I must have her attention RIGHT NOW!" phase. Not a fan at all. People keep telling me she's too young to discipline, but if she's not too young to run over to mess with stuff she's not supposed to and then smile, run away and pretend she wasn't when she sees us looking at her, how can she be too young? Anyway, I decided to give her a job to do to help me, since trying to send her to play wasn't going over at all. Less than zero on the blocks, drums, little people, you name it.

I was folding laundry so I walked her over to the dryer with the empty laundry basket. I showed her how to move the clothes from the dryer to the basket and said "Put the clothes in the basket!" Sam is just getting old enough to love putting things in buckets and baskets, which means she helps clean up her toys--can I get a hallelujah??!!! Sam just looked at me, pulled one sock out of the dryer and into the basket, then smiled at me and ran to her room.

It wasn't what I was going for, but I thought I had figured out a universal rule of parenting--if you want a kid to leave you alone while you are working, give them a chore. So, I went back to my laundry pile feeling like I had gotten at least something about Sam all figured out. Apparently, she, much like her mother, is entirely lazy and will do something she doesn't feel like in the face of an even worse fate like a chore. This same personality trait is the only reason I've ever watched a Lifetime movie--much less the same one three times over in the same weekend. Anything's better than cleaning the bathtub.

After only a couple of seconds of feeling pretty on top of things and giving myself a knowing mommy smile, Sam was back at my feet waving and pulling me out of the room anyway, so I went with her to get the rest of the clothes out of the dryer myself. Imagine my surprise to find that Sam had not gone into her room to play after all. There was a plastic teething bee in my whites. She had run into the other room to get something far more interesting than T-shirts for the basket. Then she had come back to get me and show me that she understood her job--put crap in the basket. Obviously, she misunderstood the part about what specifically I wanted her to put in the basket.

And it turns out that I haven't gotten it all figured out after all. The only thing I know for sure now, is that there isn't anything I know for sure. I may have a lot of "first days" in parenting, but this certainly is not my first day feeling self-righteous for all of 30 seconds before being straightened back out. That's pretty much an everyday thing around here.

Feeling Isolated

Hello everybody,
Don't worry, I'll be coming back to the blogosphere soon, but things are a little rough around here right now.
My entire social circle has a diaper rash.
I need to either get cranky-pants over this so she is more fun to hang out with, or expand my social circle. Possibly both.

Government job available: No people skills required

Sometimes, when I'm cranky, I wish I could work for the government and take out my abusive venom on the unsuspecting public. The beauty of working for the government is that you can be as horrible to the "clients" as you ever want to be, and with no ramifications whatsoever--seriously, what are they going to do, hit another DMV and spend their legally mandated registration fees elsewhere? However, for all of us on the other side of the glass window, dealing with government agencies just plain suck.
Case in point:
I was supposed to have jury duty on Monday. Yuck, right? Not really. I was actually kind of excited. I've never had jury duty before, and I got called to the county courthouse only a few miles from my mother-in-law's house, which is so much better than dropping Sam off and heading into downtown Phoenix in rush hour to get there before 8am. In fact, this was the perfect setup if you have to go in for jury duty. No chance of getting sequestered in some huge trial, it's county court for crying out loud, and it's close by. So, weeks ago, I made arrangements for Sam to go to Grandma's if needed so I could preform my civic duty and all of that. I sent in the slip after checking the box that said "I'll be there!" and wished there was some sort of sticker, like the one you get for voting, to prove you are a true American.

Because my jury duty came on a Monday, I was supposed to call on Friday afternoon to see if I was going or not. The Friday afternoon recording told me to call back at 11am on Monday to see if I had to come in on Monday. Okay, well, isn't that nice. So I have to have this hanging over my head all weekend long only to find out if I have to drop everything and run to jury duty that same day. Nothing more fun than keeping a babysitter on retainer and keeping not only my, but her schedule, clear for potentially nothing. It's okay though, just bureaucratic red tape, and I should have expected it. At this point, I'm still ready to preform my civic duty.

I could have come out of this thing virtually irritant-free, but on Monday morning, my mother-in-law called me to say that her mother wasn't feeling very well and there was a chance they would need to take her into the hospital that day. She was still willing to help out, but wanted to know if I could find out for sure if she was needed or not. I decided that the last thing my mother-in-law needed to worry about was deciding between watching her granddaughter or taking her mom to the hospital. Insane, really, to ask her to do that. However, I don't have a ton of friends, and therefore try very hard not to alienate the ones I do have by asking last minute crazy favors like "Can you watch my kid right this second for a completely undetermined amount of time? Thanks." I'm not the boss from Office Space, and I don't take joy in screwing over my friend's entire day.
By this time it was 10:30am, so I decided to try to call the "Juror helpline" to try to find out if I was going to be needed that day. It was only half an hour early, and I didn't want to send out desperate emails to everyone I know trying to unload my kid only to send one out 30 minutes later saying "Nevermind. I'm spending the day with "Top Model" reruns on Bravo. Thanks though." I was not going to try to get out of jury duty, I just needed a little more than 30 minutes notice for a babysitter. This is how the conversation went down. Keep in mind, they named it the "helpline," not me, which indicates just how badly they need a dictionary.

Ring ring.
Deep huge sigh and angry voice "Juror helpline."
Me: "Oh. Hello."
Angry woman: "Yes?"
Me: "Okay, I'm sorry to bother you, but I am supposed to call the recording back in half an hour, to find out if I need to come in today, and my only babysitter has come up with a family medical emergency, so I was just wondering if you could tell me now if I am going to be needed so I know if I need to hurry to try to get another one right away."
Angry woman: "There is no possible way I could ever know that."
Me: "Is there anyone there who might be able to look anything like that up? I don't want to get out of jury duty, I just want an extra half-hour to try desperately to get a babysitter if I need to, and I don't want to bother everyone I know if I don't."
Angry and now even snippier woman: "Hold on. ["forgetting" to put me on hold and speaking to another joyful government employee] There is no possible way we could know this. Jeez. [back to me] There's nothing I can do. I can offer you a postponement."
Me: "Does that mean that even though I did make arrangements to be able to be there today, and called when I was supposed to on Friday but was put in a longer waiting game by you guys, and I can still make arrangements for today if necessary, I'll have to do this all again in 60 days because no one knows who is coming in a half hour before it happens?"
Angry woman: "Yep."
Me: "That's okay. I'll figure something out last minute I guess."
Angry woman: "Wait. You a stay-at-home mom?"
Me: "Yes, which is why I'm so stuck."
Angry woman: "Send a fax to us stating you are a stay at home mom and the age of your child and you can't get childcare and you don't have to serve on a jury."
Me: "Really? And I can fax this in today, even though I'm supposed to call and report in 25 minutes and this will be okay?"
Angry woman: "Yes. That will work." [gives the fax number and click. She is gone before I can ask how I will know they got it and accepted it.]

20 minutes later, after writing a letter, signing it, scanning it and emailing to my husband to fax at zero hour if needed, I called the recorded hotline again (five minutes early I might add).
"Group 1502 is released from duty today."

Seriously. Was that so unknowable 20 minutes before? Really? Was there some sort of confusion that instead of asking "Does my group need to report to jury duty today?" the government agent misheard me as "When is the second coming?" This is why people hate dealing with the government, because even if you don't go into the interaction with an angle or hating the system, they will find a way to make it a miserable, awful, painful experience. Frankly, as to the why of making a system so unbearably frustrating, and why we allow it to continue every single day...
"There is no way I could ever know that!"

My new attitude is most certainly going to be "Jury duty! Yuck!"