About to be tested

My mom is in town, so now comes the part where Jenny and I compete for her time. Except I'm not going to compete, I'm just going to let her win while being sure to text my mother every time the Tiny Dark Lord giggles. As if the double rainbows and the parting of the clouds and the singing of the angels aren't clue enough.


She's here because my sister Spitfire is about to leave us. Next Wednesday we will drop her off at the Missionary Training Center in Provo. She's going to serve in the Independence, Missouri mission and will be gone for 18 months. We're all really excited for her, except I may have made the mistake of watching Winter's Bone and then went into a full-on panic-fueled rant about how my baby sister is not allowed to go among a bunch of meth cookers who will chop her up and feed her to their hogs and how I should show her the movie just so she knows that if she ends up anywhere that looks anything like that she should run as fast as her pantyhose-chafed legs will take her. (And yes, she has to wear pantyhose. The Church may have changed its dress code for sister missionaries, but her mission president did not. Too bad for her.)

Tonight we're going to have a last Girl's Night Hurrah downtown. We're having dinner at Cafe Trio, staying at the Little America, sleeping in and shopping in the morning, and then having a big family lunch. Spitfire will speak in her ward on Sunday in L**** so we're going to go to that. But in the meantime I'll be spending about 24 hours away from my baby and am already wondering if this will be a big mistake and I'll spend the whole time rocking in a corner while my mom and sisters try to force feed me Valium from street dealers.

Seriously, who can stay away from this?

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Primary kids crack me up

(Of course, I might not be saying this in a few weeks when we have our big Mother's Day musical number. I might want to be committed after that. I'm pretty sure one of my Sunbeams will somehow end up at the pulpit demonstrating kung fu moves.)

The new gig is going decently well. I've only stepped on a child once, so that's something. All the songs and fingerplays from library story times are saving my trash because it's the only way I know to get their attention back on me once they go into rabid feral kitten mode.

It's funny to listen to them. So far nobody has told me shocking tidbits about their parents, thank heaven, but I did get this during Sharing Time (which is when all the kids are together singing & learning songs, before splitting up for their separate classes).

The song we were about to learn was about prophets, so the chorister started by asking some questions.

Chorister: How do we know what Heavenly Father wants us to do? Who tells us?

Earnest little boy in my class, with a look of "Oh! I know this one!": THE ALIENS!!!

So there you go.

And because it's Thursday and overcast and we all deserve to see something criminally cute . . .



Check out the nerd-in-training!

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Embracing my destiny

I am not a scrapbooker. I did try to be, back in high school and then in college when I lived with fellow scrapbookers who inspired me to record my life with pictures, really expensive paper, and stickers. My pack-rat tendencies just looooooved the idea of scrapbooking. Tickets, receipts, scraps of fabric, out-and-out trash, oh yeah. Now there was a reason to hang on to those things. I was going to stick them into a book where they would be elevated to not only art but also to Personal History which would one day very much bless my family and give me righteousness points. ("A scrap of fabric from your prom dress, Mom? Now I feel way close to Jesus!")

Except . . . I became less of a pack rat. And I bought a digital camera. And I became less of a scrapbooker. I did not want to spend eighty bazillion dollars on paper and stickers, and I did not want to spend the time needed to actually put those things together. This is why I currently possess seven years' worth of digital photos that have never been printed, much less arranged in something I could actually show to people whom I have tied down onto my couch. I did buy a small photo album and slip some wedding pictures in it, two years after the wedding. Massive triumph, right there.

The thing is? You can run from your Mormon record-keeping, brag-book-creating, check-out-our-superfun-life heritage, but you can't hide. The addition of little Lord Voldemort has nudged away the final barrier and now OH MY GOSH I MUST RECORD HIS LIFE AND POSSIBLY MAKE CALENDARS FOR ALL THE GRANDPARENTS AND I KNOW NOT WHAT ELSE.

Sigh.

Luckily for me, Groupon is going to help me out today. Their deal is $10 for a hardcover, 20-page, 8 x 8 inch photo book from Shutterfly (normally priced around $30). I pick the photos and the layout and the text, they make the book and send it to me. I doubt I'll find an easier way to appease these strange stirrings within, so I'm going to give it a go and we'll see. If this endeavor agrees with me, then mayhaps I will do it again. Something like a yearly family book with pictures and highlights seems doable, right? If anyone out there has recommendations or good experiences to share about such things, share away!

Because come on. Stuff like this?



This needs to be in a book. If only so that there is proof that I finally finished knitting something for him. And also as a record that this onesie existed, because I'm pretty sure I will never be able to wash out the gallon of crap that currently resides in its fibers.

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I make funny choices when I'm stoned

The day after I gave birth to He Who Must Not Be Named and was still in the hospital, I got a call on my cell from a number I didn't recognize. Now, please do not ask me why I answered the phone. It could have had something to do with all the drugs I was on, or possibly all the lost blood that had not yet been replenished by The Nurses Who Deserve to Go Straight To Heaven (as opposed to The Nurses Who Were Like "Or . . . You Could Always Just NOT Get a Blood Transfusion and in a Few Weeks You'll Start to Feel Better and Will Stop Looking Like a Ghost and Passing out All the Time." I'm wishing a different fate on those nurses.)

Anyway, I answered the phone. A man introduced himself as a Brother So-and-So from the ward bishopric.

Brother So-and-So: How are things going?

Me: Great! I just had a baby, Whooo-oooooo!

(Thinking: Wow, the ward is already calling to congratulate me? Gosh they are on the ball here.)

BSS: Oh really? Wow.

Me: Yep! Just now! I'm still in the hospital and everything!!

BSS: Oh. Oh gosh. Um . . . that's--you know, I was going to call to ask you a question about Primary, but um, nevermind. I'm going to let you go now. Congratulations on the baby!

Me: Uh huh! Wooooooooooh . . . .

I figured I'd pretty well dodged a bullet there. Only then he called again about 6 weeks later, falling all over himself to apologize over calling me in the hospital. (Only, not his fault, how was he supposed to know? I'm the drugged-out moron who picked up the phone.) And he wanted to see if I would possibly at all be willing to be one of the teachers for the 6-year-olds. I said sure, but that I wasn't planning to bring the baby to church for at least another month so I couldn't start right away. He said the Primary President was fine with that and that she really wanted me and would be happy to wait until I was ready to start coming back. So there you go. I figured hey, I get 6-year-olds so this should be fine. It'll be like teaching Savvy's class. Some of them can already read and everything.

The week before I started, the Primary President came over to give me the lesson manual and chat with me about things. Only, while she was talking to me I started to wonder if there's something wrong with the water here, other than the part where it does not contain fluoride but does contain algae. (No lie. We filter our water and green stuff is in the filter. It's nasty.)

She went down the class list and talked a little bit about the kids.

PP: One really nice thing is that you don't have to deal with diapers. Except for . . . this boy. He still may be in them.

Me: Oh . . . does he have any developmental delays or anything?

PP: Nope, some kids just won't do it until they're ready, you know?

Me: (Um, I guess . . . )

And then later:

PP: Now, this boy generally has his mom in class with him every week, because he gets anxious if she's not there. This other girl, she has a hard time but her mom doesn't stay and after a few minutes she's usually fine.

Me: (to myself: Holy cow, doesn't that make, say, SCHOOL difficult?)

Me:(to her:) Now, these kids are 6 years old, right?

PP: No, they're 3.

Yeah. Turns out there was a miscommunication. I'm ACTUALLY teaching the Sunbeams. Which makes the whole crying/diapers thing make a LOT more sense. And then I panicked about "Oh my gosh, what do I even DO with 3 year olds," until I remembered, "Hi, you just spent two years doing storytimes for 3 year olds. I think you can handle this." So I just need to figure out a way to change the words to all my storytime songs so that they have Jesus in there somewhere and we'll be good to go!

Also?


BOOOM!

You are welcome.

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Who even knew?

I won't bore you with what I've been up to for the last month (growing, packing, moving, unpacking, commuting, growing some more, getting kicked lots (by internal baby, not by external people)) but I will share a story from my new ward that you may find interesting.

GH and I recently moved to the northern part of Utah County and are discovering its strange new wonders. Our first Sunday at church was a real eye-opener because the discussion kept turning to politics and What The Gays Are Up To. (And this was before the President Packer talk and subsequent hulabaloo, mind you.)

This week was much more normal and less "grab your torches and pitchforks." So I'm hoping that first Sunday was maybe a fluke. But I do have Carina's list of gentle conversational redirects in my scriptures, just in case I need to use them. Also I found an air conditioning vent on the floor in the Relief Society room, so I parked myself over it and experienced nearly two hours of sheer bliss. Mmmmmmmmmm . . .

Anyway. Point.

A high council member visited the ward and spoke in sacrament meeting. He was talking about missionary work, since it's something President Monson brought up at General Conference as being on his mind. So he was talking about the decreasing numbers of missionaries, and what we can do to help prepare boys to be successful missionaries, etc.

And then this happened:

As sort of an aside, he started talking about what happens when the guys who do serve missions get home and leave the family wards and we lose track of them because they head off to college, where they struggle because all anybody does is spend time on Facebook so there are no social opportunities. In college. (His words.) And then he was like, "And we want these young men to get married and return to the family wards, but where are they going to find companions to marry?"

Which is where I whispered to GH, "Um, at college?"

But the high councilman said that the problem (wait for it . . . ) is that the young women of the church, who used to have the Plan A of getting married in the temple and becoming mothers back when they were 12 years old, have, now that they're older, all become focused on Plan B instead: Their education and careers.

So. It seems that all those coeds at BYU and UVU are just consumed by their careers now. Consumed. Don't you feel so enlightened now that the cause of the problem has been identified?

Have decided that this sweet, well-intentioned man must be getting this line from somewhere. So this is likely what his sons/nephews/closeted gay relatives have been telling him when he asks them why they're not married yet, or why they aren't dating more. "These girls, all they care about are their careers! That's why they won't go out with me." Um, guys? I call B.S. The Elementary Education/Early Childhood Education/Family Sciences programs at BYU are not packed to the gills because of women's cutthroat desire to go out and take names as preschool teachers. I'm just saying. It's true that we may have a Plan B, but it's still Plan B. It's not Plan A. If it were, that's what we would call it. And since Plan B is always a very real possibility for who-knows-how-long, it might as well be a kick-trash one. The kind that comes with good medical benefits. And trips to Europe. And gelato. And flings with English men.

My sister Spitfire reminded me of the time when we were in the same L**** singles ward, and she turned down a very nice guy after a couple of dates because she realized that they did not click and she wasn't interested in pursuing anything. So then his brother (also in our ward) got up in Elder's Quorum and went off about how the women of the church "don't have their priorities straight." Nice one. Just because a girl turns you down it doesn't mean she's not interested in dating/marriage. She's just not interested in doing those things with YOU. Assuming that the young men in question are even asking women out in the first place. (GH asserts that this goes both ways, with women assuming that men aren't dating when really, they're just not dating them. I am not sure I want to believe him, as this would alter my entire worldview.)

The rest of the talk was normal and fine, but he did say that since they aren't under the same obligation to serve missions, he hopes we can encourage the young ladies to renew their commitment to temple marriage and motherhood.

And, I dunno, maybe drop out of college or something. Because that'll fix things.

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Pioneer Day

In Utah, July 24th is the day that we celebrate the Mormon pioneers' arrival in the Salt Lake Valley in 1847. It's a state holiday. We do parades, fireworks, and then get up in church and talk about dead frozen babies a whole lot. Also about other things, but you just know there will be a dead baby tossed into the mix whether you wanted one or not.

GH and I drove up to Logan on the night of Friday the 23rd, so we could have some festivities before completing the trek (heh, trek--see what I did there?) up to Bear Lake the next afternoon. And oh, such times we did have.


This is GH's "Why do you hate me?" face. Here's why he was making it:

I dragged him out of bed Saturday morning at the crack of dawn to attend a local Pioneer Day breakfast by calling upon the force of his true love for me. (I would have let him sleep in and gone without him, except when I peeked in and saw that he was awake in bed with his iPod I figured it was on. And then I was relentless.)

We got to the park, stood in line for about 20 minutes, and reached the front just as they ran out of french toast, eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits, and sausage gravy. (Not that I would ever eat a non-Southerner's sausage gravy, but still.) GH ate his single flap jack and spoonful of hash browns in A Betrayed but Forbearing Silence. I did not bother him again until he'd gone back to his parents' house and had some cereal. And a shower. And some time healing his soul by reading Comic-Con updates.



Once he was ready to face the cruel world again, we met up with GH's extended family down the street for the parade. This was a smaller one that mostly consisted of local elected officials, valley royalty, and local businesses. One of the businesses was a pageant company. Its float consisted, I kid you not, of two girls (aged about 7 and 10) in the back of a truck wearing bikinis, pageant sashes, and tiaras shaped like the Pope's hat. I . . . had no words. The neighborhood Primary groups got in on the action too, dressed up like pioneers and either walking or riding the transportation of their choice. GH said that when he was little he used to dress up like a cowboy and ride his bike in the parade too. Since, you know, that's how the little Mormon children crossed the plains and all. With cowboy hats, on scooters, dodging all the fresh graves.

Anyway, it was a great day, and then it was on to Bear Lake for the reunioning!

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"Only in Utah," as my mother would say

A sweet lady just came in and somewhat bashfully asked me if I could print her a copy of this month's Visiting Teaching message.

Best part is, it was about becoming self-reliant.

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Not-so-extreme makeover

I don't know about anyone else, but during General Conference there are always several talks that hit me right between the eyes. One of the between-eyes-hitting talks was from Elder Gary E. Stevenson during the Sunday afternoon session. He was talking about the temple, and the relationship and similarities that should exist between the temple and our homes, which are also meant to be sacred places.

He issued this challenge:

Recently, in a stake conference, all present were invited by the visiting authority, Elder Glen Jenson, an Area Seventy, to take a virtual tour of their homes using their spiritual eyes. I would like to invite each of you to do this also. Wherever your home may be and whatever its configuration, the application of eternal gospel principles within its walls is universal. Let’s begin. Imagine that you are opening your front door and walking inside your home. What do you see, and how do you feel? Is it a place of love, peace, and refuge from the world, as is the temple? Is it clean and orderly? As you walk through the rooms of your home, do you see uplifting images which include appropriate pictures of the temple and the Savior? Is your bedroom or sleeping area a place for personal prayer? Is your gathering area or kitchen a place where food is prepared and enjoyed together, allowing uplifting conversation and family time? Are scriptures found in a room where the family can study, pray, and learn together? Can you find your personal gospel study space? Does the music you hear or the entertainment you see, online or otherwise, offend the Spirit? Is the conversation uplifting and without contention? That concludes our tour. Perhaps you, as I, found a few spots that need some “home improvement”—hopefully not an “extreme home makeover.”

Whether our living space is large or small, humble or extravagant, there is a place for each of these gospel priorities in each of our homes.

I started thinking about my apartment, and about how I feel when I'm there, or about how people might feel when they come over. (I mean, other than the awkward feeling they might get when GH and I start making out right in front of them.) Here are some things I thought about:

1. Right now we have no pictures of the Savior on the walls. This is kind of lame of us.

2. We have a watercolor of the Logan Temple that someone gave us as a wedding gift, but I would like to print and hang one of the pictures Ed took of the temple during our wedding.

3. We have no wedding pictures printed or displayed yet.

4. I read my scriptures while Benjamin Linus stares down at me--creepily. He is also the last thing I see before I fall asleep. It's a lucky thing Jack Bauer is there too, over on the bookshelf.




5. The first thing I see when I walk into my apartment is a pile of boxes to be dealt with--items that need to be taken to DI, an Amazon order that needs to be returned, recycling that needs to be taken to the recycling bin at my work, papers that need to be shredded. In fact, there are a LOT of "need to be dealt withs" in my apartment. Pictures leaning against walls waiting to be hung, clothes waiting to be put away, laundry waiting to be done, letters waiting to be mailed, a big ol' Tupperware bin of GH's stuff that we haven't gone through since we moved in.

What I'm starting to realize is that the thing that is probably affecting me more than the lack of temple pictures and the excess of Ben pictures (and yes, one is excessive) is the clutter. Specifically, the clutter that nags me by its very presence and reminds me that there are things hanging over my head.

So. On Saturday, GH and I cleaned our apartment, or at least the visible-to-guests portion (baby steps). I hauled DI bags out to my car and even hung up the two framed pictures that I've been meaning to hang up in the dining nook for the last 8 months. Now I keep finding myself staring at the dining nook in admiration. It is my new favorite spot now that it's not surrounded by things like bags of stuff to be recycled. It is still, sadly, a wood laminate nook when you consider the table, chairs, and pantry/laundry room doors. It's the brown corner. Of course, I've also been meaning to get a nice bright tablecloth to counteract the Laminate Curse for the last 8 months. I thought I'd found a nice white clearanced tablecloth on Saturday at Bed, Bath & Beyond that would solve everything. The opened tablecloth looked like the crappiest polyester temple dress fabric ever. It went right back in the bag, and the tablecloth hunt continues. Will likely end up buying fabric and attempting my first tablecloth hemming project. Maybe something cute like this one by Amy Butler:


Point is, it was amazing how much of a difference clearing a few things out made. I suddenly wanted to spend lots more time in that spot because it was so neat and nice and uncluttered and there was nothing in it that made me feel guilty. So I need to start there, I think. And with a Jesus picture.


Did anybody else come to any realizations during your "virtual tour"?

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And you thought I was done talking about the plight of the Singleton

Except I'll never be done. Never.

I went out to dinner awhile back with some excellent girl friends. It was great to catch up and hear how everyone's doing. Until one friend started telling her story and then our brains exploded out our ears.

Here's a girl who is around my age, has a college degree, and has served a mission. She's attractive, funny, down-to-earth, is a loyal friend and proud auntie, she goes on cool adventures, and she can cook like you would not believe. So pretty much the whole package. Yes, she would rather not be single, but she's not the mopey sort and in the meantime is doing really good things with her life.

Great, right? Except NOT. Her parents are so worried about her single status that they Cannot. Leave. It. Alone. And the fact that she does not appear more worried about it or more "anxiously engaged" in catching herself a man (any man) just unsettles them even more. They signed her up for an online dating site without her consent, they try to set her up with every divorced guy in the neighborhood who just moved back in with his parents, they recruit her married sisters to gang up on her about her life, and they ask her if maybe she has considered flirting more.

Now, My Friend's Mom and Dad, I get that you want your sweet, lovely daughter to be happy. I get that. What I would also like to get is the number for your crack dealer.

Because seriously, if your goal is to see your child happy, how is making her miserable by continually harping on the one thing she cannot control the best way to get her on the path?

You have this gorgeous, kind, smart, educated daughter. Do you realize how much worse it could be? She could be:

1. On drugs.

2. On the run from the law.

3. Homeless

4. Secretly stealing your money.

5. Sleeping around.

6. Dating a string of losers who treat her badly.

7. Pregnant with a drug-dealer's kid.

8. Living at your house with her drug-dealer baby daddy babies.

9. Stuck in a bad marriage where you worry about her and her children constantly.

10. Still single, but constantly moaning about how miserable and wretched she is and making efforts that completely reek of desperation. (Note: I don't know of many desperation-fueled marriages that worked out well.)

And here's the other tip, parents. I get that it's hard for you to worry about your daughter, but it's much, much harder to BE your daughter. It is hard to be single in the LDS culture. It just is. It is hard to commit to a life of celibacy that could last who knows how long. It is hard not to know when/if you'll have a family of your own. It is hard to watch what seems like everyone else moving on with their lives while you're searching for meaningful Plan Bs to keep you busy. It is hard to deal with people pitying you and assuming that you must be doing something wrong and defining you by what you don't have.

So when a single person is able to maintain a good attitude in the face of all that, you DO NOT MESS WITH THAT. It is not your job to make your daughter doubt herself, because there are enough people and situations lined up for that very task. YOUR job is to be supportive, encouraging, and to maybe secretly put her name on the prayer roll in the temple, without ever, ever telling her you're doing it. (ps. Thanks, Coolmom and Cooldad! You guys are awesome at spinster parenting.)

I turned to another single friend during dinner and asked, "So, do your parents give you this kind of crap, too?"

She snorted: "No way. My dad just asked me if I've considered going for a Ph.D."

Which is how it's done, people.

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Let's talk about Mormon Food

Bet that perked y'all right up. I have an anonymous friend who was asked to design a ward cookbook. She can't write about this on her blog without recognition and scandal, so I offered to do it for her.

I don't know when ward cookbooks started, but they are awesome. Once over at Desmama's we came across this old (1920s, Desmama? I can't remember) church magazine for young women. In addition to having really incredibly odd short stories about marital angst and possibly psychoses (for teenagers? Really) it also included recipes. The "international ones" were my favorite. Like, if you added mayonaise or cabbage to something then it automatically became "German."

Nowadays most ward cookbooks include a fair amount of American LDS staples, such as:

funeral potatoes

ambrosia/frog-eye salad

casseroles involving much cream-of-whatever soup and cheddar cheese

that one chicken salad with the grapes that you serve on croissants

fruit pizza

Dutch oven recipes, including the peach cobbler made with soda

Jello concoctions, which are included in the "salads" section

many rolls and breads

scones, which are actually deep-fried bits of Rhodes roll dough

tons and tons of desserts, including Better than S** Cake

a small vegetable section, which shall be mostly devoted to potatoes

that one punch made with Sprite and lime sherbet

So my friend is volunteered to put this thing together and figures, "Okay, it shouldn't be too bad." Oh, little did she know. In her words, "The head of the project handed out a style sheet to each person who volunteered to type up the recipes. It was very detailed, with the abbreviations for the ingredients and the order that things should go. Except then the typists just chose their own format. So instead of putting the person who donated the recipe after the title, they would just randomly insert that name at the end or even beside the instructions. Awesome!"

So she's spending hours reformatting all of this, people are going to pay to have this book printed, and guess what sort of recipes will be in the final product. This, friends, is where it gets amazing.

Chicken Alfredo

Cheese
Chicken, cooked; heat in microwave
Bottled Alfredo sauce

Combine above ingredients and serve over linguine noodles.

I know, right? Who even knew it could be so easy! Except I have no idea what kind of cheese she's talking about. Cheddar? Feta?


Chicken Pot Pies

Take 2 Banquet Chicken Pies. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Bake for 35 minutes. Add cheese, salt, pepper and enjoy.

Huh. It doesn't seem like you would need a book to tell you that. I'm pretty sure the back of the box might have served just as well.


Little Smokies

Place equal amounts of grape jelly and BBQ sauce in a crock pot. Add little smokies. Eat and love it.

I . . . kind of want to die now.

Fried Oatmeal

Cook oatmeal and place in a pan. Chill. Slice and fry in oil. Serve w/ maple syrup.

Blink. Blink blink. Has anyone ever had this??? I'm dying to know about it.

Golden Rod Eggs

Butter toast and pour white sauce over. Squish or chop hard-boiled eggs over the top.

So . . . no word on how one makes a white sauce? At least the first girl was nice enough to tell you about the bottled stuff.

Now, it's not even that these recipes are bad (they are, though). A big problem is just the lack of necessary instruction, or the assumptions that everyone has all the same cooking skills or knowledge that you do. Also there's the part where one of these (frozen chicken pot pie) is not actually recipe, and another one (the chicken alfredo) doesn't really seem like the kind of thing you'd want to be featuring in a cookbook as an example of your skills.

I do think a funny entry, though, would be something like this:

Ingredients:
Phone
Phone book
Credit card or cash
Coupon (optional)

Instructions: Open phone book. Using phone, dial the number for pizza delivery service of your choice. Place order, hang up. When delivery person arrives, pay with credit card, cash, and possibly coupons. Enjoy. You didn't have to cook.

So I would love to hear from you, dear readers. What are the craziest things you've seen in your ward cookbooks or at a church (LDS or non) function? Have I missed any of the traditional must-haves?

(image from HubPages)

Update: I just found this old post where I talk about my mom's Alaska cookbook with the moose recipes. You have to take a look.

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Someone deserves a trout slappin'

So . . . remember that one time when it was sunny and delicious and springy around here? Yeah, that all went to crap. It is now snowing like nobody's business and I'm sure all the daffodils are dying. Which, Snow, I hope you're happy, since you are now pretty much the same thing as a baby killer. I'm glad I made the most of the nice weather on Saturday--we went to the park for a picnic lunch and lounged around watching people flying kites and walking dogs. It was heaven.

Then on Sunday I was struck by what is possibly the largest architectural stupidity I have come across in recent days. I'm trying to think of what would be dumber, but all I'm getting is maybe multi-level hospitals (or nursing homes) without elevators.

In our chapel, as in many LDS chapels, there are three sections of pews separated by two aisles. There is one center section of longer benches, then there are two sections of shorter benches against each wall. For some reason, the designers of this building must have put someone in charge who has possibly never attended one of our worship services--or perhaps never did so while in the company of small children. Because the short benches (read: where the smaller (read: younger) families sit) are not flush up against the wall, but instead have this 18-inch space between the pew and the wall. A sort of mini-aisle, if you will.

Now, clearly this is too narrow to be used by adults. Wanna know who it's perfect for, though? That would be the small children. The small children can slip out of arm's reach, make a break for that opening and then stroll (or race) up and down the entire length of the chapel to their heart's delight, while taunting their parents with their eyes and giggles. Seriously, why not just build little doggie doors at the end of every aisle that lead out into the hallway?

I can only assume that maybe the person responsible for the space thought it would discourage sleeping in church by people who would otherwise lean their heads against the wall and doze off. (Probably the reason why my Alaskan chapel growing up had some sort of prickly burlap knotted fabric covering the walls--if I tried to lean against it I'd get my ear snagged and possibly torn off.) Only you know what's worse than someone quietly napping? A suddenly-free young child cackling in delight while her single mother tries unsuccessfully to lure her back to their bench without causing a scene. Sure, it's fine if you have TWO adults--one to block the entrance to the main aisle, and another to guard the entrance to the mini-aisle, but if you only have one parent there, and if the parent has learned from sad experience that chaining the kid to the pew or stapling them to the parent's lap is not ideal, then you have the makings of a lively 70 minutes. There's one little sassy 4-year old moppet (imagine a Hobbit child) who makes a break for it every chance she gets, while her sweet mom does her best to keep her sitting and entertained. GH loves watching this little girl. I don't think he would love it as much if he had to be keeping track of her.

But seriously, way to make life just that much harder (and church that much more stressful) for the single mommies, architect. Everyone gives these moms a pass (or they should) because hi, what are you even going to do? An idiot designed the building. I'm surprised they didn't include a jungle gym in the back while they were at it.

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Sunday highlight (like, very high) and lowlight

On Sunday it was our stake conference, which is when several adjoining congregations (wards) meet together and listen to talks and counsel meant specifically for our area or "stake." It was a very good meeting, and the night before there was an adult session, also good, with an emphasis on missionary work (like, the kind that we civilians are supposed to be doing) which only made me feel slightly wrenched with guilt as opposed to greatly.

The highlight, aside from the v.g. talks that made me feel re-motivated to make more time for things of the soul, was when an insanely tall gentleman passed in front of us. I elbowed GH and nodded over in the guy's direction so he would notice the way his head was practically hitting the lights. Which was when I heard the man next to me whisper to his wife that the tall guy was retired basketball player Shawn Bradley and that he thinks he's the Elder's Quorum President over in the such-and-such ward. This means that I am somehow a few degrees closer to Bill Murray, I think. Also, according to his Wikipedia page, Shawn Bradley and I were born in the same town. Because we are both awesome, even though I prefer do my awesomeness from a sedentary position a little bit closer to the ground.

The lowlight was when I learned what is apparently an unwritten rule in my new town. As I now know, choir performances = time to start chatting with your neighbor. These ladies behind me (and one of their husbands) whispered and talked during every single musical number and hymn and also during the talk of the one woman who got up to speak. Which, do not even get me STARTED on that because I will whip off my bra right here at my desk and burn it and it will be the tiniest fire you ever saw but it will be a meaningful fire, people. But yeah. My ears for some reason cannot tune out the whispering and I was just dying to turn around, give them the Eyebrow, and say, "Excuse me, since I can't actually pay attention to the speaker, do you mind if I just listen to you instead?" Except GH would have died of embarassment, as he always does when I Remind People about Manners.

I'm putting him on notice, though: Next time, it's on.

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Catch and Release

Our Relief Society presidency was released on Sunday and a new one was called. For the uninitiated, the Relief Society is the women's organization within the LDS church. Its mission involves bringing women and families to Christ, delivering casseroles during time of crisis, teaching you to pack shotguns in your food storage, and trying to convince you to stop beating yourselves up and comparing yourselves to everyone else around you--just before they start the Good News Minute where you get to listen to everyone brag about their marriage and procreation accomplishments, or those of their children. But anyway. A president is called every few years, and on Sunday we got a new one.

Without knowing it, during one of the classes I was actually sitting next to the woman who was soon to be announced as the new Relief Society president. And not only did she tell me that my blue scarf looked wonderful on me and that blue was really my color, but she was also wearing black fishnets with her shoes. So yeah, will be fully supporting and sustaining.

Then during sacrament meeting there was much talking by the departing and the incoming presidency about the blessings of serving in the Relief Society. Or, as it is known in parts of Utah and perhaps elsewhere, the "Releesociety."

I commented on the pronunciation, because I am a jerk like that, and GH told me that he grew up (in L****) thinking the name of the organization was, in fact, the "Release Society." It wasn't until high school that he saw the name in writing and realize what it actually was. He wanted to know how this came about.

Me: "It's linguistic laziness. After the long "e" the mouth is primed to make the "s" and so the labiodental fricative that is "f," which would require a completely different mouth movement, just gets skipped over. It's what happens when you try to talk too fast."

GH: "Huh. I thought it would have been cool if you were the Rescue Aid Society. Then you could all stand and sing like mice."

Clearly he has never been around for "As Sisters in Zion."

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Vacation recap

Since I know everyone is just so, SO interested in hearing about my vacation that you've probably stopped eating, I will go ahead and oblige. (But seriously, it does feel a bit like holding people hostage and making them watch your vacation slides. Will try to make mine more interesting.)

Highlights

In-N-Out Burger twice. And yes, I am the typical Utah Mormon Who Loves In-N-Out. Deal with it. GH does not believe that their burgers are any better than any other freshly made burgers out there. I have to remind myself that this comes from the person who has spent years and years killing his taste buds with things like Frosted Flakes, so like he even knows.

Cirque de Soleil's LOVE show. This was so, so cool. I'm not one who usually notices things about sound quality unless it's wretchedly bad, but when the first song started I seriously looked around to see where the Beatles were, it sounded JUST THAT REAL. And then there was the general jaw-dropping spectacle that was the show itself. Good, good times.

All these people were walking around with their video cameras on. Does anyone ever WATCH those videos later?

Jean-Philippe pastries at the Bellagio. Mmmmmmm.

Cravings buffet at the Mirage, with crab legs and shrimp cocktail and shrimp dumplings and prime rib and a gelato bar, oh my.

Found a sacrament meeting to attend Sunday morning (+3 points, attends church on vacation, -2 points for only attending sacrament meeting). Heard a story about a man who was doing yard work and was about to start his truck and haul a heavy trailer away when he was prompted to find his son, whom they called Bubba. He got out of the truck and found him asleep in the shade under the trailer. I leaned over to GH and whispered, "He oughta spank that kid for going to sleep under trailers. And then he ought to smack himself for calling a child Bubba."

The return of my wickedawesome quads from all the walking.


Lowlights:

Treasure Island's rebranding scheme (new name: TI, new motto: "We can be trashy too!") led to the replacement of their old Pirates show with a new outdoor spectacular called The Sirens of TI. In this version, a ship of strippers called Sirens sing a bunch of R&B while luring a shipful of pirates onto their boat. Aaaaaand that's about all there is to it. Plus grinding. There were all these families with little kids watching and getting an eyeful of boobs and heinies. I was sad that I'd wasted 20 minutes of my life watching something so completely stupid and slutty and lame, and GH was mad because the new show wasn't piratey enough. Apparently if the women had been wearing pirate wench costumes and if more piratey things had happened then he would have been on board. (You do really need to click on the link though and watch the trailer. It may even make the show look better than it actually is. Which is saying something.)

The roller-coaster at New York, New York rattled a few of my back teeth loose.

Signed up at MGM to be a in a focus group for a tv show screening in the hopes of getting nice swag in exchange for the priceless jewel that is my opinion. Spent the next 45 minutes watching an episode of Adrenaline Rush Hour (which now makes me think worse of the Discovery Channel, thank you very much). It's one of those shows featuring Idiots Who Get Hurt that usually plays on some station like Fox at 11pm, where you might watch for a couple of minutes because there's absolutely nothing else on, and then you'd flip the channel. Or go surf Internet porn. Or do pretty much anything else. I got to see a guy get mauled by 4 tigers at once though, so that was something!

Went to church Sunday morning looking like a complete scrub with snarly hair and a toothpaste stain down the front of my black shirt. Sigh. Let's hope I never see any of those people ever again, or that if I do I will have better hair. Because that's what's important.

I do believe that this trip has managed to stave off some of the homocidal winter tendencies for a little while, which makes it an unqualified success in my book.

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Because I always love a good courtroom drama

A little while ago fellow blogger April gave me this post idea when she suggested, "You could finally reply to your annoyed commenter and answer that life-changing question:

If you were accused of being a Mormon, would there be enough evidence to convict?

This question was posed by an anonymous commenter who didn't care for my attitude (I was being snarky about something that happened at church, I think) and suggested that I do a bit of soul-searching. Her question put my back up partially because I really don't enjoy the dramatic platitudes. Because I'm not 14 anymore. Also I think it's funny when someone attacks me and makes all kinds of assumptions about me in an effort to show me how wrong it is when I attack and make assumptions about others. Kind of like somebody who decides to teach me about the dangers of road rage by hitting me with her car. But she does bring up an interesting question, one that I would like to discuss here.

So. Let's say I do the self-evaluation and decide how the evidence for me (or is it against me? I don't even know) would stack up in terms of Mormonness in the (highly likely) event of such an accusation.

Membership
Baptized member of Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints: +10

Identify self as active member of LDS faith when asked about religious affiliation: +5

Now, that right there? For some people that would actually be enough. But I'm guessing the prosecution will looking for a bit more when they ask this question. So let's take it further.

Church activity
Attend church every Sunday: +5

Attend all three hours: +3

Fulfill Church assignment as Gospel Doctrine teacher: +2

Am making real effort to stay focused on the Savior during the sacrament: +2

Get inordinately irritated immediately afterward about my ward's practice of only scheduling 2 speakers during sacrament meeting, which means that each person talks for approximately 11 hours: -3

Spend too much time noticing who is texting and/or playing games on their cell phones during church meetings: -3

Sometimes mentally critique and even rewrite other people's talks and lessons. ("Let's see, if we removed the 15 minutes of the chemotherapy and bone marrow transplant description that is currently making me sick to my stomach and replaced it with a discussion of how his family came together and was strengthened during this difficult time, then we'd really be on to something, I think."): -2

Word of Wisdom Observance
Abstain from coffee, tea, illegal drugs, and tobacco products. +5

Extra points for not drinking caffeinated soda. +2

Loss of extra points because I eat so much chocolate. -2

Eat meat sparingly, except when cheeseburger cravings hit. NEENER. +3

Have fresh strawberries in my fridge right now, so kind of failing at the "every herb in the season thereof, and every fruit in the season thereof" part. -3

Will eat food cooked in alcohol: -2

Will not eat food cooked in cocaine: +3

Temple worship
Carry current temple recommend: +5

Attend the temple at least monthly: +2

Have been known to doze and/or hallucinate during a session ("Wait, he said what about the flying puppies?????"): -1

Miscellaneous
Attended BYU: +5

Graduated from BYU unmarried: -2

Did not serve a mission: -5 (or +5, if you're talking to one of those misogynists with attitude about sister missionaries)

Am not a registered Republican: -20 (oh wait . . . that's not actually one of the baptismal covenants . . . )

Do not watch R-rated movies: +3

Do read R-rated books: -3

Married a Mormon: +5

Am not yet pregnant by his righteous seed: -3

Utah Mormonry
Live in Utah while being a Mormon: +5

Am a Mormon blogger: +4

Enjoy living in Utah, for the most part: +3

Love the musical Wicked: +3

Have had teeth bleached: +2

Have done it more than once: +1

Have not done it lately: -2

Do not refer to areas outside of Utah as "the mission field": -2

Do not resent having my tax dollars go toward education in a state with the highest rate of school-aged children per capita: -10

Stand by the Church's stated position of "not [objecting] to rights for same-sex couples regarding hospitalization and medical care, fair housing and employment rights, or probate rights." -4

Think Chris Buttars, who helped kill all the bills addressing these rights in their tracks, just before he went on to say awful things about gays and lesbians, should be mauled by wild dogs, for lo, he is a Butt-arse: -2

Care about the environment and the fact that you can't actually breathe around here: -3

Have no plans to create unique baby names by combining elements from mine and GH's names (or any other people's names, for that matter): -3

General Mormon Niceness
Am generally a very nice person: +4

Except for when I'm not:-3

I don't know what the grand total here is or how my conviction is faring. And yes. Sometimes I am not nice. Sometimes I do not give people the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes I care more about being funny than I do about being kind. I am working on that. But it doesn't make me a bad person or a godless hypocrite. It just makes me human.

So the question of "would there be enough evidence to convict?" (thank you, whichever EFY speaker came up with that, by the way) kind of depends on what kind of Mormon you consider to be a convict-able one. That might just mean, "Someone who sees the world in exactly the same way you do and does not ever think or do or say anything you disagree with." Which . . . good luck finding those.

Can anyone think of any rubric items I'm forgetting?

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The Mormon Wedding Post

I said it was coming! As one who has attended many, many weddings, I would like to offer some advice on how to make your wedding a classy affair that will be remembered fondly, reverently even, by all whose lives it touched. (Note: if you feel that I may be disparaging something you did at your wedding, I'm not. I'm thinking of somebody else's wedding, and you don't even know that person.)

Here we go.

First of all, you must have a reception. Do not even consider doing otherwise. Some may try to tell you that they didn't have one and that it cut out a lot of stress and money and planning and everyone enjoyed the day a lot better and maybe they were able to throw a very nice dinner or luncheon for their family and closest friends instead of serving Sprite and mixed nuts to a blur of 500 people, blah blah blah. Don't listen to them. They are the same kind of people who don't show off their rings in their engagement photos. Clearly they cannot be trusted. Plus, everyone knows you only get presents if you throw a reception.

Anxious about your wedding budget? Remember the key equation here: Family + friends + friends of friends = free labor. You CAN have it all and make your $5K budget produce the $20K look that your richie friends have. All it will take is a bit of elbow grease from other people who are not you. And hey, if you need pictures of your mom you can always send the photographer(s) out to the kitchen or loading dock. Snag guests to help clean up afterward into the wee hours. They won't mind, you did just feed them cake.

Another tip: Call up people you know who work in the wedding biz (like florists, caterers, photographers, graphic designers) and give them the opportunity to perform their services for you for FREE. This way, you are giving them the chance to perform service, which is a service on your part. Don't cheapen it (and deny them blessings) by mentioning money. If they do agree to be blessed, make sure you let them know afterward if they don't meet your expectations. You're just trying to help them be better.

Engagement photos: Show that ring, ladies. If you'll be paying it off for the next 6 years then everyone had dang well better get a look! Also? Piggybacks. I think an engagement photo looks nothing without one party straddling the other. And really, isn't that what an engagement is all about?

If you do not put your registry information in the announcement itself, you will not get any presents. Also you know it's correct etiquette because that's where the people at Wal-Mart told you it goes.

Best wedding slideshow video song choice ever: Wonderland by John Mayer. Cannot go wrong. Also, put as many sleeveless photos of yourself in there as you possibly can, so those tops have one last shot at glory before you give them to your little sister.

Bridesmaids: you must have them. No one is going to take on the huge responsibility of watching the sign-in table unless they get to be a bridesmaid. Also be sure to pick outfits that they will never, ever wear again, because you want your friends to remember YOUR DAY ONLY when they see them hanging in the closet. Or when they take them to their therapists' office.

And speaking of, you know how the one tragedy about getting married in the temple is that you're not supposed to wear the sleeveless/strapless wedding dress you've been slavering over in bridal magazines ever since you were 9 years old? Yeah well, the next best thing = mandated strapless dresses for your LDS bridesmaids! They will thank you because secretly they are tired of sleeves also. And remember, you can't show your shoulders but you can show your boobs! Wedding day cleavage is awesome, and the tuck-and-pin is your friend here, ladies. Just blank out whatever they tell you in the temple and you'll be good.

If you are going to do something unique and different (shoes, dress, accessories, decorations), make sure it's the unique thing that everyone else is doing that year. It's safest that way, and you still get points for individuality.

To keep your breath fresh for all the hugging and greetings, have gum in your mouth all day long, including during the ceremony. Hey, you're just being considerate.

After the temple ceremony, hold a ring ceremony. The secret good thing about this is that you can say it's for the family members who didn't get to go inside the temple, but really it's your chance to hold the barefoot-on-the-beach-at-sunset-with-tiki-torches-lining-the aisle wedding you've always really wanted. (Aaaaaand Win-WIN.)

So that you can get the honeymoon started ASAP (like if there was no time in the car on the way over), book your reception for early in the evening--say 5 or 6pm. Don't serve dinner, though, because dinner is pricey. People who show up at 5pm expecting something substantial are just Out to Bleed You Dry and probably shouldn't have been invited in the first place. Also be sure the caterers won't charge you for additional slices in case those piggies go back for more.

The receiving line is pretty much the best thing ever, and the way you know you are popular and loved is if the line stretches outside the building for hours. Best of all is if some guests never even make it inside. To facilitate this, cram your side of the line with absolutely everyone you can think of--parents, brothers, sisters, family pets, you name it. Everyone loves a good line. They'll get to meet loads of people and have great conversations with all of them!

If your beloved brother or sister is on a mission or at a home for unwed mothers or is maybe just going through a gawky phase, cardboard cutouts with their faces superimposed are awesome stand-ins. The life-sized George W. Bush cutouts work well not only because he is already in a suit but also because his image will bring a special spirit. You can even put the cutouts in the receiving line when you need to spell some whiner who passes out after 3 hours. Or just keep them there from the get-go.

You must have a garter toss. Must, must, must. Extra points if the groom goes for it with his teeth. Always classy, never @$$y. ALSO you must demand that all the single women get up to fight over your bouquet. Make sure to maybe point at a few of the women who especially could use it, like the over-30s or recently divorced, because that will make them feel special.

Have a chocolate fountain. Not only will the children in the crowd use the chocolate for artistic purposes, mostly for improving their own clothing and the clothing of those around them, but it's almost mesmerizing to watch the cascading streaks of oil they use to keep the chocolate smooth. Shiny . . .

Best timesaver ever: Leave generic thank-you notes for people to pick up on the way out. With thank-yous out of the way, that's hours you can dedicate to canoodling and watching your wedding video again some more.

What have I forgotten?

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Because I get off on withholding

A few weeks ago I switched to a partial RSS feed in an attempt to gauge how many readers I have. And then there was an uproar. (And yes, two people can sometimes count as an uproar sometimes.) But I wanted to keep making people sad until I was full up and sated and drunk on with their pain. Or maybe until I could figure out how to get my feeds all set up so that I could track them--harder than it sounds, seriously.

I think an unfortunate effect of living in The Technical or Whatever Age is that even though I try to keep up on things I feel like I actually know less about technology every year. And I don't mean that my store of knowledge becomes smaller in comparison to the vast influx of new information every year--I mean my brain actually shrinks down and I forget how to do things I used to know how to do. It is unfortunate. I blame Twitter, which I have not started using but which I'm sure is responsible in some way because everyone's so excited about it and one day I bet we're going to find out that it's really evil. (I find that's a good stance to take on things, really. Popular = Evil, The End. Or, the even better one, Things I Don't Get = Evil, The End.)

But enough of that. Your feeds are back, I hope you're happy. (I hope you're happy now . . . I hope you're happy how you've . . . ahem. Sorry.) And I want to have a bit of a follow-up on yesterday's discussion, if I may. Because you might have noticed that a LOT of people have experience with and feelings on this issue. Also I thought we got a really good range of perspectives. We heard from women who:

Feel incredibly overwhelmed

Are willing to put their shoulder to the wheel, but hate sacrificing to perform tasks that aren't actually effective or testimony-building

Have learned to say no without guilt (or to clearly state what they can do, again without guilt)

Want us to maybe buck up a bit

Kindly point out that things actually have simplified, churchwise, quite a bit in the last generation or two (sadly, I think it's our female urge to make things complicated which has not changed)

Really enjoy going the extra mile with things like decorating, invitations, food, etc. They don't ask others to share the extra work, but they feel like they're now being judged harshly for how they choose to use their time and abilities. (This brings up an excellent point--callings are a chance to use our talents, which is why we should be flexible when a new person with possibly different talents comes in rather than saying, "Oh, but so-and-so did it this way and so WE have to do it this way.")

What I'd like to find out is how to apply what we're talking about in real life. I mean, clearly when it's just you doing something, or when you're in charge of a committee, you get to be right-thinking about what to do and how much to ask of people and how to use the available talents and resources at your disposal.

But what about when you're NOT the one in charge? How do you know when it's important enough to say no? One woman told me that sometimes she says "yes" to freakish, unreasonable things because it can be just as exhausting to say no and then deal with the emotional fallout and stress of her leaders. So, if necessary, how do you keep saying no without seeming unsupportive, uncaring, or unwilling to sustain and help your leaders? How do you know if & when you just need to suck it up and take one for the (dysfunctional) team? (This is when GH chimes in about how happy he is to be a guy. "Guys don't care what anyone thinks.")

Also, the woman who pointed out how much the church programs have been streamlined in recent years made me think of something else. Church programs may have been streamlined in the last 40 years, but our lives certainly have not been. Maybe people didn't have a problem with spending 3 days a week at church because they didn't have as many other things going on (I could absolutely be wrong about that). But could part of the problem be us and the way our time is divvied up? But if so, is there anything that we can really do about that? Should we be able to spend more time working on church things? Although I must say that what I seem to be hearing from most people is not an unwillingness to spend time, it's more a resentment of spending that time on things that don't matter, that don't contribute to success, and that don't draw people closer to Christ.

Would love, love, love to hear your thoughts.

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More isn't always better. Sometimes it's just more.

Tell me what's wrong with these stories.

Example #1. A young mother (battling morning-but-really-all-day sickness) is asked to "make a cake" for an annual Young Women activity. After agreeing, she is handed the recipe for this incredibly complicated thing that will take her all day to assemble because she has to bake and freeze four different layers at four different times using her one cake pan. This while dealing with sick toddlers, battling nausea, and trying to do some of the things she might have been meaning to do that day.

Example #2. A different young mother is put on the Home, Family & Personal Enrichment committee in her ward. For their quarterly big activities, the decree is that they must always have a full, sit-down dinner, and that the entire committee must show up at the church, tiny children in tow, and spend all day decorating the gym with millions of white twinkle lights. Then they have to go home, make food items to bring to the dinner (and no, soup and salad is not nice enough), leave their cranky, resentful babies at home, and go spend the evening at church even though they just spent all day there.

Anyone else think that's jacked up? Also, these are not isolated instances. I'm sure you could give me more examples (oooooh, and I hope you do!).

Turns out that we as women have a tendency to spend a lot of time on what can only be called CRAP THAT DOES NOT MATTER. I have tried to keep the details of these two situations vague. So if you read this and see yourself in it, please assume that I am not talking about you personally. But also, you should really stop it.

We fall into the trap of forgetting that the real ultimate purpose of church, and activities, and all of it, is to bring people closer to Christ.

We forget that and then we get wrapped up in things like The Perfect Cake. Because I'm so sure those girls went home that night thinking, "You know? The talks and songs were fine and all, but that cake . . . That's how I know Jesus loves me." Also the Enrichment dinner. Sure, the twinkle lights probably look really pretty, but they don't create a nicer atmosphere or foster togetherness any more than something, I don't know, about 12 times easier couldn't have done. And once we're wrapped up in non-essentials, we sometimes force those around us to get wrapped up in them too. We also, when given the counsel, urging, and downright pleading to simplify, refuse to do it. We feel that if we back down from what has always been done, we will somehow be failing the people we're serving. When really, it may be that we're taking the easy way out by clinging to tradition or precedent rather than stopping to prayerfully consider what would actually benefit those around us. It may be that everyone needs a break. It may be that our sisters need to hear inspiring and encouraging words more than they need a three-course dinner--or that maybe they only need one three-course twinkle lights dinner per year instead of four. It may be that our teenage girls need "feasting on the words of Christ" and the attention of loving leaders more than they need to feast on 9-hour layer cakes.

Why is this such a problem for us? I think most of us have been there in one way or another, either as we plan activities or as we teach or serve or however it creeps in. Maybe we feel that the outward things like the decorations or handouts or food let people know how much work we put into something, and therefore how special they are to us, which will then make them feel really good (and also more lovingful of Jesus, somehow). "But look how hard I worked! You HAVE to love it if I worked this hard!"

Or perhaps we are anxious about our ability to invite the Spirit or a sense of togetherness, so we instead overemphasize the things we can definitely control, like the centerpieces that we spent hours laboriously creating out of toothpicks (or worse, that we made someone else put together for us after we dropped the project in their laps at the last minute, which means that we maybe deserve to die). We get caught up in the frosting--in the frilly details that might enhance something that is already meaningful and worthwhile and enriching, but will never actually make something meaningful and worthwhile and enriching on its own. Because hi, it's frosting.

Elder M. Russell Ballard agrees with me on this one. He gave a talk in 2006 called "O Be Wise," and said this (the whole talk is great, though, you should check it out):

Occasionally we find some who become so energetic in their Church service that their lives become unbalanced. They start believing that the programs they administer are more important than the people they serve. They complicate their service with needless frills and embellishments that occupy too much time, cost too much money, and sap too much energy. They refuse to delegate or to allow others to grow in their respective responsibilities. . . .

The instruction to magnify our callings is not a command to embellish and complicate them. To innovate does not necessarily mean to expand; very often it means to simplify.

I mean, look at my examples. Those two young moms were dumped with quite a lot of work--work that didn't actually make the activity better but just resulted in them feeling even more frazzled and put-upon and neglectful of their families and other responsibilities. With the SAHMs, I think the assumption is that "they're home all day" so of course they have time. But really, these are women who are adjusting to motherhood, adjusting to marriage, adjusting to being home all day with little kids, some are even working from home, and they kind of already have plenty on their plates. So while it's really not okay to make unfair demands on anyone's time, or to make people spend hours working on Frosting That Just Doesn't Matter, I think it's especially unfair to do it to people who are likely already overwhelmed and exhausted and maybe throwing up every 2 hours.

And while we're on the subject of the young mommies, take a look at who does most of the work in many of your nursery, Primary, and Young Women organizations. This may not be true for every ward, but when I look around my Relief Society class, do you know who I see? I see newlyweds, women with one baby, middle-aged ladies, and elderly ladies. I'm not jumping up demanding a crack at teaching Nursery, but it does seem as though the kid-wrangling jobs are given to those who could most use the break from kid-wrangling and a chance to spend some time with other adults.

Elder Ballard in last April's general conference (since we still aren't getting any better about this) gave a great talk about young motherhood, and how it's this exhuasting time that passes quickly, so it's important to not be so overtaxed that you miss the good little moments.

. . . may I suggest that the bishopric and the ward council members be especially watchful and considerate of the time and resource demands on young mothers and their families. Know them and be wise in what you ask them to do at this time in their lives.

(Translation: They are already working hard, people. Don't make them your go-to when you need something done.) And in reality, everyone is already working hard. Everyone is overtaxed, with a million different commitments and concerns, and we're having to choose where and how our time can be best used. So when we are choosing how much work to put into church assignments (and how much work to ask others to put into church assignments) we need to be thinking really hard about what we're doing, what the purpose is, how much time we can commit, if the time we're spending is actually being spent in the right way, and if we're making people's lives better or if we're just making them busier.

Easy, right?

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Wait for it

Sorry this is short, but believe you me, I'm working on something. Last night I went to a wedding reception at the Joseph Smith Memorial Building in downtown Salt Lake City. One of GH's 3,471 cousins was getting married. No lie, I'm pretty sure he has that many. And this is without polygamy!


(Note: Before I could go into the reception I had to deal with the part where they've decided to tear up the entire street in front of the building so I had to navigate through all this nasty construction in the dark just to get there. And then the part where they made the parking lots in the underground parking way, WAY too small and so all the old people with their Buicks were taking up like 4 spaces each. Then they managed to put concrete pillars between pretty much every other space. By the time we got out of the car I was molting and in need of a stiff drink. Which of course I could not have. I settled for yoga breathing and mental swearing.)


Anyway, the reception was very lovely and the desserts bar was fabulous. The bride looked gorgeous and had a wickedawesome white silk flower/feather hairpiece instead of a veil, and all the men in the family suddenly found themselves in the uncomfortable positions of ones who were wearing baby pink ties for the first time in life. Hah. You know they secretly felt so pretty. The bridesmaids all looked great in these slightly edgy black tops w/black lace skirt combos. Also these:



Now that I'm the misstress of fashion I'm supposed to be up on stuff like this, but this was new to me. Is this a thing now? Am I going to be seeing more of this?


Tomorrow I'll be posting about Mormon Wedding Receptions and the rules I'll be institituing for such when I ascend to the throne. Until then, does anyone want to contribute the strangest sights/clothing/traditions, etc. they've seen at the many, many Mormon receptions they've been to in life?

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The song of the slacker

Welcome to the new blog design! This was whipped up in, like, a day by the marvelous and talented Jeri of Jerilyn Photography. The best part is that the idea I gave her for a header was completely different and probably sort of lame. She gave it a go, and then said, "Hey, just in case you're interested here's this OTHER idea I had which you are absolutely free to hate." And of course it was perfect so I just shut up and let her work her awesomeness. So much, much, much props and love and thanks to Jeri--if anyone is craving a new look you should definitely get in touch with her.

Now I will speak of ward choirs, which is what I'm sure you were really waiting for. My sweet ward choir performed today in church. I need to say here that I went to most of the rehearsals and the typical body count ranged from about 15 people on a good day to 5 on a poor one. I turned up at the start of sacrament meeting today and the choir seats were packed. No idea where all these people came from. They must've just turned up that morning, picked up the music and thought, "Huh. I bet I can sing that. Or not, whichever. But this way I get to be cool and in the choir but didn't actually have to waste any time, you know, rehearsing." And of course because I was that over-achieving high-strung anal student in school (and college, and life) that just blows my mind and makes my eye twitch.

Thing is, though, we really needed the extra voices, whether they could sing or not. And I've decided that for the average LDS choir director in an average ward, keeping your sanity is probably all about lowering your expectations and just dealing with what you get.

How did your ward choirs do today?

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