"More Diligent and Concerned in the Home"

I spoke at church yesterday! This was my talk:

“More Diligent and Concerned in the Home” 

Growing up, I never doubted my parents love for each other and their love for me (and each of their other 5 children). I witnessed my father sneaking up behind my mother to kiss her and express his love much more than I ever felt comfortable with during my teenage years. Their PDAs were often and sincere enough to significantly counteract the effects (or perhaps, post traumatic trauma?) of our yearly pilgrimages to Utah in a hot, crowded minivan. Those kisses and more I would say more than made up for the seemingly endless hours of arguing about directions, driving and stinky feet. Now THAT is a lot of love.

Elder Bednar gave a wonderful talk during last fall’s General Conference entitled “More Diligent and Concerned in the Home.” In it, he offers 3 suggestions on how we can build a foundation in our homes that is built on Christ and our love for our families.

The first Suggestion is to express love – and show it.

Simply put, he says we should sincerely and frequently express love to our family members; expressing not only in words, but in our actions as well.

In my home, I’d say we’re pretty good with the “I love yous”. In fact, we have an “I love you” for any occasion. The sweet, heartfelt “thank heavens you’re finally home, I wouldn’t have lasted another second without you” I love you, the “what you said is so funny and adorable I could just eat you up” I love you, the “I’m so sorry you have get up early and go to work while I get to just lay here, but really you’re my hero” I love you and finally, the “I need to get off the phone but I don’t want to be rude so instead of saying that I’ll just suddenly say ‘I love you’” I love you. Saying it is definitely important although pretty darn EASY. Showing it is a lot harder.

In his talk, Elder Bednar stated:

We should remember that saying “I love you” is only a beginning. We need to say it, we need to mean it, and most importantly we need consistently to show it. We need to both express and demonstrate love.

My 3 year old son and I go through a set of rules almost daily on how not to treat people - a list he thoroughly enjoys reciting to me if I so much as raise my voice: No yelling, no hitting, no biting, no pushing. Now, assuming you all have those down, we can discuss how we DO treat others, most especially those we hold most dear. Please forgive me for my love of cheesy Mormon youth/EFY music, but the Michael Mclean song, “Are You Giving the Least to Those Who Matter Most” runs through my mind whenever I approach this topic, and it’s times like this that I really wish I could sing. I don’t even need to look over at my husband to know he’s rolling his eyes right now. Maybe later he’ll give my one of those “you’re such a nerd, but you’re MY nerd” I love yous. Anyway, here is the part I keep humming in my head: “Are you giving the least to those who matter most or are you sharing your best with those who really aren’t that close? Well it’s time to turn around and find out where your greatest joys are found.” I find it easiest to think of things that way – just save your best for the best. Your wife, husband, children, etc. should see the best of you and receive the best you have to give. This includes your patience, your listening ear, your smile, your talents, your faith and your respect.

The second suggestion is to Bear Testimony – and Live It.

I pulled this quote from Elder Bednar’s talk:

The bearing of testimony need not be lengthy or eloquent. And we do not need to wait until the first Sunday of the month to declare our witness of things that are true. Within the walls of our own homes, we can and should bear pure testimony of the divinity and reality of the Father and the Son, of the great plan of happiness, and of the Restoration…. Each of us already knows we should bear testimony to the people we love the most. But what we know is not always reflected in what we do. We may feel unsure, awkward, or even perhaps a bit embarrassed…. As we profess truth rather than admonish, exhort, or simply share interesting experiences, we invite the Holy Ghost to confirm the verity of our words.

I can relate to the embarrassed bit. Openly sharing my testimony is something I find difficult and to be honest, a little awkward. Although I’m pretty sure it’s not as difficult as I’m making it out to be – especially after breaking the ice and getting into the habit. In fact, no one made it seem easier than my own mother. In high school, my mom was the early morning seminary teacher (held at my house, pretty awesome, I know) so I heard her testimony every weekday at the crack of dawn, whether I wanted to hear it or not. I suppose I could try that with my own children, it might even be less intimidating when they’re drowsy… But if I can’t rustle up the Spirit that early, Family/spouse scripture study or Family Home Evening will definitely continue to be the easiest time for me to bear my testimony. Perhaps I’ll work on being more stealth, gradually sneaking my feelings on the plan of happiness into breakfast time as time goes by.

The third suggestion is to Be Consistent.

It’s hard not to recite the rest of his talk here because it’s just so good. Elder Bednar told about his experiences bringing his rambunctious young boys together for family home evening, scripture reading and the like; an effort that often left him and his wife exasperated, feeling as though they weren’t doing any good. They persisted however, and here’s what Elder Bednar believes came of their efforts:

Today if you could ask our adult sons what they remember about family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening, I believe I know how they would answer. They likely would not identify a particular prayer or a specific instance of scripture study or an especially meaningful family home evening lesson as the defining moment in their spiritual development. What they would say they remember is that as a family we were consistent.

Sister Bednar and I thought helping our sons understand the content of a particular lesson or a specific scripture was the ultimate outcome. But such a result does not occur each time we study or pray or learn together. The consistency of our intent and work was perhaps the greatest lesson—a lesson we did not fully appreciate at the time…

Each family prayer, each episode of family scripture study, and each family home evening is a brushstroke on the canvas of our souls. No one event may appear to be very impressive or memorable. But just as the yellow and gold and brown strokes of paint complement each other and produce an impressive masterpiece, so our consistency in doing seemingly small things can lead to significant spiritual results. “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33). Consistency is a key principle as we lay the foundation of a great work in our individual lives and as we become more diligent and concerned in our own homes.

As I mentioned earlier, in my home growing up there were 6 of us children. The odds were stacked way against my parents, and we often resembled a pack of wolves as opposed to children. We ran around throughout the neighborhood often without shoes, and sometimes without clothes. My parents, bless their hearts, were diligent however -- and my dad was really strong -- and despite being vastly outnumbered, they still managed to reign us in for family dinners, family prayers, and FHEs, all of which were interspersed with complaining, hitting, giggling and mysterious bodily noises. As we got into high school, we might have been a little more reverent, but our varying schedules made it a much harder get everyone together. I know, however, that my parents still tried and that’s what sticks with me. Their efforts were always consistent with their love for us.

Consistency is really the key. None of us is perfect, and we’re certain to fall short at some point. What’s critical is that we keep at it and are consistent in our efforts, otherwise our words will ring hollow. For example, Marc and I have something of a dirty secret: We have a weakness for sugared cereal, especially as a midnight snack. Erich doesn’t know about this secret life we lead, he just knows that he’s not allowed to choose the pretty boxes of Lucky Charms as his cereal in the morning (otherwise he’d refuse to eat anything else). But if I happen to break down during the light of day, and he sees me start to pull the box out, he definitely has an opinion about it. He used to say something like: “Mama, you can only have yellow or blue!” But now he’s started with: “Yummy Mama, can you share?” Children will call you out AND THEN FOLLOW YOUR LEAD if they catch you breaking your own rules or going against your own philosophies. Teenagers will notice too, only instead of following your lead, they’ll likely come up with something on their own – something much more interesting. At least that’s what I remember doing…

The point is, we need to be authentic and sincere with our families. We need to do more than say we love our family in public, we need to tell them and show them we love them in private. We also need to do more than say we have a testimony of the gospel, we need to share it with our family regularly and live in a way that shows we do. If we want our family to grow closer to one another and to Christ, then we must be consistent. As parents, as hard as it may be, it is important to be diligent about ensuring our families come together for scripture reading, family home evening, dinners and time together. But the effort alone is tangible evidence to our children that we really do love them and that our beliefs really are important to us. 1st Timothy 4:12 states “But be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.” Love and faith simply aren’t things that can be understood through words alone, they need to be taught through action, so our children learn by receiving love and faith.

Elder Bednar says that:

As we seek the Lord’s help and in His strength, we can gradually reduce the disparity between what we say and what we do, between expressing love and consistently showing it, and between bearing testimony and steadfastly living it. We can become more diligent and concerned at home as we are more faithful in learning, living, and loving the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

I really believe this is true. I think if we consistently share our love and our testimony with our families, we’ll end up with closer, more faithful families. It may not happen immediately, but that’s the fruit these efforts will ultimately bear. But now I’m trapped, see. I’ve publicly expressed that’s what I believe so now I need to follow through behind closed doors! Well I promise I’ll try. None of us is perfect, and our busy lives often get in the way, but the best we can do is keep on trying. Elder Marlin K. Jensen once joked that his family never seemed to get Lehi out of the desert in their family scripture study, but they kept at it nonetheless. Having faith in our own efforts and trudging through even when we feel stuck in the mud is part of the journey, and I know our families will be eternally blessed as a result. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

You might be pregnant if...

*If kissing your husband after he eats a clementine feels like you're being waterboarded with orange juice.. you might be pregnant.
*If you catch yourself saying this is THE MOST AMAZING (FRENCH FRY/DOUGHNUT/BOWL OF RAMEN) YOU'VE EVER EATEN IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE.. you might be pregnant.
*If you've stopped complaining about the dog's/your husband's gas so much because you're not sure if it was you or him.. you might be pregnant.
*If everything you come across seems to smell like urine, socks, maple syrup or grandma's basement.. you might be pregnant.
*If you wake up in the middle of the night inconsolable because you had a dream about wizard nuns stealing you away from your family and it felt SO REAL.. you might be pregnant.
*If you can't sing along to a Taylor Swift song on the radio without sobbing through the refrain.. you might be pregnant.
*If you listen to Taylor Swift songs on the radio.. you might be pregnant.
*If you're secretly bummed it's not swimsuit season so you can show off your new rack.. you might be pregnant.
*If people keep touching your belly, and you cringe at the fact that they're delicately bonding with your extra fat layers and the baby is actually 6 inches lower.. you might be pregnant (but then I guess you already knew that).
*If you prepare exactly what you were craving, eat it, and then want to puke because the smell won't go away.. you might be pregnant.
*If you just got comfortable in the perfect position on the couch/bed/movie theater seat and you suddenly feel like you're about to wet yourself, even after you JUST went.. you might be pregnant.
*If you start eyeing your husband's closet.. you might be pregnant.
*If you tuck your shirt under your bra and unbutton your pants around the house so your belly can "breathe".. you might be pregnant.
*If you sit down ready for an evening of laundry folding and DVR, but then fall asleep thinking about it because even that was too exhausting.. you might be pregnant.
*If your favorite color Runt candy (purple) falls between the seat and you get really, extremely upset that you can't reach it.. you might be pregnant.
*If you've had a jar of peanut butter and a spoon at the ready on your nightstand for more than 3 days in a row.. you might be pregnant.
*If your husband wakes you up from a nap to hand you a DQ chicken strip basket and he doesn't say ANYTHING about you eating the entire thing while laying down in bed with your eyes closed (slightly elevated to avoid heartburn).. you might be pregnant.
*If sleep-eating on your back in bed seems perfectly normal to you.. you might be pregnant.
*If said chicken strip basket was neither a lunch nor dinner, but simply a "mid-meal snack".. you might be pregnant.

And finally, if you make up a list of scenarios of what it's like to be pregnant and every one applies to you... well, you know.

Facebook has turned me into a stalker.

I ditched my blog for Facebook. I didn't mean to, it just sort of happened. The reason being: it's easy. Facebook, for those who are completely clueless, is the lazy man's blog. And it's the most major networking site this side of the World Wide Web. You can post pictures, write on peoples "walls", post links, "poke" people, become a fan of stuff, post ranting notes, and update your status every second. You can do all the same stuff you do with a blog, but have a much larger audience because Facebook alerts all of your buddies on your slightest moves. What's that? Sort of sounds like a subdued form of stalking? That's because it is. On Facebook, you stay connected with your own circle of "friends," i.e., everyone you've met in your life that you don't mind following your every move with bated breath (friends like me). Furthermore, by accepting your friendship, these chums have extended to you the same invitation: Frisk me, baby.

One advantage to staying home with a 2-year-old all day is that I am always within 20 feet of my computer screen. I can hear every alert of a new email or message the moment it comes into my little baby's (laptop's) awareness. Facebook very kindly notifies me every time one of my friends pays attention to me in written form. At which point, I rush to see what was said in my honor. What I am blissfully unaware of, however, is what else they are looking at, reading and thinking. It is best, and safest, to assume EVERYTHING.

This is my confession: Facebook has turned me into a stalker. It's one thing to cruise through friends' blogs, read their posts and leave the occasional comment, but it's another to stay logged in all day and read every news feed that pops up - on the average of every second. And then to read every status update, note, picture comment or wall-to-wall conversation that looks somewhat interesting. This is what is stalker-ish about the whole thing. Do they really know I'm reading their conversations with other people? And scrolling back in time to read their previous statuses and comments? And looking at any picture they've posted or album they've been 'tagged' in? And scanning their friends to see who their friends' friends are?? I assume no one cares, or else they would be more private; besides, they probably do the same things themselves. Also, unlike blog surfing, you can't track on Facebook which IP address has been perusing your profile, but you can take comfort in knowing that your stalkers are only those you've invited into your personal life (although considering some of the randoms I've friended, maybe this isn't such a comfort). Still, does this type of behavior seem odd to anyone else? Does it matter? Are we all on huge ego trips and just flattered by the attention - assuming anyone else would be as well?

Okay, I do have a life. I'm not completely absorbed by the lives of others; I'm just really excited to keep in touch with people. Besides, it makes for great interactive reality web-tv. I often wonder, however, where exactly that line is that separates social networking from obsession. Because I get the impression that it's pretty thin.

Interview about Bilingualism

I was recently interviewed by the owner of Alphabet Garten, an online German-language bookstore for children. For anyone interested in our efforts in learning German and teaching teaching it to Erich, you can read the full text of the interview here, at her blog.

Obama Mocking the Bible Ad = Pile of Garbage

I recently saw a commercial titled "Obama Mocking the Bible" which really rubbed me the wrong way. Go ahead and watch it if you must, but I guarantee you'll be vomiting 10 seconds into it. At any rate, I realize my blog is thus far entirely A-political, and I have decided that, at for least today, it's time for change. Yes we can.

For starters, that video is so full of bile that I think I'm going to throw up. Everything in it is a complete distortion and mischaracterization of the truth. The very first thing I did after watching this piece of garbage (I really can't emphasize that enough) was to read the entire speech online. (Find the video here.)

It turned out to be a pretty great speech, about pluralistic democracy and how by acknowledging and respecting the diversity of religion and interests in our society, we can bridge the political divide along religious lines. I'm very glad I was guided to read it in order to learn the truth behind the appalling accusations listed in the "Sermon on the Mount" ad. His speech (the whole thing, not just 20 cut & pasted seconds) enlightened me with a greater understanding of how to heal that divide and ultimately, a greater respect and appreciation for Barack Obama and his spirituality. So, I'm grateful I was exposed to this piece of trashy sensationalism. It significantly helped to solidify my vote.

By the way, the organization that produced that video claimed on their website that they are "hoping to become the 'Swiftboat' 527 organization of 2008". Purely aspiration: nothing at all on their site about what's good for the country, just efforts to take down the other team no matter how unethical or dishonest the attempts become. I find it incredibly ironic (and quite horrifying) that the driving force behind this ad is the very religious/political divide that Obama's speech was trying to heal. And it's so full of lies! (Certainly makes you wonder if they've been reading THEIR bibles, now, eh?)

If you haven't already, I urge you all to go to the source and decide for yourselves. At least then you'll know the truth and not what someone else is telling you to believe. This commercial will be aired after the Democratic National Convention, and I really hope people don't fall for this crap.

The Most Depressing Post Ever

Does anyone else ever feel like we're living a story that is coming to it's end? I couldn't help but feel that way today as I was listening to a radio program about China's growing population and consumption of oil. The host was interviewing a scientist who believed that in 10-20 years the world would be scrambling for oil and it would cause all kinds of chaos. Frankly, I think he's right. But it's not only China that worries me, it's the culmination of everything in the media lately. It seems that all we hear about is the poor environment, global warming, melting ice, oil, wars, poverty, disease, etc. We're approaching the climax.

I think I've come to the sad realization that we can't save the Earth. We humans will never reverse our impact on the environment. We're not organized, united, or strong enough. Inevitably, our planet will capsize in our filth, and the best anyone can do is to slow things down. I only hope that we can put it off as long as possible.

So on this, our glorious Earth Day, I have to roll my eyes at the naive phrase "Save the Planet". Instead, I came up with a new motto:

Go ahead now, cry your eyes out. It'll probably make the polar ice caps melt that much faster.

No, I'm NOT pregnant. Just hormonal.

A little while ago, I registered Erich for a weekly music class at the community REC center. I missed a chunk of the first class (although SO not my fault. It was all on Marc). Then last week, my mom was visiting and I just plain forgot. Finally, this morning, I arrived right on time for a class that I thought started at 10. We walked in to every one happily packing up their bags and strollers. I then remembered the class began at 9, and playgroup started at 10, and I - completely disgusted with myself - flipped a 180 out the door and prayed that no body saw us.

I felt like such a failure that I almost broke out in tears as we walked out to the parking lot. Seriously, is there something wrong with me that I can't make it on time to Erich's ONE weekly commitment*? Also, since this is a class I already paid for, it's just money down the toilet**. I was putting Erich in his car seat when I decided that I really didn't want to go home and admit defeat. I paused and thought about going to the store or somewhere else when I looked up and saw a playground. So off the pair of us went to climb and slide and have a pretty good time.

But here's the clincher, the real point of this boring post. On my drive home, on a narrow, two lane side street, I came across a really bad accident. Two ambulances, one fire truck, and 5 police cars all with their lights on. A smashed up truck and trailer were one side of the road, and a crumpled up sedan was on the other, surrounded by a stretcher and several men prying out the passenger. While my heart goes out to the victims and I hope they're okay, my thoughts are still pretty selfish and I can't help but wonder how long it must have taken for the response team to get there and how long they had been there before I drove past.. 20, 30 minutes? The same amount of time we spent at the park? And I know it's a long shot that Erich and I could've shared the same fate, but it still makes me wonder. And it makes me feel a whole lot better about being an airhead.

*Playgroups don't count because they're free. And everyone else is late, too!
**Sure, all the proceeds go to help fund community programs, but what about ME?

Paper... or Plastic?

Wouldn't you know it, even the lap of luxury has some dirty little secrets, and in this case, ignorance is definitely not bliss. Where I work, there are two kinds of people: those who know... and those who don't. Those who know drink from paper cups in the cafeteria. The poor schmucks who don't know use the hard, plastic glasses.

I was one of the poor schmucks once, and I'm forever grateful to the wonderful, Columbian laundry valet who urgently whispered a grave truth to me in the recesses of the employee dining room:

"No, no, you shouldn't drink out of that cup! You see over there, how they have paper? You must drink only from the paper!" she implored in her hushed tone.

Okay...

"The plastic cups, the Arabian men, they bring them to the bathroom so they can pour water on their [insert meaningful head-tilt-and-double-glance downward], you know."

Oh My...

"You see, they no use toilet paper. Only water. So they take cups into the bathroom and leave them there. Then, later, the cups are washed in here with everything else."

YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

"So you must only use paper. If there is no more paper, you must ask for paper."

Truer words were never spoken.

I immediately switched cups and entered the club of those who know. Since that fateful day, over a year ago, I have been amazed at how this crude affair is shrouded in secrecy and always discussed in hushed voices - as though someone would be offended if they overheard. (Ooo, the nerve of someone wanting to drink from a poop-free glass!) Even more disturbing is that even now, a random inspection of the employee cafeteria will still turn up tables littered with a sea of paper and plastic. To my knowledge, the Ritz hasn't equipped the mens room with any bidets, so either people don't know.. or they just don't care. And that, friends, is what troubles me the most.

Beware of this Binky!!

The RaZbaby Keep-It-Kleen Pacifier is a binky designed to shut closed when falling on the floor to, well, keep it clean. It's certainly a novel idea, so I bought one at CVS last year and decided it was pretty cool. Erich could pick it up off the floor, open the shields, and stick it in his own mouth with no hurried cleaning by mama. Plus it looked like Nemo and matched his hair. Suh-weet! Well, the honeymoon ended last week however, when I went to Erich's crib one morning to find his little security blanket shattered into 5 pieces... next to his head! Imagine my horror as I checked to make sure he hadn't swallowed anything.

I was unable to reach anyone by phone, but following is the email I sent to RaZbaby's customer service department.

Customer Service Agent,

I am very upset about your "Keep-it-Kleen Pacifier". When my 14-month-old son awoke in the morning a few days ago, I went to his crib and discovered your KIK Pacifier broken into 5 pieces right next to his head. I don't know how it broke, but the fact of the matter is, this product is too fragile and hazardous for children. I hate to think of what could have happened had he awoken and felt around him in the middle of the night or if I had waited longer to enter his room. This could have been a lethal situation had my son ingested any of those pieces. There were two pieces in particular that gave me tremendous cause for concern: the nipple, which would have blocked his windpipe instantly, and a small, sharp, metal ring. The ring is not much larger than a Cheerio, but the damage and internal bleeding it could cause is sickening. Hypothetically, if my son had ingested that ring and nothing else, I would have examined all other pieces and assumed that nothing was missing. If he began crying I would have had no idea what type of internal damage was occurring and may not have realized that he needed immediate medical attention.

The Keep-it-Kleen Pacifier that you have on the market is extremely dangerous and inappropriate for use by any child, especially infants. I plan to tell everyone I know not to purchase this product until the item has been recalled and all potentially hazardous parts have been removed.

Shattered Nemo:

Frankly, that email doesn't express the complete anger I felt, but I decided it would be more productive to portray myself as the diplomatic-yet-horrified parent as opposed to a psychotic enraged one. Well, one of the owners, Aida, emailed me back right away and then called me this morning. She was very nice and professional, apologizing profusely, saying they have never received a complaint like this, and went into great detail explaining their rigorous testing processes (these include stepping on, running over, and throwing the pacifiers against cement walls). She seemed to feel that my binky was defective and requested that I send it back to their company for testing in their lab, while she sends me a full refund. I told her I was still concerned that the nipple, ring and base weren't one piece, and that separately they still presented a choking hazard. Her response was that they recently updated the model and secured the ring into the shield so it wouldn't come out. But still... it's metal. And that nipple could soo easily block a windpipe. And, as sympathetic as she may be, after playing out the scenerio of 'what if's' in my head, my consumer confidence may never be regained.

Aida said she'll keep me updated on the labs findings. Overall, I'm glad she was so interested in examining the binky to figure out their mistake, but I still feel it's my duty to warn everyone I know about the possible dangers of using this pacifier. Sorry RaZbaby, but it's my responsibility; at least it's cheaper than your unlikely recall.

This is the only shot I could find of Erich sporting his KIK paci. (It also happens to be an excellent representation of his fly dance moves.)

Welcome to the Monkey House

I'm seriously considering changing the title of my blog from The Salad Days to The Monkey House. I immediately clung to this expression when I heard Tim Gunn say it to Chris on Project Runway. After an entire season of examining Chris's wacky creations, Tim made the greatest analogy when Chris presented to him garments that used human hair as fringe. He told Chris in a very Tim Gunn way that only Tim Gunn could pull off, that he had been living in the monkey house for too long. His analogy goes something like this: So when you first walk into the monkey house at the zoo, what do you do? You cover your nose and think, "Dang this place stinks!" Then, after 15 minutes or so you start to think, "Well, I guess this isn't so bad." And then, after about 45 minutes you don't even notice it anymore. However, the place never stopped smelling like sh**; you just stopped smelling it.

If you're living in the monkey house, it means you that you no longer notice the mess all around you. If you stay there too long, then you begin to enjoy it or to make it your own. Abandon all hope if crap starts flying across the room.

I feel a lot of days like I'm living in my own monkey house. We spend a lot of time running around the house screeching and climbing the furniture naked. Besides that however, I realize that when the tasks get overwhelming, the blinders turn on. I let dog hair pile up and papers sit on the counters for weeks, my socks never match my outfit and aside from applying makeup on the drive to church (to which we are always late), I am seriously lacking any beauty regimen. I could go on and on about how often I (don't) shower, but I don't want to shatter too many positive assumptions people have made about me. Instead, rest assured that Erich gets a bath, clean clothes, a massage, and weird, organic health food every day.. while I sit in my own filth eating Peanut Butter Crunch.

Thankfully, not every day is a "monkey house" day. That is why I would never title my blog to reflect so. I certainly wouldn't want to embrace a lower standard of living than I have now! But life is an uphill battle to find balance, so I'll keep my scooper in hand and start shoveling that poo out the window. Into the yard- where it might actually do some good.

I've Been Duped

A long time ago, I wanted to be a star and appeared in a pilot for a TV show. Before anyone gets impressed, let me set the record straight. My venture into the spotlight was not the glorious 15 minutes I'd hoped for. The show's producer approached me at a club (I know, red flag!) and I agreed to the gig thinking I'd be some sort of background dancer. When I showed up however, the "producer/director/writer" (yeah, ego much?) shoved me in front of the camera and said something to the effect of: "Okay, now talk about what we're doing, what the show is about and be charming!" Off the cuff and no rehearsals. Ever. Let's just say it took a while for me to stop staring at the camera lights like a frightened deer, and it took several more takes for me to stop saying “um...”.

So here's the premise: I was co-host with this other guy, let’s call him "Kelly", a pretty metro-sexual type who sold himself as a 'seasoned actor'. We would trek around town, hitting Salt Lake’s hot night spots and telling all the folks at home how sensational they were. To make a long story short, the producer was an inexperienced, egocentric control freak, his crew quit and the pilot didn't pick up. I really didn't mind too much. The finished product turned out pretty choppy and although I wasn't the worst actor in the crew, my performance was definitely rough. So no, you will never, ever see it.

I only tell this story to give you an idea of why I completely flipped this summer when I casually flipped on the TV before bed and caught the very beginning of a home improvement show on HGTV. The host had just finished telling the lovely couple about the dazzling improvements he had planned. He then turned to introduce his team of professionals and HERE is where all of my assumptions about home improvement shows were shattered. I KNEW CONTRACTOR #1! There was Kelly, his normally perfect hair slightly tussled, and dressed down from his collared shirt and Kenneth Cole shoes to faded jeans and a tool belt. As I watched him deliver his lines and smile while he slammed the hammer, I was beside myself. I always thought the people on screen actually did the construction, but this man was not the do-it-yourself type. I suppose I should have known better, but truth was, I'd been duped. Obviously, the "contractors" were pretty boys who were simply fed lines and filmed pounding a couple nails while the REAL men got to it next door. So now I wonder, who are those real guys that do the dirty work and why aren't THEY on camera? Because they're old, don't bleach their teeth or blow dry their hair? Sounds to me like an episode of This Old House… Okay, so even I wouldn't watch that, but I still don’t like the pretense, fellas.

VSoM

Well, I ended up writing for VSoM a little longer than I had planned, but at least I have a few more posts to show for it (that otherwise would not have been written). Check 'em out:

"Can You Put a Price on Forever?"
"Grey Matter"
"Stranger-than-the-Average-Mormon"
"He Started Out a Straight Up Punk"

A Letter to The Blog

Dear Blog,

I'm sorry, Blog! I feel like I've abandoned you. I do miss our good times, but I've been keeping very busy. As it turns out writing serious posts can be pretty time consuming. The past few weeks I've written about being Single and Mormon, Ghosts, and Dads. I'm ready for some lighter fair again, though. I'll come back to you soon... if you'll have me.

On my knees,
Melbo

Adultery... Again

I know I shouldn't flaunt my scarlet letter so recklessly, but I've posted two more blogs on VSoM. Here's one on Family and another on Gay Marriage.

I'm Having an Affair

I'm having an affair... with another blog. And I won't be ending things anytime soon. For the next couple of months I'll be writing for VSoM on Wednesdays. The topic this week is Moms.

Various Stages of Mormondom

I just made a guest post on a blog called Various Stages of Mormondom. It’s a site devoted to discussing issues from the perspectives of people in various stages of Mormonism, ranging from fully active to atheist. A weekly topic is assigned and each person has their day to shine, while a guest blogger is invited to post every Sunday. I was invited to participate as today on the topic of Resurrection.

You can check it out here:

Various Stages of Mormondom

If nothing else, make sure to tune in to the site next Sunday. Marc will be bringing the house down.

...and by the way, I never did find the spider.

Did I park too close to that other car? "Perhaps," I thought the other day as I contorted my body to inch out of the driver's side door. But just how close is too close?


Well, I'll tell you what too close is. Too close is squeezing your way back to that door in the middle of the night only to bulldoze a spider web with your face. That, my friends, is too close.

Hate Me if You Must, but I Still Won

"Ooo, traffic jam, got more cars than a beach got sand..."

Driving home today along the beltway, a mile and a half from my exit, I came to a standstill. Hundreds upon hundreds of cars were busily clogging the two right lanes of traffic. As is my way, I hopped over to the left to scope out a better place in line.

I thought, surely someone will let me back in at the last second. In my many months of budging since I moved to DC, I’ve only had to wait twice for the whole line of cars to pass by. There is almost always a kind soul ready to wave me in or at the very least, someone on their cell or a Mack truck slowing things down. What’s that you say? I’m a huge jerk? Au Contraire! In fact, I’m an impatient genius.

After traveling a mile watching all these cars backed up like sardines, I wondered if I might damage my almost perfect record. I ran through Plan B in my mind: skipping the exit altogether. But then…WAIT! What do I see a few car lengths from the final turn-off? Neatly pushed to the far right break down lane?

An ambulance….a banged-up car….and a stretcher.

All those cars were crawling by in single file to take in the scene, while I casually slipped in front, on my way down the exit ramp with PLENTY of room, leaving all those polite suckers in the dust.

I bet they cursed me as I drove by. Half an hour later, I bet they cursed all those rubber-neckers as they finally passed. They should really be cursing themselves for not being as smart as me, because I don’t feel the least bit guilty.

Budging Rocks.

WARNING:

Serious blog coming through!
Stop here if you were hoping for more underwear adventures or pictures of
Jäger’s dangerous bootie. Better luck next time!

In case you missed the memo, I co-teach a bunch of active 6 year olds every Sunday in primary. The kids are a handful, but I’m lucky to have a partner that I LOVE - she’s a lot of fun and the fact that she runs a daycare is really pretty convenient. She’s also from Liberia, so obviously, she’s black. WELL, last week one of the boys was acting nuts (as he often does; either he’s the sweetest kid ever-saying things that will melt your heart, or screaming he’s going to die if he doesn’t get a snack) and when I tried to send him to the other teacher he said this to me:

“No! I don’t like her! I like you because I only like white people!”

Wow.

Not trying to hide my shock, I reacted. I held the little boy in my lap, looked him in the eye, told him how horrible his comment was and explained how we’re all God’s children. I tried hard to make it clear he should never say something like that again. Needless to say, I wasn’t his favorite anymore and he went to cool off in the back.

I know this kid’s parents, they’re kind and loving and definitely not bigots, so I know he didn't learn any racism from them. However, this really made me think about where and how kids learn acceptance and tolerance - or vice versa. With so much prejudice still prevalent today, I feel the only way to make a difference is to teach children about diversity and tolerance when they’re young (and to get pissed at them when they make ignorant racist remarks). At the very least, parents need to take time to address these issues at home.

Nonetheless, the sad truth is that we all have the glorious gift of free agency and there will always be crazies in the world to pollute the minds of innocent children. It seems that all we can hope for is that as parents we don’t screw up our own.