Growth

Like most normal beings of the human persuasion, I enjoy Spring.  I love the warm-but-not-hot weather, with plenty of rain and gloom mixed in with the sunshine (okay, maybe loving the gloom part is just me).  I delight in the color and shape of flowers.  Trees, one of my favorite things on this earth, have been known to make me cry (even when I wasn't pregnant!).

In the photo above you see one of my favorite Sights of Spring.  I love the old and the new.  What was and what will be.  The colors are beautiful together and I love how clearly you can see the growth of the tree.

Lately I've been feeling quite a lot like that.  Like I had a lot of the dark green.  Parts of me that had been.  Old parts.  And now there is a burst of the Spring green all over.  I can feel myself stretching out, growing and changing shape, while all of the old me remains as a base.

I'm not talking about weight gain.  Not in this post anyway.  Ha.  But I have been learning about food and health and new ways of living.  I've listened to people who have different opinions and beliefs about religion and politics.  It has changed me.  It has started new growth.

I view the world differently now.  I hold dearly to much of what has been.  The good things.  The things that were right.  But I can see them from a different angle, too.  I can understand another view.  It is fascinating and extremely thought provoking.

Life is just so awesome and interesting.  So much to be had and so many ways to grow.  So many shades of green.

Dry

I was hungry and, in a brave attempt to keep myself from reaching for something more delicious and fattening, I opened a pack of dried apricots to snack on. They were overly dry. Tough, in fact. Still, I did my best to enjoy them myself and put a bite of one in Spencer's mouth, sure he'd think it was like candy.

For the next hour he hummed all his songs and mumbled all his "words" and before we went out on our walk, I took the same piece of apricot out of his mouth. It was completely reconstituted.

On our walk we passed a number of thoroughly dried frogs on the sidewalk.

You know how after the rain you see dried worms everywhere? It's like that where we live, but with these cute little frogs. We have some living in our backyard (not the dried up ones) and we do our best to keep them watered and happy so we don't find them one day, flat and crispy, in our garage as we have in years past.

As we continued down the street we came to a scattered pile of unused matches on the sidewalk. I stopped and thought for a second. It's been very hot, dry and windy and these matches seemed like an accident waiting to happen. I started to rub them one-by-one into the ground with my flip flops to wear off all the phosphorus (looked it up). As I did it, I explained to Aaron that one of the matches could light and start a fire. Or some kids could come and take them and start a fire.

Aaron knew that kids don't play with matches so I had to explain that some kids do dangerous and bad things like play with matches. I told him that if a fire starts in your house it could spread and all your toys can burn, your clothes and your bed. You would have no place to sleep etc.

Aaron listened carefully and was thoughtful for a minute after I ended my lecture. Then suddenly he looked up at me with worry in his eyes and said, "And Spencer's toys! Spencer's toys could get burned and he wouldn't have anything to play with!!" He was very disturbed. Probably for his whole childhood he will never play with matches for fear that Spencer's toys might get burned.

Tough apricots, dead frogs, and fire hazards.

And one frazzled lady.

I've been feeling kind of dried out lately, too, in case you couldn't tell from the past couple of posts. Not enough healthy food and exercise, not enough planning and meditating and taking meaningful time for myself to feel put together, and not enough time drinking the Living Water.

I am working on rehydrating myself, but it would kind of be nice if someone could just stick me in their mouth, go about their business for awhile and spit me out, a new and improved Lisa.

No, that wouldn't be nice, I guess. Not literally. I'll just work on it myself, one snack, morning walk, and scripture session at a time so I don't end up as unpalatable as the apricots, as unbecoming as the frogs, and as fear inducing (or explosive) to good children as the matches.

Hypocritical Housewife

I think we have a pretty old-fashioned marriage in many ways. I do 99 % of the cooking, maybe 85 % of the cleaning and 100% of laundry* in our relationship. I regularly treat my kids to cookies and milk (of course I hardly touch the things myself. Ha!) I consider the home my domain and recognize it as largely my responsibility to create the proper atmosphere here. I don't feel at all offended at the concept of a distinction between woman's work and man's work. As a matter of fact, I occasionally tell Greg to leave the woman's work to me (like when he's doing a bad job of something).
*I'm including the kid's help with hanging laundry and doing chores in my percentage

I love this. I've chosen it and I really love it. I spent all my early life wanting to be a wife and mother. Wanting to care for my husband and our children.

This is why I can never watch Father of the Bride without being a little baffled by Annie's reaction to the gift her fiance gives her. A blender!?! What kind of message is he trying to send!?! I've always thought, "I'm so the opposite of her. I would have loved to get a kitchen appliance and been thrilled to be able to use it to create delicious food for my dearly beloved husband."

But it only takes thinking back a little for me to see my hypocrisy.

It was only a few days before our wedding. We got out of the car at the grocery store and held hands. It was December and freezing so he put our hands in his coat pocket. I could feel that the lining was torn and commented on it.

"I know! In just a few days you can sew it up for me!" he said, with the most charming and affectionate smile.

Based on all my previous thoughts about homemaking and wifely responsibilities and the honor it would be to fulfill them, I should have been as delighted as he seemed to be a the thought. But I wasn't. Not at all.

For some unknown reason I had this sudden rush of horror that he expected me to be some domestic goddess, doing anything and everything he wanted me to; that suddenly our relationship was going to change dramatically from the moment we said the proverbial "I do". (or the less proverbial, "yes". Or was it "I will"? It's been awhile. Note to self: do sealings during temple trip this November)

I'm sure he was as surprised by my reaction as I was. (I didn't quite know what my deal was either). But we made it through that trial and still said our proverbial "I do"s.

After we were married I assured him that, though I lacked skill or practice, I was very happy to sew his pocket for him, despite the fact that I had seemed rather repulsed by the idea only a few days before.

Still, he chose to sew it himself. And from that time till now, Greg does probably 95% of all sewing for our family.

Which makes me wonder if Annie ever ended up using that blender after all, or if maybe he didn't do all the blending from there on out.
This post inspired by Melanie's post today.

O That I Were A Poet

I am amazed, overwhelmed and awestruck with this life and the things it is full of. Of course there are the tricky things, and I spend far too much time thinking of, stressing over and moping about those, but there is no question that all that is far outweighed by the beauty.

There are times every day that I wish I were artistic. I feel art (beauty? love?) When my breath is taken away by a view of the clouds, the changing colors of fall, the shape of a tree; when my heart is ready to burst at something incredibly sweet and darling my three year old says, or the way my baby nestles his little nose in my neck, or how the older kids love and sacrifice for the younger ones; when a new season begins and you can just feel it all around. Those are the times I wish I were a poet.

I would love to be able to express the feelings that come from seeing, hearing and touching. I covet the painter who can capture the beauty he sees on canvas, or the poet who can put into words exactly what is inside him.

I can't do those things; I'm left just feeling. It's sometimes almost too much to bear. But in as much as being able to release the beauty felt inside through words or paint is a gift, the very ability to just feel is one of the greatest gifts I have been given.

I don't need to be an artist. I am surrounded by art. The Master Painter has already created the pictures that make me feel. His poetry is in the miraculous experiences I have every day. I will just feel, and be grateful.

You Might Be A Mother

IF:

...you argue with a three year old over whether or not his eyes are blue and then pull out your phone and take a picture, on the spot, to prove you're right. (then look on the computer and realize that the picture is lot more grainy than it was on your phone)


...while combing a girl's hair you ask if she knows why you came into the world. When she responds, without missing a beat, "To be our mom" you tear up a little and scold yourself for ever, ever complaining about this gig.

...you can't sit down to eat a sandwich for three minutes without being tugged at, pulled on and stared at with eyes that say "hold me, mommy!"
...you sometimes grab a nine year-old boy and sit him on your lap and talk to him, the whole time wondering how on earth he got to be SO BIG.

...you realize that nearly everything you write as your status update on facebook includes something certain kids have said or done. You want to stop boring people but you kind of can't.

...you laugh and cry both with and about the same kids pretty much every day.

...you love to read, write and talk about children and parenting, even with people you have never met before, on a regular basis.

Now, I'm not saying any of these criteria apply to me, I'm just saying that I'm pretty sure I'm a mother.

Maybe She's Born With It

So, I know in that slogan they are referring to the woman's beauty, but as this post is about me I certainly am not referring to being born with that (see above. that's me with allergy eyes.). I'm talking about being born with makeup.

Long ago I posted about my love of make up and mentioned my "natural eye make up". Today, I blog about it. Lucky you.

With my glasses on I sort of might as well not have any eyes at all for all you can actually see them. But if you could, you might notice (but most likely wouldn't) that I wear way too much make up on my eyes. Especially the corners of my eyes. Except that I don't.

I won't go into the story, but once my sister refused to believe that I hadn't put my make up on yet in the morning, even when I told her that I only wear mascara and it was obvious I didn't have any of that on. (which reminded me of the time as a kid that I didn't believe her when she told me she wasn't wearing fake eyelashes)

Here is a picture that shows rather well, without me having an actual picture taken of my eyes for this post. I'm sort of against taking pictures of myself (or most other things) strictly to be posted here. I don't know why, but that's how it is. So anyway, when I saw this picture I thought, "Oh! There you can see it!" and decided to post it.



So now I'll be a little ridiculous and suggest that you look at my eyelids in the picture above. That will be difficult a) because there is a RATHER cute baby to look at and b) because the picture was taken in the shade and it's not that easy to see the details.

You may be able to see that it looks like I have brown eye shadow on my lids and a darker shade in the corners. Those blasted corners.

I'm not saying this is a great thing, it's just a thing. A thing that means that my self has decided what color of make up I get to wear, whether I like it or not. I do use cover up on the edges sometimes and apply a different color of shadow but usually I go brown.

Anyway. When it comes to eye make up, for some people it may be Maybelline, but I, for one, was born with it.

4 Me

I have a bridesmaid dress.  Well, I don't have it but my mom does.  Or my sister.  Either way, someone in America has it for me.  It was ordered from ARIA dress.  It's scarlet.  I think it will be lovely (after a little tweaking by my mom, as we aren't fans of sweetheart necklines.  She'll make them square).  

Before ordering the dress, I had to determine my size.  I measured myself with a tape measure and looked at the charts provided on their website.  It said I was a size 2.  It lied.  I knew it lied.  After some adjustments in our centimeter to inch conversion it assured me that I was a size 4.  Right in the middle of a size four.  I knew that was a lie, too, butI think every woman needs to be lied to like that now and again.  I ordered the four.

Now I know in my head that I am much closer to a size ten.  I can squeeze into an eight in some brands/styles, but I think I wear a ten.  (whatever it is, it's not a 4) 

My mom called me and told me that the material on the dresses has absolutely NO give and that it's x number of inches across.  I measured myself and found that it should fit.  But only if I don't eat much wedding cake or food.  And possibly I might have to suck in a tad.  

But I have a plan!  I will lose an inch or two and the dress will fit perfectly.  I was planning on doing this before summer anyway.  (Isn't everyone planning on doing this before summer?)   Just you wait.  I'll be comfortable in a size four dress come June.  

Too bad Aria doesn't make a whole line of clothing.  Maybe I'll just start wearing formal dresses every day.  Then I can tell people that I wear a size 4.  You know, since everyone always asks what size you are, friends and strangers alike.  Especially in Poland.

Overcast

By the time I finish typing this they will be gone.  I love them.  They bring me an enormous amount of joy, an immesurable sense of calm.  

They make me want- no, need -  to curl up under a soft blanket and read a good book.  They are the only thing that makes a cup of hot cocoa or tea sound good.  

I used to be terrified of them.  Any time they would start creeping in I would try to find something to distract myself.  When they brought thunder I froze in horror.  Surely I would die this time.

 

Now I look forward to the next thunderstorm.  If the clouds come quietly,  without the ostentatious show, I still love them.  I can appreciate their huge, billowing mass; the layers of varying shades of grey, almost black in places.  

The dull light filtering in through the windows uplifts me.  

I don't know why.

picture from Near Worlds

My Life In 25 Things

Yes, I'm doing this one.  You're totally allowed to skip it, too.

1.  I lived in a trailer park until I was 11. 

2.  I had nightmares of dogs running into our backyard while I was playing there.  They never caught me or anything, but I just remember the terror of them running at me.

3.  I used to love mayonnaise sandwiches (bread, mayonnaise)

4.  I was surprised and thought my mom was so generous the day she told us to please stop asking every time we wanted a piece of bread and to just go ahead and get one whenever we wanted.

5  I had my first "boyfriend" when I was in 5th grade.  He was my paperboy and he brought me candybars when he delivered our paper.  We passed notes during recess and then one day I called him "Natey-poo" and after that we weren't an item anymore.  Oops.

6.  We moved to California when I was 11.

7.  I'd been feeling like an outsider in Utah before we moved, but I felt even more out of place in California.

8.  The one thing that helped me transition, besides my good friend and next door neighbor Sarah, was my jumproping.  I didn't exactly need to be with anyone if I was jumping during recess.  Also,  it sort of made people respect me.  (I'd been on a team in Utah)

9.  My last two years of high school were the best ever as I found a great crowd to be with.  We had a blast.

10.  I left home at 17 to start school (Ricks College) and only ever lived at home again for one summer (I think).

11.  I loved my years at Ricks like crazy and learned tons about early childhood education, but even more about life, the gospel and myself.

12.  Besides my first real boyfriend at Ricks (lasted 3 months and ended with the school year, and much like in number 5 I said something totally completely and unintentionally dumb in response to his confession of love and it marked the downfall of our relationship--and in case you're wondering, it wasn't anything sarcastic) I didn't really do much dating until I moved to BYU to live and work there after graduating from Ricks.

13.  I didn't really do all that much dating at BYU either, but I did TONS of hanging out (which I prefer anyway).

14.  I left Provo to escape the rollercoaster of my relationship with Greg (and to live near my sister, and because I really wanted to be a nanny).

15.  The father in the family that I nannied for called me Cinderella because I slept in the dungeon (basement) and did all the work and was still always happy (or so he said). 

16.  The girl I nannied was a perfect angel.  She was barely two and any time she started in on a tantrum out of frustration I taught her to say, "Help me, please!" instead, and she always did.  I often heard her dad talking about the amazing things she would say or how mature she was.  His wife would tell him, "I think Lisa taught her that."  My vanity made me a little glad of that.  (heaven forbid her dad just think that she was naturally so bright!)

17.  I was only back in Provo for a week before the wedding.  We had a rule that we could not be alone in an apartment (room yes, apartment, no) until we were married.  Fortunately we were both staying in apartments full of roommates, but it meant that often one of us would be standing out in a blizzard while the other ran into our apartment (that we started renting before we moved into it) to grab something.  I still think it was a smart idea.

18.  Shortly after we were married I took Accutane.  It broke my back and I couldn't keep up with dishwashing and other home and work (mother's helper) responsibilities.  My back problems are recurring, since then, and the medication only cleared up my skin for a year or two.

19.  I don't like meat very much and sort of want to be a vegetarian.  But I'm too lazy.  And I do like some meat.  And I'm not as good with vegetables as I'd probably need to be.

20.  I sort of fear being judgemental or self-righteous, but I think I'm a little of each, or at least come off that way.

21.  I've liked my hands for a while (since my best friend in high school used to say how nice they were, which is maybe weird, but whatever) and I think that's why my fingers are not straight anymore and I might be getting arthritis.  Same goes for my legs which I've always been happy with from the side view (not from the front or back) but now I can never wear shorts- or skirts without tights- ever again because of vericose veins.   I think this might be to check my vanity.  And I think this (number 21) might be a little too weird, but I'm not taking it off my list. 

22.  I really love my life.

23.  I think I could be a much better mother if I tried. Which is why I'm slowly cutting down on blog reading. 

24.  I really love the church leadership in Poland.

25.  I'm hoping I can respond to Erin's post sooooooon.

I realize this isn't the most upbeat of posts, but I think it's just kind of how I'm feeling right now. . .

It's In My Make-up

I have always loved make up.  I was obsessed with it as a girl and received some for presents on every present receiving occasion.  I remember I was in HEAVEN when I got sets like these with the pull out drawers (only I remember mine was like three times as big as this; I mean had three times as much make up.  Of course it was much bigger than this.  I am NO GOOD at finding pictures on the Internet so you get this tiny little picture only).

I wore make up ALL THE TIME, from the time I was maybe three (okay, probably 5).  I caked it on and I looooooved it.  I knew I was gorgeous.  I think I wore make up for most of our family birthday parties (although I couldn't find the photographic evidence I was looking for).  

One day when I was maybe 7 or 8 years old, I went to the park down the street in all my painted glory.  I was swinging there alone when Julie Stephens came along to play.  Julie was older than me by a few years and she was the most beeeeeeeeeautiful girl ever.  All the girls admired her.  All the boys were in love with her, or at least we assumed they must be.  And here she was.  And she was seeing me at my very best.

She came over to where I was swinging and I said hello.  The first thing she said was, "Oh my gosh, you're wearing WAY too much make up."  

I left as soon as I could after that, and that's all I remember.  And I'm pretty sure I cried.  I was crushed.  But I think I finally stopped caking it on so thickly from then on. 

But I still love me some make up.  I don't care a hoot about brands, but I don't leave the house without foundation, mascara and lip gloss on.  That's almost all I ever wear, though. 

I wish, I mean I really WISH I could get away with the super dramatic dark eye make up some people wear.  Not like this, really: 

More like this:

But I can only wear really light colors or my eyes disappear.  And not because they're small, because they're not.  It might have to do with my "natural make up" I'll have to blog about some day.  Right now there's a boy with a very saggy, soggy diaper waiting to have a shower and a haircut, in the opposite order.  BYE!

I'm Being Totally Serious

Sorry, this is going to be a post about a post (lame).  First I have to say that I cringe every time I read the title for my last post.  Then I double cringe when I think about changing it, like it matters. Secondly, I loved all the comments from that post (and am surprised everyone didn't just roll their eyes when they read the title and run in the opposite direction).

The first thing I need to say is that I TOTALLY  believe in teasing kids.  It is one of the dominant features of our parenting style.  I mean, to the point that sometimes even I think we're going a little overboard.  

We constantly tell our kids things that are not true with perfectly straight faces.  It's entirely possible that I have answered their inquiries as to why they shouldn't do something with a response very much like the Polish warnings to their children, that a monster will grab them if they do.  I dish out punishments like "If you do it again you will have to go up and down the stairs carrying a stack of heavy books all night long instead of sleeping."

But I don't think those things are wrong.  

I love saying dumb stuff to my kids, and spend a good deal of time doing it.  It really is a very important part of who I am and our relationship with each other.  When my kids make an innocent mistake I give them a disappointed look and a shake of the head and tell them they are "a bad, bad boy/girl."  Is that funny?  Most likely not, but they totally get it.  They know I'm kidding, and that I mean, "Don't worry, it was just an accident!"

So why do I dislike it when Poles and especially Greg's mother say(s) these very same kind of things?  Because they/she mean(s) for the kids to believe them.  There is no twinkle in her/their eye.  And they/she are/is not sarcastic by nature/naturally. (this paragraph comprises the humor/funny part/section of the post/entry)

People who know me know that I generally say exactly the opposite of what I mean.  It's kind of dumb, but it's how I am.  I've known for a while that I'm sarcastic, but I didn't really know what it meant until we were visiting my sister two years ago and she said to me (about Greg after giggling at nearly everything he says--because he's hilarious)), "He never says what he means, does he?"  I was dumbstruck.  He always says just exactly what he means and is very open.  It took a while for me to get that she means that he's sarcastic.  And that that means that you say what you don't mean as if it's what you do mean.

And that's how we are.  And we're like that with our kids.   And these days our kids are that way, too.

So I suppose you could say I have a double standard.  I can do it, but they can't.  But I'm pretty sure most of you would know what I meant if you heard it (and understood Polish) -- except for David (not my David, a friend who reads my blog) who appreciates and uses the Polish technique.

To go back to that quote in my sidebar that I love, it all comes down to this (sort of and also kind of not) in reference to my sarcastic nature:

There's only one thing that I know how to do well,

And I've often been told that you only can do 

What you know how to do well,

And that's be you!  Be what you're like!  Be like yourself!

So I do!  And maybe what I need to do is just let those who are good at tricking their kids into believing things go ahead and be what they're like, too!  Live and let live, maybe.

And don't forget that I completely understand doing the Santa thing!!  The only thing that I think a very small number of people people should think harder about is the fascination with the idea that teaching kids to believe in Santa will help them to believe in the Savior in the future, in the sense of having faith.  I think that is a very wrong comparison, as we don't want our kids to expect to wake up some day to find that Christ was just neat  idea.  I do agree with many other comparisons of Christ and Santa, though.  So DON'T WORRY!  :0)

For Future Reference

While I'm thinking about them, I'm going to write down two important things I learned yesterday and today for myself in order to avoid problems in the future. And since everyone else is shopping and not blogging today, it seems like as good a day as any to write myself a memo in the form of a post.
********
When preparing a large meal single-handedly (or attempting to clean the entire house floor to ceiling in one day) you must eat periodically. Just because you normally are not that busy and eat pretty frequently does not mean that you eat because you are not busy and therefore you don't have to eat when you are. Oh no no. When you're busy, your body still needs nutrients, maybe even more so than on lazy days. Because if you don't eat, it's entirely possible that you may find yourself feeling very weak and ill right before an important dinner, or just when the guests arrive. Also, keep in mind that this is hard (for you) to remember. You have to work at it, because if you don't, it's very likely that it will happen over and over again, causing a great deal of stress and unhappiness at the very moments when joy and gladness are what are wanted. And it might cause your husband to dread holidays and having company. Husbands should not dread those things.
Also:
If you ever decide to buy some rubber gloves for use in soapy, wet projects, after a couple of years of not wearing them (because your hands look like those of an eighty year old woman until right after you put lotion on, when they go back to looking like 20 year old hands*, and you can't put lotion on every three minutes (after washing them or something else) anymore), then go to the store and find a nice pair of blue ones and bring them home and open them to find that there is some MIGHTY POWERFULLY SCENTED "balsam" lining the inside of the gloves, and that size small, in some brands, is a tiny bit too small for you, which might make it extremely difficult to remove the gloves once they're suctioned on to your hands. And it also might make you lose circulation to certain fingers now and again during dish washing, but decide to live with it because you bought two pairs and you're not throwing them away.

Then, if you're washing dishes while your 19 month old is eating a snack and he happens to somehow push off the tray that you were sure was locked, causing his plate and sippy cup to crash to the floor and the tray to land on top of them, REMEMBER that this child is not old enough to have ever seen you in rubber gloves. He's not like your other children who have seen you many times walking around the house in your (then yellow) gloved hands just like Dexter's mom, doing some quick task in the middle of washing dishes. No, he has not, and it's an unfamiliar sight. If you remember this, you will be more likely to take the three minutes to remove the gloves before helping him out (because, even though the child isn't buckled in, and never has been, he is a very careful child and would never try to get out on his own and will just sit there until you do something for him, the lazy bum).

Also, If you remember this, you can avoid this scenario: You rinse the soap off your gloves and dry them quickly on the towel. Then you pick up the child and take him to the sink to wash his hands as usual. You put soap on them and then start helping him to "make bubbles." He starts screaming. You realize that he is afraid of the gloves. He pulls his hands back to his body, still screaming. You make eye contact with him and say over and over, "They're just gloves, Aaron! Look it's mommy's hands in there! Gloves! See they can wiggle! It's mommy! See: do-dee-do-dee-do (dancing your hands to the music hoping he will connect your voice with the hand movements and realize they are part of you, and therefore these blue things are unlikely to attack him). This is all a bit of a juggling act because you are holding the child up the whole time, too. When he still doesn't get it and continues to scream just grab his hands and rinse them quickly, set him down on the floor, still screaming and spend the three minutes while you are removing the gloves talking to him about it in a sometimes soothing, sometimes silly voice (counting on comic relief). He may continue to stand there making an ugly barking scream every three seconds, the kind that means, "I can't believe you did that to me, and I don't know if I can ever forgive or trust you again."
********
The first should come in handy next weekend when we are having company (hooray!). And hopefully the second will never be needed again. I wrote it just in case.
*I'm just estimating that that's how old my lotioned hands look. I've never asked a professional or anything.

Is He a Mormon?

I remember when I was in fifth grade, when we lived in Orem, Utah, a new girl moved into our class. She was Catholic. I just realized her name was Mary, but never connected her Catholicism with her name until this very second. I remember asking her, "Why don't you want to be a Mormon?" For some reason she didn't have a very clear response. I was kind of feeling like, "Don't you realize everyone here is Mormon? Why don't you be Mormon, too?"

I also remember one day after coming home from somewhere, we had been listening to Paul Simon in the car. We were a serious listening-to-music family. I think we were all pretty passionate about some of that music. Paul Simon was a favorite. I had been looking at the cassette cover of the Hearts and Bones tape. A question suddenly sprung into my head and I asked my dad, "Dad, is Paul Simon Mormon?" My poor dad sort of stopped for a minute and said, "No. . . I don't think so." "Why not? How do you know?" I was just sure such a kindred spirit MUST share my religious views. Dad stammered out something about how he'd been married three or four times or something, maybe the first thing he could think of that doesn't sound so typically LDS. I still wasn't convinced. How does a parent teach a child that not everyone believes what they (and everyone they know) do/does?

Well, now I understand. The world has done a great deal of shrinking and showing it's bad side since I was a kid, and I don't think my kids will be asking me if Christina Aguillera is a Mormon (although her roots are extremely surprising/depressing). Actually, I hope they won't be asking anything about her. I wouldn't really mind all that much if they never hear of her, to be perfectly honest. And really, I'm such a prude (stupid, stupid word) that I wouldn't mind if they never watch any movies or listen to any music ever, really, with the way things are looking these days. Just kidding, I'm not that big of a freak, but I sure am thankful for Screen It. com and try to be aware of what kind of people are behind the songs we listen to, in case my kids start to idolize them. (Like Greg turns off anything by Madonna, which is soooo sad to me when "La Isla Bonita" comes on. Or lots of her other songs that I like.)

Okay, so I don't really have a direction with this post. But I'll just end by saying that I'm grateful for prominent members of our church who set a good example. I like this video about famous Mormons. I love that there are few if any to be ashamed of. One of the comments under this video in the past said something about, "who cares that some normal, well known people are Mormon! There are far more (insert religion)s who are famous." Then giving a list of the very kinds of people who I want to keep my kids from having too much exposure to (obviously not because they are of that religion, but because they very openly live in discord with the teaching of the religion they proclaim so proudly to be theirs).

So even though I grew up naive, like most kids, not understanding why anyone wouldn't share my religion, I am so super grateful that it is not a religion that encourages its members to stay put. Instead it encourages us to learn and grow and be certain for ourselves that we aren't just following the crowd, or sticking with the things we grew up with. I find it funny when some of Greg's "friends" on youtube talk about the Mormon sheep, doing whatever we are told. Being brainwashed etc. A Mormon sheep is one who does not follow councel. We are councelled not to follow "because they say so." We seek knowledge for ourselves and then are required to act upon that knowledge. I like that method. (But I also think it's funny when Mr. Benson, whatever his first name was, criticized the church and talked about "Pray, pay, and obey!" and I was all, "Well, that does sort of sum it up, doesn't it?" Baaaa)
I probably shouldn't have used specific names, because there are a jillion I could have chosen from, but, well, I did.

It's Just the Way I am

When I wrote the post about keeping my commitments and Kazzy suggested that I could have you guys ask me questions for ideas of what to write about I was so happy. I thought it was such a brilliant idea! I was going to email her thanking her for it, but then thought, no I will post about it tomorrow, so no need.

Then the next day I posted about it and was all sarcastic with a "as if I need any ideas of what to write about!" and instead of heaping the praise and thanks on her that I meant to, it came across as though I would do what she suggested, even though it was, I don't know, not nice somehow of her to suggest it. Totally not how I felt. Remember the princess post? Yeah, this is one of those times when curbing the sarcasm might have been a good idea. So sorry, about that.

So Kazzy the Terrific asked: If you had a week totally alone and could go anywhere and do anything, what would you choose?

Um, there's a reason I didn't choose this question first. It requires both a) thought and consideration and b) a revelation (greater than usually) of my lameness. So I don't think I'll really answer in the way she intended me to, and instead I'll explain myself.

On a scale of one to ten, my level of wanderlust is about a zero. Let's alter that scale to make it much more precise and accurate: on a scale of one to three thousand, my level of wanderlust would fall somewhere right around. . . zero. Or right exactly on zero.

I like to travel. I love to see new places. I really enjoy spending time in the mountains. I love the ocean/beach/seaside. I have always loved long road trips. I get excited about these things. Once they're planned.

If there were never any trips planned I would be just fine sitting at home doing nothing. I can almost get as excited about sitting around the TV for a family movie night in front of brownies (for me) and popcorn(for them). This sounds terrible, but I REALLY love a family movie night, so it's not that bad.

I know it's probably a huge shame that I live here within driving distance (okay, it's a ways away, but still) of Paris and I don't really care to go. We've been to Germany, but only for purposes of temple attendance and once on our way to Denmark with my mom. We've been to Slovakia for Visa renewals. We've travelled all over Poland, with visitors, but have also done a lot on our own. I love it! But I haven't seen every square inch of Poland yet, and can't imagine that anyplace else could be any better.

So here I sit. Happy. I'm also easy to entertain when I visit family in America. "Oh, let's go to Disneyland, the Aquarium, the beach, the museum etc. etc. etc." "Sure!" I'll say. "Sounds great!" But really, if we sit at home and chat over a game of sequence I'll be just as happy.

Boring. I think that's the word for me. So if I could spend a week alone anywhere doing anything, I would stay at home and read and read and eat brownies. Or I'd go to Italy and see Venice and Rome and Florence. Or maybe I'd go for a getaway to a hotel in the mountains, or visit Jerusalem. Really, it's all about the same to me.

Starting With Melissa

I appreciate your questions, everyone! I'm going to start with Melissa Bastow's list of questions because I feel the strongest about the issues she raises. Plus, I'm sure they're the things you're all really wondering about. Her questions in green and my answers in black:

Do you wear socks to bed in the winter? Are they slipper socks with the grippy things on the bottom?
I never wear socks to bed. How in the world can you move around if you're wearing socks? And the grippy things? I always wear slippers (this is Poland and you don't wear shoes in the house. Not even my house, unless you're an American visitor. Then you do whatever you want.) so I don't need the grippy things. Plus, I'm more than two years old. My slippers usually look something like this, only darker (they get much darker with age, and usually last maybe six months?and there are lots of different designs and patterns) and I don't like this kind of sole. After a few years of wearing this kind I discovered the kind that have a softer sole glued on the bottom. Much better. Plus the kind pictured here creak when you walk.


photo swiped off of Ebay. Can you do that?
(But my current pair are made of that foamy material that those sorta cloggy shoes are made from. You know the ones that cost an arm and a leg and are made of air? Only my slippers cost three bucks.)

Do they have microwave popcorn in Poland? What about microwave kettle corn? What about popcorn at the movie theater? Is it extra buttery? Do they have butter there? Do you have to make your own butter?
There is microwave popcorn. I've never heard of kettle corn. Popcorn at the theater is as gross as the kind in America. But then I don't like popcorn. Plus we don't have a microwave. (We did for like a total of one year of our marriage. I'm not a huge fan of the microwave) But I do pop popcorn on the stove in a pan when the kids watch movies with their friends or we watch one as a family. The kids love to watch it pop through the glass lid. (please forgive me for not liking popcorn and not having a microwave)

If they didn't have butter here we wouldn't live here. I only bake with butter (and oil). The butter is probably European butter. In the states I think that means "extra super fancy quality." It is not salted. I have only ever made my own butter in kindergarten and then once in a preschool class I taught. So if they ever stop having butter here, I can make my own because I have lots of baby food jars for shaking cream in.

Do they have good diapers there? (This, of course, is crucial.)
They have cloth diapers. And also they have disposable ones. I use the disposable kind. Over here they call them "Pampersy." That means "disposable diapers." There are also Huggies and then lots of local brands.

How many times a day do you hop on one foot? Because I highly recommend hopping at least 3 times (but only on the left foot.)
I can't believe you asked such a personal question, but I'll answer because I have nothing to hide. I don't hop on one foot. Not even the left. Sometimes when I remember, while I'm brushing my teeth I go up and down on my tip-toes, slowly up and down, up and down, for the full two minutes-ish of brushing for exercise. My good friend in high school did this every day, twice a day. I thought it was a good and pretty funny idea. My favorite kind of ideas are the good, funny ones. And the kind that might some day bring some sort of definition to your calves. Do you say calves, or is that only for multiple baby cows? Calfs? Oh, no no no. Calves.

A Woman of My Word

I totally believe in keeping commitments that I've made.

Like, for example, if I said I would do something every day, I will do it.

But I'm smart, too, and I know my limits. I would never say that I would do something really well every day.

Because for sure, some days I won't do it very well.

Please adore my use of tenses in this post. Actually, just adore everything about this post. How could you not?

Learning Experiences?

(I love it when you're wondering what, ever, you will post about because you committed yourself to write something every day and just moments later a blog post falls right into your lap. But I just wish they were always funny or at least crazy or neat. Or involved really delicious food. Today's is none of the above.)

My title today is in response to a post I read over at Melancholy Smile yesterday. Her title was the same as mine only without the question mark. Her post is about a wonderful experience she had with teaching her daughter about money (part of which takes place in a car), it's value and purpose and about working to earn it (although I totally agree with her idea that basic allowance should not be related to chores done, as those are part of family life). It's a great post, great blog, great lady, and you should all check her out.

But, as I mentioned, and I'm sure you saw, mine has a question mark. MY post will also be about my daughter and money and being in the car. See? Practically twins. Except for the contrast in our parenting technique. . .

This morning as we were leaving the house to go to school, Evie was crying. Lately she cries about half the time because she hates going to school. She also gets stomach aches. When I was her age, I also used to get stomach aches, related to my fear of school. No fun. (except for the time when they thought it might be because I was allergic to milk and I got to have grape juice with my school lunch instead of milk for a while. That was fun.)

Well, this morning as she was putting all her bags into the car her little purse that she had just put her money in tipped to the side and out rolled all the change. She cried even louder. (The rest of this post happened over the course of the 7-8 minute drive to school)

I tried to console her. I asked what the problem was and then patiently asked her to please say it again (3 times) because I couldn't understand her through the sobs. I assured her that everything would be okay. I told her I'd be happy to help her get it when we got to the school.

"We can NEVER get it!! It's down in the seat belt thing! No one could ever get it out!" (I admit I got a tiny bit sarcastic here and told her to please stop worrying and saying such things until we had given EVERYONE an opportunity to try and NOBODY was able to retrieve the money.) "There's no way we can get EVERYONE to try, mom!!" Cry, cry, cry. (obvious out of character literalness/grouchiness. She understands my sarcasm)

Okay, at this point there was a bit of , "Evie, you have to stop crying about this." in a firm voice. Then I had a thought, "Okay, Evie, how much money dropped? It was probably less than 2 zloty (maybe 75 cents), right?" Yes, it was definitely less. "So really, Evie, that's not that much money! If we can't get it out I can even give you the money. It will be okay!!"

"But that's the whole thing, mom!!! (?) I thought I had hardly any money left and I was SO glad when I found that zloty, and now I've lost it!!!"

"But I can give you one zloty! There is no more problem!"

"But I'm so stupid!! I was so excited about it and then I dropped it!"

"Okay, Ev. We're almost at school and you need to try to calm down. Don't think about the money. Everything will be fine."

Whimper, whimper, cry.

In hopes of distracting her, "Are you ready for your performance in the assembly today?"

"It's NOT a performance!!! We're singing a song." whimper whimper.

"STOP IT, EWELINA!! NO--MORE--CRYING!!!"

Finally we pull into the school parking lot. While the kids unload themselves from the car, I tell them to try and have a good day.

The end.

So this reminds me of my post about how my kids freak out in which I discuss both their freak-out-ishness and how we deal with it. See, it's not only bee stings and doctors visits they freak out about.

I wish I could just feel empathy indefinitely. I wish I could lovingly assure them that their feelings are valid somehow. Still, always after trying and trying, and listening to so much wailing and sobbing, I lose it. Especially when I'm somewhere that I can't escape it. Like in a car.

Stuff I Was Going to Post on My Birthday but am Posting the Day After Instead

Sometimes when people have a birthday they're allowed to write anything and everything that they want to without caring what anybody says. This also goes for people who always write anything and everything they want to without caring what anybody says.

Proof that I've always been awesome: Journal excerpts (as written)
On Sunday I was reading some of my old journal entries out loud to the kids and I had a really hard time because I was laughing so hard. You know when you keep trying to say something over and over but you can't get it out because you're laughing so hard? Like that. Only when I typed it up the funny was kinda gone out of it.
******
Feb. 11, 1986 (age 9)
Sorry I haven't written for so long but my Journal was lost the hole time! Now I will write about Christmas. Well, we went to grandmas, sang songs, opened, presents, ate goodys, and played. I got. . . (list of presents, a description of the following morning and the presents received then, including a Ramses II sweatshirt and tickets to the Ramses II exhibit). . . It was so fun that I wished that day would have lasted forever. Well the time is 9:17 and I don't have anything to write so good-bye.
Oops. I almost forgot! I still haven't written about Halloween in 1985! Well, mostly it was boring, but now I remember one more thing about it. Cold! Oh, gee, I musent forget what I was. A punker. My mom did my hair all (illegible, looks like, "snandy" I'm guessing I meant to write "standy-upy") and put red floresent hair spray on it. We got lots of candy and had a blast! I remember something really funny!
As we were leaving Eddnes (Edna's) house she was talking to my dad and said, "make sure your kids don't say what some are! Trick-or-treat smell my feet give me something good to eat, if you don't, I don't care, I'll pull down your underwear! (I refuse to believe I ever found something like this funny.)
Feb.12, 1986 (apparently mom and dad were off on some extended trip)
Mom and dad have just pulled out. I feel like bursting into tears so I sing a song Im playing in piano.
I will be writting much more this month than usuall. (To express my feelings.)They have left us with many treats. I know Ill miss them.
March 17, 1986
Sorry I lied on the other page. I just never think about this book. It is now 8:58 pm so I am very tired. (then an account of my St. Patrick's Day, which I'm skipping)
Hello! It's 8:03, Mar 18. I had a good day. I wore my Ramsese II shirt. I can't beileve I haven't written about the Ramsese II excibite the BYU has set up. I went to the exibit and saw many outragous things. I got my sweat shirt from dad for Christmas and the ticket from mom. We just said family prayer and it is 8:17 I am tired. Tonight we got 1 whole pack of starbursts for cleaning up's dessert good night.
*******
I was so excited to show David, the lover of all things Ancient Egypt, about how I went to the Ramses II exhibit. Love that I said more about the "whole package" of Starbursts that we got for having cleaned up, than I did about the priceless, ancient artifacts I was able to see up close. I really haven't changed a whole lot. *sigh*

And I love the telling what time it was, and the "They left us with many treats." in the middle of my melancholy post about missing my parents. And the going back four months to relate the tale of Halloween 1985, which begins, ". . . it was boring"

Here's one other entry that I remember SO vividly. This one is from earlier on before I understood dates. I never wrote them, I just started my entries like this:
********
Wene I was seven I Liked PeoPle to feel sorry for me. And I told my dad. He said "come and sit on my lap." So me and anne sat on his lap. And he said "if you get hurt it hurts huh? and we said yes.
And thene we knew that it wasn't good too get hurt just for a stupud reson.
********

Things the kids have said that made me feel old somehow:
* Evie came into the kitchen where I was washing dishes and asked, "What's a typewriter?" After I recovered, I learned that she read something about one in a Boxcar Children book. After I explained what it is a lightbulb came on, "OH!!! Like in Tarzan!!" (Trashing the Camp)

* David from the back seat of the car: "Mom, does everyone have to have iPods when they are big?" "I'm not really sure what you mean?" "Like when you get older do have to have iPods?" "Well, most people have some kind of MP3 or MP4 player, but you don't have to have one. Why are you asking?" "I just think I always want to wear glasses, instead." --- isn't "eye-pods" the most perfect name EVER for contact lenses? I love it.

* (from the mom tag) When asked "how old is mom?" David replies, "82?" I ask him to please be serious for once. He says, with a very sincere question mark on his face, "83?"

Well, sometimes she feels 82, even though she has 50 years to go. . .

The Best Birthday Present Ever

I celebrated my fifth birthday at my grandparent's house. We always had our family birthday parties at our house, but this time my parents, most especially my mother, seemed to think that it was important to focus on someone else's birth than mine that day. What better way to celebrate your child's birth than by giving birth to another child? She was in the hospital having my present.

I only remember sensing that something was terribly wrong. I most especially remember uncle Carl's (mom's brother) anxious and worried expression as he and grandpa rushed to the car. There were some very serious complications and both mother and baby seemed to be in danger. I learned later that Micah was NOT coming and was extremely stressed. The cord was wrapped around his neck and there were a number of other issues. Mom had been in labor for days and there was something very wrong. My dad had called from the hospital and my frantic grandmother had sent grandpa and uncle Carl racing to the hospital to give my mom a blessing. Soon after the hands of dad, grandpa, Uncle Carl and the doctor were placed on her head, Dr. Lewis proclaimed, "I think I can get this dude out!" And with a yank of the foreceps, he did!! Out came a very blue little boy.

I remember later that night, when the rest of us arrived at the hospital, the dear doctor asked who the birthday girl was. I stepped forward shyly. He said, "well, I think the birthday girl should be the first to touch her baby brother!" Following the doctor's instructions, I reached my hand forward, through the little twisty things on the incubator, toward his bruised and misshapen head, and lightly petted his his warm, pink skin. A bond was formed.

Throughout our childhood I remember trying to look after little Micah. He had his favorite big brother Adam, and his beloved mother for a summer sister, Su, but I was always proud that this little guy was mine. I remember one night when we were sleeping at grandma and grandpa's house while visiting Utah from California Micah woke up cold in the night. I was the only one that woke up as well and got him settled with an extra blanket. I remember wondering why he was so grateful for that, and wishing that I had more opportunities to do things like that for him.

These days, though we rarely (never?) talk to each other, I think, and hope, that Micah knows that he is very special to me. Not sure how it is that I feel MORE special because I share my birthday, instead of feeling less special, but I think it may have to do with who I'm sharing it with. We share more than just a date of birth, though.

* We both love(d) hot dogs. There were never any arguments over what we would have for our birthday dinner.
* In some ways I think he and I are the most emotional members of the family(though we show it differently)
* We both have longish faces? Or eyes a little close together? Not sure what it is, but we look a little alike
* The corners of both of our mouths turn up slightly. Micah's is more Joker-ish than mine is, but mine is bad enough that my friend in high school had a hard time talking to me while looking in my face because she would always burst out laughing about the upturn on the edges of my mouth.
* We both were smart in school (is it bad manners to add a "quite" or "extremely" (kidding) in here if I'm not only talking about me?) but neither of us applied ourselves, or got very good grades.
* We both like to eat sweets quite a lot. Like way too much, if we're not careful.
* We both have spiky hair and nice little beards.

Oh wait. It appears I ran out of ideas. My beard is actually much thinner than his, and my hair is only spiky about a year after I give birth to a child (if you've never had one, that's from all the hair that fell out after the birth growing back in)

Micah is such a smarty. He has about the sharpest sense of humor of anyone I know. He is a very loyal sibling and friend. He has always had a very strong sense of right and wrong. He's not half ugly, either (read: drop dead gorgeous. Are you allowed to say things like that about your brother?)

I really love this guy. I feel privileged to have this special bond with him. Although I may not show that I care like I should, I hope he knows that I think about him and remember him in my prayers. I wish him all the best this life as to offer, and the fullest of happiness.

Here you see the beautiful girl he's chosen for keeps, Heather. They will be married in June, and I am so happy for them. I wish them the very best.

Love you, Micah! Happy Birthday!

On our 17th and 22nd birthday our oldest brother and his wife decided to celebrate our birthday the same way mom celebrated my 5th. Our nephew Noah was born. He loves basketball almost as much as his birthday uncle. And he has his birthday aunt's long face! Happy Birthday, Noah!!

Part III: A Relationship with Some Long Distance Parts

(The next installment for SOS hosted by 2 hearts at My life in type. Theme "Long Distance Relationships." Beginning of the story here, and you can follow the links at the end of each post. Remember these posts are written as my own journal, but I'm still linking them up at Soap Opera Sunday. Whatever.)

Let's start this session with some pictures. This is sort of how I thought of Greg at first. Very Polish (skinny, tucked in shirt, Polish shirt and flag). He's the one on the left. On the right is Dewayne, one of the RMs who served in Poland. Funny guy. This is how he dressed to go to school. Just kidding. I think he was in a dance group or something.


Me sticking my head out of the kitchen window of our basement apartment. In the background you can see Greg's apartment]



Summertime roommate Sarah (long before she was Sarah of Hope is Power), me and Andrea (when she was just "Me" and there was no "3" in Me + 3) standing in our kitchen. Behind us on the left you see the door that leads to the stairs going outside. Behind us on the right you see the door to the bathroom. Right off of the kitchen. Disgusting. That apartment was a hole.


Now I've mentioned that Greg and I dated on and off. This morning I asked him if he'd write a post from his perspective (per Erin's suggestion). I knew he wouldn't be that excited about it, so I just asked him for his side of the story.

L: So why did we keep dating off and on?
G: Well, I always knew. [Here he gave an analogy that I won't share but basically saying that even though "he knew" he still felt like he couldn't be sure until he'd dated everyone else in the world] "I thought, it's so fun being with Lisa, but is it Lisa? Maybe this is just what it's like when you're dating a girl."
L: Oh, and I mentioned in my last post about how you were always visiting all the girls in the ward. Making the rounds to all their apartments. Just so you know.
G: What? I did not! I sometimes visited girl's apartments but not that much.
L: Of course you did. You liked so many girls and you would visit them all the time!
G: WHAT!?! I didn't like any girls in our ward. I went on a few dates with girls from work (MTC) but that's all.
L: No you were sorta after a bunch of girls in the ward. Remember S-----?
G: Oh yeah, but I wasn't interested in her for long.
L: And how about D----? You were really hung up on her.
G: Oh yeah.
L: And A-----? And remember J-----?
G: Okay, okay. You've made your point.

So no, I didn't misrepresent the case. He liked a lot of girls. Whenever we ended a dating term it was because one of us realized that HE was getting restless.

Once when we weren't dating, Greg and one of his roommates were taking dates snowshoeing. Brad was taking Andrea, and Greg was going with a girl from upstairs. The morning of, Greg called me to say that his date had some emergency come up and he wondered if I would go with him. I was so excited (but not too excited, as I was kind of the only person who he could count on going with him last minute, but snowshoeing? awesome!!...) Here we are:



That was a fun "date".

Just before Christmas Greg was making his travel plans. He always spent his Christmases with his "adoptive" American family, the Hughes, the family of one of his former mission companions, Vaughn. Vaughn's younger brother, Jason, was Greg's good friend and roommate. They always spent Christmas in Oregon and then headed down to San Fransisco to visit his Grandmother. For some reason we decided that from there, Jason and Greg should fly down to Burbank and visit me for a few days. They did and we had a great time, except for the fact that Greg and I acted like we were dating even though technically we weren't. Jason was a great sport and we did Hollywood, Disneyland, and a Singles New Years dance. During that Christmas in Oregon, Jason gave Greg some very good advice that got him thinking. Thinking, but not acting, really. (I think he gave him the idea that someone (specific) might steal me from him if he didn't make a permanent-type move. Of course I didn't know about this until after we were married)

I mentioned that I didn't really go on many actual dates. Everyone knew Greg and that he liked me and wouldn't ask me out because it was taboo. So Greg would see other girls 'til his heart was content (not really, he was never content until he realized what his problem was, which is at the end of the story) but I couldn't date anyone else.

I had a few guys tell me that they wanted to ask me out but they didn't want Greg to come after them. I was sort of flattered but mostly annoyed that I was missing opportunities. Once when I was going to a Christmas Around the World (or whatever that annual thing is at BYU where they have people performing from all different cultures) with my good friend Lance, he asked as we were pulling out of the driveway, "Are you sure I'm not making anyone too jealous, here?" Ugh!

Another time (when we weren't dating) when I was on my way to Greg's house I met one of his roommates in between our houses. I told him I was going to see Greg. He said he was on his way over to see Lisa because he had something to ask her. I told him I wasn't sure if she was at home, but he could go and check (this guy was really hilarious and didn't really hide the fact that he liked me). He looked a little flustered and then kept going on to my apartment. I felt a little weird, but since he kept going, I kept going, assuming I'd talk to him later. He came back to his apartment a little while later and I asked him what it was he needed. He said, "Oh, never mind." I found out later that he'd asked my roommate out on a very cool date.

It was more of the same all winter and spring. At the end of the school year (BYU and Head Start both) I started thinking that I really just needed to go somewhere where I would be able to date other people. Sticking around here wasn't working and it was keeping me hung up on Greg. Around this time Andrea stopped listening to me whine on and on about Greg. Of course I felt bad about having dumped everything on her (too bad people didn't have blogs back then, because I would TOTALLY have done what Cordy is doing. And the story would have been very similar, too, except the posts would have been 10 times as long) and I could feel that this was really going to help me get through this. (I know we never actually talked about this Andrea, but I do thank you for that).

Once, around this time, Greg and I went for a drive "to get lost" in the hills of Provo. We did this all the time and, on occasions when we actually found our way to the top, we would park and look over the city and chat. This time while we were talking about us I just told him flat out that there was no reason for us to give it another try anymore. I told him that there was no future for us. None. He disagreed and was upset that I was giving up on us and tried to convince me etc.

Heaven smiled on me (it often does, you see, because it's very nice like that). My sister (Su, married) who was soon to be moving away from Provo to Maryland told me of a nannying position available 45 minutes from where they would be living. I thought, NO WAY. Nannying? my thing. Waaaaaaay across the country from Greg? just what I needed. With family living nearby? I'll take it!!! This was seriously an answer to my prayers. I contacted the family and got the job. This was at the beginning of July. I would fly out early in August. My plan was to nanny for a year and save money for my mission.

For some reason Greg and I started dating again, without talking about it. Suddenly we were just holding hands and stuff. We were dating. This was the best period of dating ever. EVER. There was NO uncertainty. I didn't feel like he was at all restless. We both knew when it would end, and we cared so much about each other that we wanted to spend as much time together as we could before I left. It was heaven. We never talked about what would happen when I left.

For two of our last 4 weeks together Greg was in Salt Lake City helping a Polish television crew with translation. They were there to cover the 150th anniversary of the pioneers coming into the Salt Lake Valley. I missed him so much while he was gone, but loved to hear how the filming was going etc. Instead of having Greg help with translation, they decided to have him be the host/narrator of the entire documentary! He was a star, and had the opportunity to bear his testimony on screen for his entire country to hear!

I was able to attend the whatever-it's-called ceremony when the modern day "pioneers," who had made the trek to emulate their progenitors, came into the valley. Here we are, there on Ensign Peak. I've got my media pass around my neck (which meant I could go anywhere).




Do you guys know who Dan Rascon is? News anchor there in SLC, I think (looked it up, KUTV2 News). Back then he worked for the church and he was assigned to the Polish TV crew, so Greg spent those two weeks with him. We both think he's a really great person.

I had one other experience while the TV crew was in Provo. We went to a huge pioneer celebration at Cougar Stadium. Here I am on top of the stadium with some of the crew.



At one point all the missionaries from the MTC, thousands of them, came flooding onto the field and marched around the track singing a hymn. It was one of the most moving things I've ever witnessed. My sister had just left for her mission to Korea, so I was extra weepy. In that moment a sudden impression came over me that saddened me, and my tears of wonder and gratitude for those missionaries and the restored Gospel turned, for a moment, to tears of mourning for a loss. I understood that I was not going to serve a mission.

But I also knew I was flying out to my nannying job in one week.

Part Four