First Three Chapters

Dear readers,

Thank you for the unending support. I would never undergo a project like this if it wasn't for the few people who believe I have the talent to do it. I am very nervous, I have no idea if I am qualified to attempt such an adventure. I know I fall short in many ways - but you must start somewhere right? I can think of a million literary heros whose first works were simply awful. The point is to move forward and work on improving your skills, even if they are somewhat below standard. I will never get anywhere if I am not willing to fail a few times.

So, the first three chapters of my book are posted on LeenysLiterature. (You can find the link on the right side of your screen.) I apologize if it is not what you were hoping for. I did my best. Who knows - maybe I am just not cut out for novel writing. It is entirely different from writing a few random blog posts.

If you do find some room for improvement, or something that doesn't make sense, please let me know because I would like to fix it. Also, leave comments and let me know what you think. I think I would go crazy otherwise.

Well, enjoy.

Christmas Equation

I was so worried that Jordan, Jo and I would miss out on everything that makes Christmas Christmas this year. I felt discouraged because we had no family to spend the holiday with and had no grand activities planned.

Christmas Eve Jordan and I were discussing what we should do since we had nothing but a few chocolates to put in our stockings for Christmas morning. We decided to try out a new tradition that would fill up our stockings with gifts and not cost a thing.

Christmas Eve, after we had a picnic of crackers and cheese, meatballs,and chips by our tree, we grabbed some markers and a few pieces of paper and made eachother cards. I wrote a letter of gratitude to Jordan; for how much he loves me, for how much he has given me, and for what a great example he is to me. I thoroughly enjoyed writing that letter. It gave me the opportunity to think about the past year and all that Jordan has done for me. It is so wonderful to know that someone as incredible as Jordan loves me.

I also wrote a letter to Josephine about how lucky I am to be her mom, and how much I have learned about unconditional love and the happiness that must accompany such an incredible thing. I made promises I am sure I will break at one time or another, but it was good to write out what I hope to be, even if it is impossible. I think it is better to fall short of perfection than to never try for it and be overly content with mediocrity - especially when you are responsible for another person.

The next morning we opened our presents. Jordan got new piano music and a pair of gloves, and I got Les Miserables, Ivisible Man, and Now I Know What Love Is (they are books). If you think about it, it was a very good haul for people who have everything already. So many times it is the people who need the least that recieve the most.

Even though I am very excited to read Les Miserables and Invisible Man, and really enjoyed reading Now I Know What Love Is, the best Christmas gift I recieved this year was a small piece of folded cardstock tucked away in my stocking. My letter from Jordan was very sweet; it reaffirmed so many things I already know, but can never be reminded of too often. I will probably not read Les Miserables more than once (it will take me half a lifetime to get through it the first time), but I will read my little card from Jordan whenever I feel discouraged about my own inadequacy and need to be encouraged by his faith in me (so probably alot). What I love even more than reading about other's experiences, is experiencing my own daily miracle of genuine love from a good husband and a beautiful daughter. I firmly believe there is nothing to be treasured more than having love for others and then recieving that love in return.

I am a very rich woman. I love my little family with all my heart and know that they love me. My Christmas this year was missing many of the traditions I enjoy so much, but it definitely had the most important one.

Love has the power to lift us above our shortcomings and take us further than our best expectations. I wasn't expecting much this year, but I was happily surprised by the incredible gift I recieved in love.

To quote one of my favorite bands, "Love is all you need" - on Christmas and then on every other day too.

I sure hope I love enough. Not only when it is expected of me, but when I am not expected to as well. That was the whole point of Christ's birth anyways; to bless the world with a gift of infinite and all powerful love that enables us to become something more than we could ever be without Him. Christmas is a holiday of love; not pretzel jello and wrapping paper. And I never feel more of Christ's love in me than when I think about my husband and daughter.

I had a marvelous Christmas. I hope every Christmas is as good as this one has been. But I guess that depends on how much love I give to others, and that depends on how much I let Christ into my life.

So, the equation for a good Christmas:
                  
                                You + Christ's love + Others = A Very Merry Christmas Indeed

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!

My Plan for Public Education

Teenagers have no hope nowadays. Everyone is doomed to be psychotic and socially demented. There are three main options for education – public school, private school, and home school – none of these offer possibility for normalcy.

Public school is the largest form of education in America and, in my opinion, has the most potential for functioning at a progressive level. This blog post is a proposal to our congressmen. It involves the layout for a new form of public education that will eliminate the mixing of complete idiots with the rest of the student body: something I have felt needs to be done for a long time now.

I think it would be a good idea to start the beginning of each year holding interviews with every student to determine their level of worth; this would appear to be a form of abuse, but we all must take one for the team at some point, and it is better to start the sorting too early than too late – after those teenagers with a shot at normalcy have been contaminated by the psychos.

You could take everyone who was a spoiled brat, think they should have everything their way, and sit around playing with their iphones during class and throw them all into a ghetto classroom, with no windows, no heating, and very uncomfortable chairs. They then can be instructed in military style – lots of yelling, belittling, and hard truths that must be swallowed if there is any hope for these rich snobs to function properly in a productive society.

Then you could take everyone who is just plain lazy and put them in a progressive program. These students would start the day doing janitorial work; vacuuming, dusting, cleaning bathrooms, and picking up gum, for example. After this, they would be given a choice of different jobs that no one wants to do, and require very little education, intelligence, and skill. Then the despised jobs of society would not fall on those with low socio-economic status who are capable of greater things, but lack the funds for a college education.

Next would be the average adolescent group. This would undoubtedly be the largest group and would function perfectly. It would be like normal high school, except better. These useful members of the small high school system wouldn’t have to deal with the spoiled brats, and useless lazies that often destroy their group projects and make education miserable. We all know how awful it is to be stuck with someone who pretends they can’t speak English, just to get out of a project, or who thinks your name doesn’t exist because the computer doesn’t recognize it, or who doesn’t do anything other than reapply lipstick for an entire class period. This group would be those who are relatively smart, can maintain a good G.P.A when they put forth some effort, and have the potential for filling all the necessary roles of society at a working level. They would be permitted to attend high school dances, be members of clubs, raise their hands in class, and play sports.

The last group would be the exceptionals. These would include natural geniuses who fall into no other category and therefore have the most potential for important contributions to the society at large. They would be part of a program taught by guest speakers who tour for this purpose. These speakers would teach in their area of expertise and would be more than qualified for this role. No longer would students be stuck listening to an uninformed teacher make up ridiculous answers to questions. And they wouldn’t have to waste time finding word definitions for their homework. The majority of their work would be self-motivated. They would be given the tools to invent, create, and discover anything they wanted. They would be able to choose a specific area of interest, such as art, literature, chemistry, or calculus. No grades would be given, only recognition and encouragement. What is the incentive to do well then? Well, if their input is not up to par with the other students’, they are sent back to the average student group, the lazy student group, or the spoiled brat student group – whichever fits their problem best.

If you support my ideas please feel free to sign your name on a petition I will be sending out to friends and family. We must step up and take control of the disgusting system as it now stands, and work hard to make it functional and positive for the rising generation.

Please – think of the children.

P.S. - If anyone is wondering why I chose to write something so offensive and ridiculous it is because I have been reading Mark Twain. I always thought I hated Mark Twain, but as I have been attempting to find the exceptional in his work I have discovered that he was a literary genius. Then I began to wonder why I always believed he was nothing more than a grouchy old man who wrote stupid stories without a point. I realized my high school English teacher ruined Mark Twain for me. She was not very well informed when it came to the overarching purpose to his apparently empty writing, and so I was left to believe there was no meaning behind his bad grammar and confusing narratives.

So to honor this previously unappreciated hero of American literature I decided to write something in a style imitating his. I have fallen far below his level of obnoxious expertise. But, alas, it is my best effort. If I have offended and also made an interesting point, then I shall be satisfied.

Christmas Memories

Thursday night we put up our holiday plastic pine tree. It is kind of a pathetic tree, with branches falling off, but it makes our home feel a little more Christmasy, so it works very well.

I love the Christmas season. I love the music, I love all the lights, I love eating too much food, and I love baking cookies and then trying to decorate them. Most importantly, I love the family at Christmas time. When I was younger, my siblings and I would all climb into our van, carrying bags and bags of presents, a huge vat of cranberries, probably some cookies, and then a new toy we could each bring. I usually only had to carry my own toy because no one would trust me with anything else. My older sister Regina lived half her life in fear of me breaking something, which wasn't entirely irrational, cause it isn't uncommon for me to have accidents.

This year Jordan, Jo, and I are spending Christmas break alone, which, honestly, I find to be bittersweet. I am so happy I will be able to snuggle Jo and drink hot chocolate while Jordan plays the piano for us. That we can all quietly read the second chapter of Luke together. That we can make our way down to the duck pond and make sure those poor creatures have a Christmas dinner too. It will be a memorable year for us, because it is our first Christmas with Jo - and I know she is going to be a knock out in her red velour and fur trim dress.

As excited as I am for the opportunity I have to be with my own little family, I can't help feeling a little discouraged by our small numbers. To me Christmas should be a huge gathering, with enough food for a hundred that fifty people manage to stuff in and then spend the rest of the day feeling like a balloon with too much air - pop!

I probably feel this way because every year growing up we drove to my Grandma's house for Christmas. We ate at 1, ran around screaming in the snow for an hour, trying to trick each other into eating the yellow kind, ran over each other with sleds, and then sought refuge under a few giant pine trees until we went in to eat again at 3. Now that everyone was three sizes larger we would have our family fashion show. All of us would open our presents from uncles, aunts, and grandparents. We would take turns changing in the spare bedrooms and come out to model our new attire to the applause and cat calls of my mom and aunts. (The uncles never seemed to get into this.) We had to do a real catwalk too, otherwise we were "booed" out. My grandma would then insist that we eat again at 5 - which we did. And the rest of the evening was spent watching National Lampoon Christmas Vacation and replaying the part where the cat gets electrocuted. (hehehe).

I loved Christmas. What I miss most about large family gatherings is the crowdedness. I usually hate crowds. They make me cry. But squishing onto the same couch with ten other cousins, usually with Sophia or Charlie mercilessly throwing themselves on top, brought on the giggles and the wonderful feelings of knowing you are part of a loud, large, and loving family.

Tomorrow night my family is celebrating Christmas Eve together. This is the year we all spend the holiday with our spouses' families (except me and Jordan - ahem ahem - whose family has a few Ebeneezer's.) I will probably end up crying. I usually do when they all get together and I can't be there. It is hard to be far away from people you love.

Even though my days as a youngster are over, and I can't spend this Christmas with everyone I want to, it will still be good. The next best thing to being with the people you love during the holidays is having inestimable memories of them. Reminiscing about last year's snowball fight in a minor blizzard, and the snowman we made that looked like a sour patch kid, or my mom crying when she opened our gift. All of these wonderful memories will be here with me - even if I am far away.

I know that wherever they are
It can never be too far
If I hold them in my heart
It is like we never part

I am thankful to have so many memories to look back on when things begin to change and I find myself in a new place. It is a precious gift. I am so grateful for the wonderful foundation I have been given to start my own family traditions on. I can't wait to share the Christmas Eve picnic with my own daughter, to watch her play with the ducks, and to read Luke 2 with her. Nothing is more precious than family during the holidays. I know that my own little family will have a plethora of unforgettable Christmases because we come from a long line of crazy traditions and good recipes.

I love my family with all my heart. I will be missing most of them this year, but I will be remembering them, too - and I know that good memories are the greatest gift Christmas could ever give.

The Wonderful People Who "Get" Me

One of my very good friends moved away yesterday morning. We threw a going away party on Monday night for her and as soon as she left I started balling like a baby. Not only because there was half a bag's worth of potato chips ground into my carpet, but because I was really really going to miss her. She was the kind of friend who just randomly stopped by for no other reason than to hang out. I loved that. She was a party. My mom said that she was the only other person in the world who reminded her of me. We were rather similar - which provided the perfect opportunities for giggles and communication problems. It was like getting to hang out with yourself but only better, because she could sing really well and gobbled like a turkey.

I am so grateful for friends like that. Especially when I don't have family close by and much of my time is spent with Jo. Don't get me wrong, I feel so blessed to have the opportunity to spend almost every second with my daughter. Her personality thrills me and her new accomplishments give me the squeegles. But there are times when it is fun to have a more in depth conversation than "Jo, your poop is orange" and "BLAH ga baba." These are all very interesting, but they just don't bring the intellectual fulfillment an adult requires.

Jordan is going back to school next fall. Going back for his doctorate actually. Although, I am sure all of you already know that because it is pretty much his sisters, mom, and my mom that read this. Anyways, my primary source of happiness and good quality communication is going to be drowning in an avalanche of papers, projects, publishers, professors and pain. While I will still be at home with Jo all day writing this blog.

The only potential destination where I will still have a foundation of friendship is in Minnesota. Which looks less and less likely with every snowflake that falls there. It is most likely that I will be in a new strange city, with no family, no friends, very little income, and a red-headed research zombie that will have to pass for my husband. In short, I am doomed.

Especially because I am an extreme introvert. I prefer picking up a book and pretending like the imaginary characters are my friends rather than going out to make new ones. I hate meeting new people. I hate trying to think of relatively normal things to say in response to their comments and questions. I would just say what was on my mind, but I don't think people would appreciate obscure quotes and irony during the first encounter. This girl that just moved away made comments similar to the ones bouncing around in my own head - and that was when I knew it was meant to be.

Unfortunately, most people are not like her and myself. Most people are rational, can follow a single train of thought, and can handle normal conversation. You have no idea what it is like to frantically sift through everything you want to say and hope that something appropriate appears. The two people that I am completely uninhibited with are Jordan and my mom. This is such a relief!

It's like finally being able to go to the bathroom after holding it for too long. The other night at a party people were talking about the similarities between babies and dogs. I commented, "except one you should spade or neuter and the other you should not." Jordan laughed at my comment, no one else heard it, and it was a pleasant evening. I was able to share my thoughts without committing social suicide.

I am so grateful for a husband who enjoys my weird mind, friends who can follow my train, and a mother who has learned to tolerate it over the past 21 years. Life is grand when you have at least a few people who understand most of you, and then just accept the rest.

I think that Jordan and I are quite complimentary. He is a natural genius, I am naturally crazy. So together we make - a crazy genius!! MWAHAHAHAHAMWA (cough cough) And Jo is our insane invention. Quite a remarkable product. Too bad there is and always will be only one of her - and she is not for sale. Although some of the future Barlow products might be up for sale depending on their awesomeness. If we like them, we will keep them. But if they are lame; the bidding starts at $2.50. Just enough for an ice-cream cone!

Okay, we are putting up the Christmas tree now. YAY!!!

Thank you to everyone who has willingly been my friend - even if you didn't like me at first. I know I can take some warming up to.

Happy Holidays, and make sure you don't drink spiked eggnog. Causes bad dreams. And it tastes like goat urine - or what I imagine goat urine would taste like.

Meaning in the Menial

Life is mostly a composition of many menial tasks that, when performed with the right attitude, come together to form something quite meaningful.

Today was just a normal day at the Barlow house. We slept in until 9:30. (Jo was an angel and played in her crib forever.) Then we got up, watched Music and the Spoken Word, went to Church, had dinner with some friends, and then went to more Church. (We just love the jeremiads!) Probably the most exciting thing that happened today was when Jo belched really loud and made us giggle. (Or maybe I just find really weird things exciting.)

Even though this day was in no way eventful, it was still a very important day to me. Every day I get to spend with my husband, a man that no adjective has the power to describe, and my daughter, who is something somewhat alienic in her astonishing qualities, is a day that means the world to me.

Everything I did today was somewhat menial. I changed Jo's diapers, I sliced an apple for Jordan, I went to a friend's stake conference to hear her sing, and I gave hugs and kisses. I am sure that none of these tasks changed anyone's life. Plenty of people could happily survive without my daily interference, and 99.9% of the acts I perform during my lifetime are, and will be, insignificant.

Maybe it is just because I am desperate and unwilling to admit that I am an unnecessary addition to a world with so many more powerful shakers in it, but I have to believe that every brownie I bake, every phone call I make, every hug I give, and every tear I sympathize with will add up to make me valuable.

I think that many times we believe in our own unimportance because our contributions often go unrecognized. Jordan doesn't realize it when I wash the mirrors and reorganize the silverware drawer, and Jo doesn't realize how hard it is for me to wake up at 4 a.m. and feed her. But I know that Jordan is grateful to have a clean, orderly house to come home to, and that Jo knows she is always provided for - no matter the time.

Similarly, it is Jordan's countless, and often "unthanked" moments of self-sacrifice that make my life so enjoyable to live. Jordan is currently sending in applications for doctorate programs. This is an intense process with tons of forms, records, and essays. He is incredibly busy and somewhat stressed with the heavy work load, but he never lets his own ambitions interrupt his daily duty to me and Jo.

I was supposed to host Mother's Group this Thursday, so Wednesday night I started working on some cookies. I messed up the recipe and ended up with way too much liquid. Then our hand mixer broke. I was discouraged and began my whole song and dance about how I do everything wrong. Jordan was a true friend though. He had so much work to do, so much. I told him I didn't want his help, but he absolutely insisted. He sat there and mixed four cups of flour into three batches of sugar cookies with a table fork, helped me roll out the dough, bake the cookies, and then helped clean up the huge mess. I was so touched to know that Jordan thought my sugar cookie activity was just as important as his Ph.D. applications. Which it most certainly was not. I ended up in tears late Wednesday night as I watched my husband stay up late to finish his applications because he had spent the rest of his evening making cookie dough. I know Jordan loves me.

I am sure Jordan could have very reasonably explained that he simply did not have the time to help me bake for my friends. This would have only been true. Instead, he gave me a hug, grabbed a fork and started mixing. This "menial" task had enormous meaning for me. It meant my husband would always put me before himself. And to a young wife that is struggling with the juggling of school, work, and a new baby this is a wonderful thing to know.

So when I get discouraged by how simple my actions are, how unnecessary they seem, and how "unthanked" they may be, I just remind myself that they make a sum greater than their individual values put together. Every sock I find is another time I tell Jo I love her, and that her cold feet are a big deal to me. Every time I clean Jordan's glasses is another time I show him that a speck on his lenses is loathsome.
And the same goes for every simple, easy, and apparently insignificant thing you do. They all add up to mean something to somebody, even if you don't realize it. You create insurmountable amounts of meaning with your menial tasks. (Read that last sentence out loud!)

Thank you to you all, for the millions of menial tasks you have performed have that meant so much to me. You have done more than you know, and I am so grateful to have you in my life.

Don't become downtrodden, remember that all you do is important. Remember that there is meaning in the menial.

SPEAK!!!

Jo has been babbling a lot lately, well, not so much babbling as yelling vowels at the top of her lungs, spitting everywhere, and then wiggling across the floor in delight. She finds her new power of speech very exciting and won’t stop screaming her satisfaction. I see this as absolutely fascinating. To discover the glorious act of speaking out for the first time must be quite a revealing and enjoyable adventure. She doesn’t do anything without sharing her opinion about it now, and granted I have no idea what she is saying, it is enough to me to know that she is just trying to say something. I am so excited that she wants to share her thoughts with me. I always stop to watch her squeal and shriek in delight and can’t help but screech along. Her enthusiasm for sharing personal thoughts is so inspiring.

I wish I had this kind of glee still. I know I am very fervent when it comes to sharing my thoughts, but I prefer hiding behind a computer screen and typing them out as opposed to yelling them with full lung capacity employed.

Even my silent method of sharing is more than what most people work up to though. This is an absolute shame. Ralph Waldo Emerson said that every single person should write a book in his famous and oh-so-invigorating essay Self Reliance. I couldn’t agree more. So many people are forgotten or underappreciated because they don’t allow anyone to get inside their head. I told my mom that she should write a blog and she said “I have nothing to say.”

Atrocious! Everyone must have at least something to say. The only people who have nothing to say are people that are dead, and that is only because it would be creepy. I believe that every person who has breathed has something to say. The problem with the world today is that everyone is an intellectual introvert. They sit in their own little minds sorting through experience and then keep their epiphanies to themselves.

If there is one person I could get to talk more it would be my father. I ask him a personal question and he usually replies with a one word answer. And most likely it will be “yes” or “no.” Now, if I ask him about government scandal, the stock market, guitars, or tube amplifiers he spews information like the Enterprise fire hydrant on Pioneer Day. Don’t get me wrong, I love bashing crooked officials, being confused by the DOW, and learning how a bunch of wires correctly stuck together makes sound, but if there is one thing I would want to learn it is the story of how my parents fell in love; what my dad’s first thoughts were when he met, Mary VanDusartz, the girl next door. I assume it must be incredibly romantic to marry your child hood sweetheart. They even have plenty of parental opposition and forbidden romance to make the story an absolute sensation. But does anyone ever tell me this? No.

I am afraid that this is the case in most families. I began asking Jordan’s mom about when she met her husband, how he proposed, and why they had so many kids all at once. (Sorry to burst anyone’s bubble, but they weren’t all planned.) It was very interesting, a romance to be recorded. I then shared my new information with Jordan and he seemed completely shocked that his mother had a life before changing his diapers. I asked him, “How come you never asked her this? Weren’t you curious?” He shrugged his shoulders and said, “I just never thought of it.”

President Ucthdorf’s latest conference talk was on slowing down to take notice of the things that matter most. What could matter more than learning to really appreciate and see others for the incredible beings they are? I think the best way to do this is to have nothing more than a simple conversation. Turn off the TV, the radio, and get off facebook (guilty pang). Take time to listen to, (and hopefully record) the people you love most. And don’t just sit there trying to think of something to say about yourself. Really listen, be curious, even a human sloth’s life must have at least one educational story. There is so much to be discovered when it comes to family, friends, neighbors, or the homeless man sitting outside the library.

Share a little love this holiday season, make others feel valued and learn some amazing things yourself. Sit down and listen, whole-heartedly, to a person who has more to share than you both ever realized. And if the person is like my emotional hermit father, you might have to grab a wrench and begin pulling teeth to get down to the good stuff, but don’t give up, persevere and you will prosper. Dive right in with a question like “How do you feel about death?” Okay, maybe not that question because that is a little disturbing, but something better than, “What did you do today?”

The other side of this is that everyone needs to be a little more open. Don’t be so closed off, express yourself, use the wonderful gift of words to really communicate your mind. Don’t give one word answers, which is just lame. A conversation with one word answers is like hot cocoa without the whipped cream and marshmallows, it’s skimping on the good stuff that makes it all oh-so-delectable. Pile on the fluff baby, give some gory detail. Everyone will love you for it.

Make it a goal to have a super intense and revealing conversation with someone. Ooh, they are so fascinating it just makes my intestines want to tap dance.

Two pep phrases to remember – “Listen with Love” and “Speak your mind! (Even if your voice shakes).”

Be like Baby Jo and discover the wonderful wonders of communication. Just make sure you use real words.

Favorite Christmas Tradition

Jordan and I have a family tradition that helps me remember what Christmas, and be a disciple of Christ during the holiday season is all about. I can't imagine Christmas without it anymore, to me it always provides for the most memorable moments and helps me remember why I married this amazing man.

Our first year of marriage Jordan and I were ghetto poor. I mean Elvis could have written his song about us. We were going to the food bank for food, freezing our tooshes every night, and every time I spent money it felt like shoving pins underneath my fingernails. I started crying at the cash register one day when I had to put half our groceries back because we couldn't afford them. I like to laugh about that now, bananas really aren't necessary for survival - unless you are the missing link, which I am not.

Our first Christmas together we had a very small budget for presents, I was more than happy with it though because it meant I could finally get a new sweater. To my most wonderful surprise, we also received a very large sum of money from Jordan's mom to spend on whatever we wanted. It was way more than enough for us to purchase all we could want at that time, and we were so excited to have a Christmas filled with fancy presents, a nice dinner with expensive ingredients, and our soon to be purchased White Christmas.

A few days later we went to the temple. (Can you see where this is going?) As we were waiting in the chapel, because Provo Temple is always super busy, I was reading in the Doctrine and Covenants. I came across a section that talked about the early Saints and their many incredible sacrifices for the gospel. I began thinking about how much they wanted a temple, how they ground up their fine china to make the walls of the temple sparkle a little more, how they did ordinances nonstop, I was deeply moved by their devotion and began to wonder if I would have done the same thing. I then read a verse that said the early saints were faithful in all things, "and gave out of their poverty."

It was like a door bell went off in my head. I knew who was knocking on that mental door and let me tell you, I was reluctant to answer. I opened it just a crack, and that was all it took to receive a very unwelcome guest. A thought came into my head, "Gee Kayleen, you're poor, not nearly as poor as the pioneers, surely you can give something to build God's Kingdom if they could."

I was trapped. What could I do? I had just received a very positive and Christlike thought while sitting in the temple - game over evil demon on my left shoulder. I turned to Jordan and told him "I think we should take the money your mom gave us and give it to temple projects for Christmas." He was certainly startled by this unexpected suggestion; he knows how much I love sweaters. He gave me a look that was more loving than any incredibly cute article of wool could ever induce and I thought, wow, he has no idea I just told him that so I couldn't back out of it later.

We gave our money to the Church and dedicated it to the Guatemala temple that was under construction. I sometimes second guessed giving up ALL the money, surely we could save at least a portion of it for ourselves. But I kept on remembering this episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch where Sabrina keeps part of the money she raises for a charity and then hates what she bought with it. (God works in mysterious ways my friends.) I also didn't want to bring this up with Jordan after he totally oggled me with googly eyes in the temple.

The next Christmas we were much better off than our first year together. It was a little easier to fork over some cash for a good cause. That year we wanted to be a little more creative than handing over a check though. So we found an adorable little Christmas box, stuffed it with tissue paper, and included a note about the Savior's love and some money. We left this box on the front stoop of a woman we had heard about through some friends who was very poor. She was a single mom of two teenage girls living in a small apartment. We went late at night, spent forever searching for the right apartment number, and then I got a running head start while Jordan rang the door bell and jumped out of sight. It was hilarious, we couldn't find each other because we were both hiding, and Jordan was terrified I would slip and fall on the icy sidewalk because I was pregnant. He was so heroic about it all. My heart still melts.

We watched as the woman opened the door looked around, and picked up her small package. I think it was an amazing blessing that the lights were on and her curtains open as she gathered her two daughters around her and opened the small Santa tin. No image will ever seem more Christmasy to me than the picture I have in my mind of the three of them standing together and reading our note about the Savior. It is the best Christmas memory I have and I am so glad I got to share it with Jordan.

This year Jordan has a great job so we are really excited to continue with our tradition. I am so glad we did it our first year together, so I never have an excuse of not having enough money, because I doubt we will ever be as poor as that again (gee, I hope not.) So it just gets easier and more fun every year. We recently heard about a couple our friends know that need some help right now. They have two daughters, and 6 month old son who is suffering from Leukemia. The father is currently unemployed and they have very little money to pay for medical bills. In addition, their vehicle is dying, it doesn't start sometimes, and has no heat. I can't imagine putting my sick baby in a freezing cold car to take him to chemotherapy treatments. I think the worst feeling in the world is not being able to give your child everything it needs, even if you are doing all you can.

We have decided to leave a plate of sugar cookies that spell out "Jesus Remembers You" and some money on their doorstep this year. I am so excited to bake and decorate the cookies. We even received a contribution from Jordan's grandpa for them! I couldn't be more grateful for my family's good health, that Jo is so happy and healthy and Jordan and I can enjoy her without worrying for her. I want to show my gratitude for this incredible blessing by trying to help others who are going through a tremendous trial.

Now the point of this incredibly long post: You should try it too. It really is the best Christmas tradition, even more fun than eating truffles and watching It's a Wonderful Life (that is hard to beat.) This year take a little bit of your Christmas funds and give it to someone who really needs it. And I don't mean buy your kid a new highchair they need. Find someone who is in a pickle and sweeten their experience.

Try it out! Even better, grab some friends and family and ask them to join you. It will be your favorite Christmas tradition in no time, and it will help you remember what Christmas should really be about.

Time for Some Pluck

I have been toying with the idea of writing a young adult novel for quite some time. The thought first came to me two years ago when I read Ella Enchanted, a very popular tween book, and thought to myself. "I could have done that."

In all honesty, I hope I can write a book better than that one, because I didn't think it was all that amazing. The ending seemed awkward and pushed and the character development a little two dimensional. But alas, I have not written anything as good as Ella Enchanted, because I have not written anything. I keep on chickening out. (New maxim.) I think that I am so afraid of failure I can't even begin to try. But thanks to all you wonderful friends and family that have been so sweet as to read by blog, this is about to change.

I began keeping a list of people who said they believe I can write a book. As the list grew longer, my confidence grew stronger. Now I feel like if I don't write a book I will diasappoint. I want to write something that people will enjoy. I think that when you write a book someone absolutely loves, you in one way become a good friend of theirs. I love reading the ideas of other authors, and learning new things from their stories. I have no intention of writing a best seller, or something that will rock your world. This requires a degree of talent I fear I do not posess. But I do want to write something longer than a blog post, and there is no better time to start than right now.  I don't want to just lazy out of it. It is a goal of mine, I just needed a little push to get me going.

So here I go. I have decided to write one chapter every month (starting slow) until I am finished. It will probably take me a couple years, which is the main problem. I am afraid that I will start off strong but then get tired of having nothing to share with others. This would then result in book abandonment and a sense of failure at not being able to finish.

To combat this likely monstrosity, I have decided to share my book with all of you as I am writing it. This way. When the book is done, you can all be my first set of editors and let me know what you thought. You can tell me if my characters were believable, if they were relatable, and if they were the kind of friend you were hoping for. You can tell me if it was boring, slow, too fast, or too cheesey. I must admit, I am inclined to cheese. (And it isn't the good cheese, I am talking the cheese you spray out of a can and can only manage to swallow on special occasions.) (I love using the same word for two different meanings in the same sentence.)

I will post my chapters every month on the Leeny's Literature blog. You can find a link to it on the right hand side of the screen. And I am determined to keep up with the normal blogging in the mean time, although my posts might be a little more infrequent since this is another huge project I am proposing. I will tell you when I have a new chapter posted so you don't have to check that blog all the time too.

AHHH! I am terrified. This is so scary. I don't know why I find it so scary. I think it is because this is something I have always wanted to do, and now that I am doing it, I really don't want to screw it up. It's like getting married. You think "I really want to marry this man. I can't wait." But then you say, "I hope I don't mess this up and that he still likes me after a year."

Dangit. Baby Jo is crying. Which means I have to go for now. But I will be back. Hopefully with a chapter that can give you a nudge if not sweep you off your feet. I am not a writing witch, no brooms here.

Wish me luck!

Your aspiring and scared author - Kayleen Barlow.
P.S. - Anyone got a cool pen name for me?

Not Room Enough to Recieve It

I am sitting in a living room that almost brings me to tears. I have food for the food bank in one pile, surplus pots and bowls for DI in another, two ginormous siutcases that still need to be unpacked, a pile of books, a giant high-chair box, a stroller, and baby toys everywhere. I am overwhelmed with everything I have to do. I just spent an hour rearranging the entire kitchen and cleaning out cupboards so I could fit Jo's new highchair in there. (Thanks Marmsy! Jo loves it!) And I need to go through Jo's closet and all her drawers tomorrow so I can find somewhere to put all her new adorable clothes. It is times like this when I think of that verse about how Heavenly Father will "open the windows of heaven, and pour out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it" and know that he has an ironic sense of humor.

I am so incredibly blessed I cannot manage to keep it all under control. I wish I had a bigger apartment to house all of our wonderful things, and I wish I had a bigger heart so I didn't feel like I am going to shatter into a million pieces because I love my family so much. There is so much for me to be grateful for I feel overwhelmed and, disgustingly enough, at times burdened by it.

For example: I just spent the last week visiting family at my mom's house. I was so wrapped up in holiday happenings I forgot to check GoDealGo to see if I should be paid, I almost missed out on seeing a friend because I never checked facebook, and I neglected my email, therefore missing a notice from my Professor. Normally I take care of these tasks first thing when I get home, but I was so distracted by enjoying my time with the oddest conglomeration of individuals to pass for a family that I completely forgot about the basics. And what's more! Jo was spoiled beyond belief. There was hardly a moment where she had to sit down and amuse heself. She was constantly being coddled and hugged and petted that now she thinks that is how it should always be. She has gotten into the habit of screaming until somebody drops everything and gives her the attention she feels she deserves. If I look away for more than two minutes she lets me know that I am not doing as good a job as grandma. I'm at my wits end! How can I take care of that princess and still study, work, clean, cook, shop, and read every now and then?

My happy, hectic lifestyle at my mom's house has made my real life seem difficult. I feel like lounging around, eating dark chocolate, and watching my 5 year old niece lavish love on Jo, while my mom makes a delicious dinner. (P.S. I gained 6 pounds during our one week vacation - sick.) Instead, I am avoiding the angry glances of dirty laundry and dusty shelves. My return to the real world has been a regretful one, but honestly, what do I have to complain about? Cleaning out my daughter's dresser to fit new clothes? Holy cow! If that is all I have to complain about then I have got it made. And dusting shelves can even be fun - I like to sweep over the books and  ruminate on the many character crushes I have (Professor Baehr melts my heart.)

All in all, I am so blessed I am ready to burst at the seams. Being with my family was a special treat that I wouldn't trade for anything - even a bledtec. But my return to normal life is a pleasure too, I have such a pleasant life to live.

I am the happiest girl out there - even on sad days. I am so happy to have Jordan, Jo, and everything else in my little world. My life is the perfect combination of family, friends, music, books, and beautiful things. Talk about a dream salad!

I love you all! Thanks for shooting your rays of sunshine in my direction. Even if I am flaky and pale on the outside, I am one lush African on the inside. (Reverse oreo baby!)

Haha. It is late. I am off to bed with a heart like a helium balloon.

GOODNIGHT!!!

Thanksgiving Goal

Sometimes I sit down in front of my computer and think, “I have absolutely nothing to say, nothing to write about. My mind is empty, my fingers aren’t moving, and I feel like a desperado sitting here staring at the keys.” Well, this is how I feel right now.

My goal is to always write something that readers will enjoy. If I can get them to laugh out loud or start crying, even better. What really makes my day is when someone says, “I read your blog and it was awesome.” I love the idea that I made something other people enjoy. The arts-highschooler in me cringes at this confession. At Perpich we learned all about “Art for Art’s Sake” (If anyone can tell me who invented that phrase, without googling it, will be my favorite person for a whole day!) I should write just to experience the artistic process, I should be glad when people don’t like what I say because it means I am artistically above them, I should revel in being shunned and unappreciated. But let’s face it – who wants to be dismissed and considered useless?  Artsy Freakos, that’s who.

No matter what a normal person creates, they want it to be liked and valued by other people; whether it’s cars, paintings, cell phones or baking powder. (“Darling, our house of dreams will use nothing other than Rolling’s Reliable Baking Powder.”  Can I get a whoot-whoot?) Every biology teacher wants their students to be excited about photosynthesis and ecosystems – even though this very rarely happens. Wanting others to appreciate your hard work is part of human nature.

Unfortunately, people often overlook each other’s accomplishments. I can think of a million teachers I never thanked for introducing me to a great author, or dumbing down chemistry enough for me to pass. I can think of a million friends I never said “Wow, you are so good at cooking, sewing, serving, or making me laugh.” I can think of a million times when I didn’t tell Jordan how incredible I think he is. It is so sad! Why are we so inclined to seek praise for ourselves but never really stop to praise the good in others?

I think Thanksgiving is the perfect time to practice appreciating the awesomeness of others. It can be your husband, your boss, your mom, or that neighbor you simply can’t stand (the last one might be more of a challenge, but go for it!) (I can’t believe I just said “go for it”, you can tell I have been writing for Alice.)

My challenge to myself this Thanksgiving will be to seek out the great qualities in other people. It is going to be hard. Anyone who knows me from my “previous” life knows I am very inclined to be critical and sarcastic. But I believe I can change!!! I can stop, look around, and say, “I am surrounded by people who are fascinating – and I am going to let them know that!”

So for my entire Thanksgiving break I will try to tell at least three people they are gifted in some area every day. I will report at the end of my vacation and give you Jordan’s assessment, because mine will be biased.

Wish me luck!!!

P.S. Sorry that this post was just a rambling digression. I really had no point when I started.

P.S.  Isn’t it fun that I can use the word “googling”?

Nursery Rhyme

This is a poem I wrote about Josephine while lying in bed this morning and waiting for Jordan to wake up.

If I had a penny
For every time I thought of you
I would have a dollar
In just a minute or two

If I had a water drop
For every time you melt my heart
I could fill the Ocean
At least the Pacific part

If I grew an inch
For every time you make me smile
It would not take long my dear
Before I grew a mile

So for all these precious moments
I just wanted to say
I love you Baby Josephine
I love you more each day

TADA!!!

Education - A Twisted Love/Hate Relationship

Yesterday I wrote an 11 page research paper about captive-reared Black-footed ferrets. Because of the Endangered Species Conservation Act of 1973, the government is required to fund programs that are designed to save endangered species in North America. The Black-footed ferret is one of these. And so to my joy, I got to write a huge research paper about the different rearing methods used and how they effect kit survival once the ferrets are reintroduced into wild prairie dog habitats.

This paper took two days to write. It was not my topic of choice and I found myself repeating that favorite phrase from the 6th grade, "This is so stupid. Why would I ever need to know this?" And the answer is, I could have probably lived a full and happy life without ever knowing the different survival percentages of ferrets raised in outdoor pens for 60 days as opposed to those raised in outdoor pens for 90 days.

Much of my education has been hours of slaving away, late at night, with a grilled cheese and a greasy study guide. Then I wake up the next morning, study some more, this time spill milk on my notes, and spend an hour of agony filling in tiny little black circles with a dull pencil, only to walk out of the cursed testing center thinking, "all that stress and effort, for one hour, and now I will never use that information again."

This is true most of the time. The majority of people living in this world have complete lives without knowing who Samuel Clemens is (it's Mark Twain), or that Leaves of Grass was published in 1855, or that Samuel T. Coleridge proposed setting up a Utopian society along the banks of the Susquehanna river with William Wordsworth. Has your life felt empty up until reading this paragraph of random information? I doubt it.

Now that my education is coming to a pause, I find myself looking back across the years of random information filed away and feeling somewhat crestfallen. I will be glad when I have no more long, painful papers to write, when I no longer have to enter the testing center, look at the anxious faces of young men and women trying to keep their GPA up by memorizing economic strategies of the 1700s, and feeling the heavy lead of my writing utensil. I will be glad when I can just sit down, play a round of scrabble, and not have an education angel tapping me on the shoulder and saying "You still have seventeen chapters to go." I am glad to be rid of all these things for the next four years.

But I must admit, even to myself, I will miss being an academic. I will miss sitting through lecture listening to someone with even more information stashed away on the dusty shelves of their brain reiterate to me their love for Beowulf. While I sit there in fascination and think, "This person needs help. Who loves Beowulf?"  Reading Beowulf is like watching a bad 8th century gorey soap-opera - no thanks! I will miss forever long study groups. When everyone feels like their brain just went through a high-powered microwave by the end, but everyone leaves the library at 10 p.m. knowing they are going to rock finals the next day. The classroom discussions that quickly turn into arguments, meeting Jordan on campus to share my lunch (he always forgot his), or just walking the Shakespeare criticism section of the library and feeling the amazing power one man had to generate so much discussion for centuries on end.

My education has come in handy from time to time. When we play Jeopardy Jordan always whoops me, but there are times when I get to frantically click in and then joyfully type in the correct answer. He usually turns to me and says, "How do you know that?" To which I say, "I'm a humanities major - I learned that somewhere along the line." If nothing comes from the years of toil, the sleepless nights, the worn-out fingers, and the thousands of dollars spent on books and tuition, those few numbers on the Jeopardy screen blink at me and say "Good job Leeny; you got yourself an edumucation."

I will admit: I do find a weird and sad kind of satisfaction when I can make literary references to situations in real life. I usually don't say them out loud because I try to pretend that I'm not a total loser. But the other day Jordan was attempting to leave for work and I wouldn't let him go. I told him "I am Charybdis, and I am holding you hostage on my pleasure island." He then gave me a pitying look and said "What are you talking about?" I began to explain that Charybdis is the play-boy model enchantress who is holding Odysseus prisoner on an island with perfect weather and plenty of Ancient Greece Budweiser. Halfway through my explanation I said "Wait! That was Calypso. Charybdis is the heartless sea monster who causes gigantic whirlpools that crush every ship she encounters." Then I tackled Jordan, began tickling him and made awful gurgling noises. I thought this was a blast, but he, much like Odysseus, just wanted to get away. So he gratefully left for work and I was left at home to play Trojan War with Jo. She didn't like it much either.

In the end, my education has done all the things it was supposed to. It improved my grammar, forced me to be creative, taught me writing technique, and a lot of self-control.  I found I have the ability to stick it out, even if the subject seems useless - which it often does. But in addition to all these wonderful outcomes, I have gleaned something else from my four years of pleasurable agony here at BYU. I have a mind filled with history, anatomy, biology, literature, dance, English, French, and countless other random and mostly useless things. So next time Jordan says "My throat hurts" I get to ask him "Is it your laryngopharynx or your oropharynx? Or the whole darn pharynx?" And when Jo eventually whines, "Life's not fair." I can say, "I know. You should read Harriet Jacobs, Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl." Which will shut her up better than I can. And when my dad starts talking economics I can say "Yeah, I love Thomas Malthus," even though that whole essay did nothing more than induce a disorienting brain fog in this politically feeble mind.

All in all, I will miss it. I didn't love every minute of it, but looking back, I am so glad all those minutes were there, the fun ones as well as the painful ones. So thanks, Mom, for reading to me before I was even born. Thanks, Mrs. Polich, for that awesome globe in the second grade classroom. Thanks, Mrs. Trudeau, for introducing us to Dickens and then persevering through our obnoxious whines. Thanks, Professor Benfell, for untangling the mysteries of Russian literature. Your lessons are everlasting.

And most of all, thanks to my loving and supportive husband. Who has always tried to convince me that I'm smart. Who has proofread hundreds of papers and fixed thousands of commas, all with a smile on his exhausted face. Who has generously paid for my education, listened to me complain about useless assignments, and who has dragged me to class when I tried faking sick. I have never met someone more willing to push and give and support than that incredible man - I am so grateful to have him as my very own cheerleader and companion. I wouldn't be the same person if he hadn't come along and told me I was capable of so much more than I ever believed. There is nothing more conducive to success than a self-less husband who believes in you every step of the way - and shows it too.

I love my education. I love my family, friends, teachers, and acquaintances who have taught me so much along the way. I love the random pile of useless facts hiding away in the corners of my mind  - if nothing else, it was an adventure getting them there.

Stupid and Superfluous

I am by no means an eco-fanatic. I would not willingly cut off my left arm so a polar bear could eat it (and I'm not even left-handed!), I would never spend half my day laundering cloth diapers, and I still eat meat even though beef production is the number one cause of green house gas emmissions in America. (That is because of all the nasty fast food people eat here - sick!)

But even I am more conservation friednly than the marjority of people I meet. I don't even do it in an attempt to protect the earth from its detrimental human-pox. Yes my friends, we are like a cancer, slowly killing off the very organism on which we depend for survival. (Now go back and read that out loud in a very creepy-serial-killer voice . . . fun eh?)

I just don't see the point in wasting so much. Seriously, we are so trash-happy we can hardly wait to throw anything away, even if it is still reusable. May I mention plastic baggies? Okay, some baggies need to be thrown away, this is true, like if they have gaping holes or the plastic is starting to wear down and releasing toxic chemicals into the products they store. But they can be used more than once! If you put a cookie in a plastic baggy so you will have a delicious pick-me-up for the much anticipated lunch break at work, then don't throw the baggy away once you have devoured the soul-satisfying goodness of a little flour and some chocolate chips. Take the baggy home, rinse it out with hot water, place it upside-down on the counter or a drying rack, and then use it the next day for your lunch-time cookie. Was that really so hard to do? And you just saved yourself 6 baggies if you do that for one week. And that is a little more cash in your grocery budget.

Or tinfoil, we throw away so much tinfoil! My husband loves baked potatoes, which means I use a lot of tinfoil to make sure the peels stay nice and soft for my red-headed dear. Instead of disposing of the precious metal after just once use, I reuse it multiple times. I unwrap the potatoes, stack the tinfoil on the counter, then once it has cooled I smooth it out and place it all back in the drawer - ready to use the next time I need to bake some apples of the earth. (That is the literal translation of potatoes from French - cool eh?) Now, obviously, if I used tinfoil to bake ribs, I am not going to gently rub and rub until it is sparkling clean, dry it with a blow-dryer and then reuse it again - only whale lovers and wild-turkey preservers do that sort of thing. But everyone can certainly reuse potato tinfoil. And if you say "Ew, I can't reuse that, it has germs on it." Think about it - you are placing that tinfoil back into a 400 degree oven - no germ is going to survive that kind of heat.

And plastic utensils - do you need a new plastic utensil every lunch? Either take it home, wash the darn thing, and bring it back with you, or buy one of those really cute bamboo utensil sets. They come in different colored pouches with fun bows for fasteners! Who doesn't need a little cute silverware in their life? It certainly brightened my lunch time rendevouses (not sure how to make that word plural.)

This one people have no excuse for. If you don't use reusbale grocery bags, or recycle the plastic ones you do use - then I am sorry but you are just lazy. You can find reusable grocery bags almost anywhere now - even the check-out lane at the grocery store. Could it get any easier for you? Just buy it, stick your groceries in it, unload your groceries into your cupboards from it, and then leave it in the coat closet so you will remember to grab it next time you need to shop. How hard can it be? And if you are opposed to using reusbale grocery bags for some odd and selfish reason - then at least recycle your plasic ones. Every grocery store has plastic bag recycling bins nowdays. Except for maybe Carter's - just cause that sounds like a way they would be uncool. Sorry Enterprise residents - it is reusbale bags for you.

These and a million other little, easy things would mean less waste. Turn off the lights when you aren't in that room, don't start your car twenty minutes before you need to use it, don't let the water run while you brush, stick a reusable water-bottle in the dishwasher instead of buying a new plastic one every day.

These are simple and easy solutions my friend, I'm not even asking you to stop buying aerosol hairspray (which you really should do), just stop throwing away things that can be reused! It is stupid and superfluous!

Don't be a lazy bum. REUSE or RECYCLE!!! Otherwise I will call you at 1 a.m. and make noises like a dying polar bear.

You know I would do it too.

Religion is Not a Hobby

I was reading an interview with Emma Thompson and Maggie Gylenhall the other day.

Interviewer: "Maggie, I hear that religion is very important to you."
Maggie Gylenhall: "Yes, I am half Jewish and half Christian. I think of my daughter as half Jewish and half Catholic. My husband's Catholic and he takes it pretty seriously... that doesn't mean he goes to church."

Now at first I was very confused when reading this article. I thought "How can someone be half Jewish and half Christian? I've heard of Jews for Christ, but never someone who half believes Jesus is the Christ and someone who is half still waiting for him." This seemed like a very confusing belief-system to me, but then I realized, "She isn't talking about religion. She's not religious at all! She's talking about a strange hobby she has that she thinks is religion."

Unfortunately, that is how most people view religion nowadays. Religion for many people is no longer a dedication to God, an acting out of your devotion and love for him. To some, religion means "This is who/what I think God is and what he does" instead of "This is what I know to be true with my whole being, and this is how I strive to live according to my belief."

It is not so much what God does in order to prove himself to you, it is what you do in order to prove yourself to God. God isn't pacing up and down his celestial courts trying to decide on his identity and then attempting to make it appeal to us down below. God's character and being are eternal - they never change, and he has already proven them to us. With just one look outside your window Heavenly Father has provided you with more than enough to know who He is. There are orange, red, yellow, and plum colored leaves scattered along the sidewalk. There are white crystals floating down and darkening the trees' bark. The sky is a rich dusty grey and the temperature induces snuggling with a loved one. I believe that one of the reasons our Heavenly Father created this Earth with such splendor is because he wants us to know his character. And he has certainly done a remarkable job. God is charity, God is beauty, God is magnificent, God is present in every good and righteous thing within our realm of existence. Nothing of beauty or truth exists without God's touch in it. He is in all places and in all things.

The world no longer sees this, though. They see God as something you can take out whenever it is desirable, and then conveniently put back in a pretty box when you are finished with him. The new trend is trying to make your religion match your lifestyle, instead of trying to make your lifestyle match your religion. I remember a high school teacher who told me she chose her church because they believed that homosexuality was okay. I can easily understand her point of view. Homosexuality is a hot topic right now and a lot of people are getting riled up about it. But the fact is, God is eternal, and so are his statutes. The Book of Romans clearly states that homosexual practices are sinful. And as much as I dearly love my gay and lesbian friends, and want them to be happy, I do not have the power or authority to change this. What God says goes, whether we like it or not. His ways do not change with the times, with whatever trend may be in fashion.

This is one reason I wear garments and dress modestly. God values the human body as something sacred. It is where our eternal spirits dwell. It should not be flaunted about as a vehicle for sexual satisfaction. The world would have me believe that my body is mine, and, therefore, I can do whatever I want with it. Whether it be piercings from head to toe, tattooing entire limbs, or showing it off to everyone I see. But God tells me that my body was created in His image, that it is extremely sacred, and should be respected and reserved for good, wholesome, righteous purposes.

So when someone tells me they believe in God and are therefore Christian I roll my eyes a bit. Even the word "Christian" has been adulterated over time. Christian used to mean that a person has taken Christ's name upon them. That they have become a disciple and willingly bear Christ's burden. This means they do Christ's work - ministering to the sick and poor, supporting the orphans and widows, or bringing cookies to someone who is in need of a friend. All these acts are what God expects of his children.

Believing in God does not make someone a Christian - even Satan can do that. It takes more than just belief - it takes faith. Faith in His love for all men, faith in His atoning sacrifice, and faith in His ability to use you as a vessel for good. Faith that whatever sacrifice you make, whether it be sharing your lunch or standing up for eternal truths in the midst of opposition, it is worth it, because it is His work you are doing.

Religion is not a hobby. It is every moment of every day adding up to create a life that was lived for Him.

Now I ask you - is religion a hobby to you? Do you look at your membership in your church like a membership to a club? Do you go when expected, do what you are supposed to, and then leave your dedication behind once you walk out the door, only to be picked up again next Sunday? Do you say "This is fun and fits well, I will do this because it is what works best for me."

I certainly hope not. I hope that you and I walk out the doors ready to act upon what we've learned. Inspired to go forth doing Christ's will and serving those around us as He would if He were in our position. This is what will make our religion more than a hobby. Christ doesn't need us to do his work for Him. We need Christ to let us participate in his work so that we may come to know Him, to be more like Him, and to feel more of His love. It is challenging, but with prayer, diligence, and some help from above, we can all become true disciples of Christ.

Christ died for us; it is time we live for Him.

Life as a Stay At Home Slave of Love

I'm not quite sure how I feel about the title "Stay At Home Mom." In my mind it does not fully capture the duties of a woman who dedicates her life to taking care of her family. It is true that I am a mother, and it is also true that I spend a little more than half of my time at home. But that title rubs me the same way a steel-wool sponge rubs a teflon pan - scratches away at my non-stick surface.

The phrase "Stay At Home Mom" sounds like you're saying "I stay at home, doing homey things, and, oh yeah, p.s., I'm a mom too. But don't worry cause that's more of an after-thought." Yeah Right! More like once you become a parent that is every thought you have. Even when you leave the baby at home so you can go out with friends for some "me time" you still feel a little fish-line and a hook caught right behind your belly-button that is always tugging you back to the offspring. You ignore this persistent navel inconvenience to the best of your ability, but no matter what, it is always there, gently reeling you in. There is no escape from feelings of motherhood. The umbilical chord may be cut, but that baby left a little piece of radar lodged somewhere that goes haywire every forty-five seconds. It's like being on baby-arrest.

Friend A says, "I loved that part in the movie when Potato Head is a tortilla." You laugh and say "Me too!" but then you accidentally think, "I hope my child eats those carrots I left for her." After reprimanding yourself for not focusing on your "non-mother" outing you find your mind drifting towards dirty diapers after a brief period of thirty-seconds.

Why? Why does this always happen? It's horrible, I beat myself up every time!

It happens because first and foremost, I am a mom. M.O.M. Stands for "Voluntary Slave of a Four-Month-Old." (I couldn't think of a clever acronym before my master woke up from her nap.)

It is sad, but true, her every wish is my command. She's hungry; out come the pureed carrots, she's wet; off comes the stinky diaper, she's tired; I come running to rock and sing, she wants to play; I am ready to be slobbered on, have my hair pulled, and talk like a chipmunk on steroids for an hour. Sometimes I feel like the genie from Aladdin; imprisoned in the role of pleasing. Except two problems, I don't have magical powers, and I don't get those cool gold bracelets for my service.

I am a constantly moving, always talking, always holding, always loving machine that feels like a murderer whenever I place my crying baby down for a nap. I am not a "Stay At Home Mom", I am a force of love that is ready to combat every infection, dry every tear, squeeze out every giggle, comfort every tummy-ache, drive to every appointment, change every diaper, and play peek-a-boo until my hands go numb. I am a mom that gave up the next forty years of freedom, to sit at a restaurant with a hamburger in front of me and unintentionally ponder the effects of rice cereal and green beans on a gentle digestive system.

I am an organism of eternal love revolving around a skinny baby with blue eyes, undecided hair, little toes and a smile that weakens all well-intentioned defenses.

So next time someone calls me a "Stay At Home Mom" I am going to say, "Actually, I prefer the title Enthusiastically Devoted Lover of Baby Josephine. . . the staying home part is just where we like to hang out."

Family and Holidays

Families are quite an interesting organism. No other relationships on this Earth provide for the same kind of experiences that family does. Whether it is the family you are born into, the family to choose for yourself, the family you are adopted into, the family you are married into, or the family that lives next door.

The thing is, we all have a very strong preference for the way things are done in the family we grew up in (except for those few uncanny habits that we bury and never mention to the children.) Holidays are the perfect proof of this. It is very hard to enjoy an in-law holiday, because the way they cut the turkey, make the apple pies, and dress for dinner all seem so strange. You think to yourself, "This is not how Thanksgiving should be! Where is the yelling? What happened to playing football? What happened to sledding? And why isn't there any butter in these mashed potatoes?" Thanksgiving becomes an eerie reminder of the normalcy of some family clans and the eccentricism (new word) of others. You begin to realize that just as no two snowflakes are alike, no two families even come close to resembling one another.

After our first Thanksgiving together Jordan and I were driving home when my mom called. She told me all about the Thanksgiving my entire family, but me, had just had together. They played football in the yard, when everyone was so stuffed with Turkey it was more like a herd of senior citizens falling on top of each other than a sport. They had a turkey coloring contest, they turned on some swing and forced my grandparents to perform for them all, and Aunt Jenny made her famous jello. I of coarse burst into tears. It had been a long day of trying to remember everyone's name, sharing my precious knock-off jello with the largest family to exist since Abraham's, picking at strange mashed potatoes, and pretending like I knew what people were talking about when really I might as well have been discussing foreign policy with Chinese officials in Hebrew for all I knew.

Jordan asked me what was wrong, all I could explain was, "They all played football without me." He was baffled, because the sport I complain the most about is football. And I blame every degradation known to American society on that ridiculous sport. From worshiping less-than-worthy players, eating greasy food, getting fan-rage, and watching a bunch of half-dressed bimbos running around with pom-poms. Why do we support this waste of pass-time? Well, that is another post. The point wasn't that it was football, the point was that it was my family, who I missed tremendously, and no matter what idiotic game they were playing, I wanted to be a part of it.

I think the best moment of that Thanksgiving in 2008 was when I bravely sat down and willingly addressed my brother-in-law who kills rabbits. (In his defense, they are jack-rabbits, and they are quite nasty creatures. I think my primary reason for not killing them is that I don't want to be within a ten-foot radius of their hideously scraggly ears. They are like the demonic mutants of fluffy bunnies.) I asked him if he was having fun (it was his first Thanksgiving with Jordan's family too) and he frankly responded, "No. I don't like sitting around talking to people." I busted up laughing, it sounded exactly like something my own brother would say, and it made me miss home a little less. I then said, "What does your family do on Thanksgiving?" He replied, "We go out and shoot stuff." Well, I just dropped the conversation right there. I had a strange vision of Trevor picking up the stuffed turkey and wringing its neck. KIDDING! Trevor - you know you are awesome.

I really didn't mind sitting around and talking to people. Talking is one of my favorite activities. I write a blog for heaven's sake! That is like sitting down and recording what you talk about in your mind and then desperately hoping someone else reads it to make you feel a little less crazy. The problem was I was trying to talk to people I had only seen a few times before in my life, and there seemed to be a never ending supply of them, and I have crowd anxiety.

Well, I am glad to say that after three years of marriage, and living close to Jordan's family. I now know who people are (except last reunion I got Alice's and Marilee's children confused), I can remember most of their names, and I know what they are talking about when they say things like "Frog Eye Salad" and "F.H.E." I enjoy family get-togethers now and I have the gas receipts from this summer to prove it.

The only problem with this year's Thanksgiving, is the tables are being turned. We are starting all over again. Jordan has to come and spend the holiday with my family. (Keep him in your prayers.) May I remind you, Jordan has had very little exposure to the Downing/VanDusartz tribe. (I call us a tribe because we can get a little wild at times.) The first time he met my grandpa my grandpa yelled at him and threatened to kick his - well, you know. Jordan does not enjoy snow, especially not playing football in it. And he is being forced to perform twice in this year's Thanksgiving Extravaganza Talent Show - when he does not particularly enjoy public appearances. (Better yet, fast for him next Sunday.)

My poor husband will quietly sit listening to a group of almost-strangers talk about things he never heard of before, stumble over the Catholic prayer for meals, get tackled by my grandfather during football in bad weather, be badgered by my brother-in-law for not drinking alcohol, and ask himself "Why are there pretzels in this jello?"

But this is what family is; strange traditions no one except those raised in them quite understand. And one of the joys of being married is getting to pop on into another family, think they are all crazy, and then find yourself enjoying the show. The truth is, every family is crazy in its own way, some more than others, but all have a bit of insanity floating around, whether it is a deranged uncle or tofurkey - all are guilty of oddities.

So if you are struggling with in-laws this year, sit back and say, "I am ready to be amused by your infinite quirks." It is the safest, and most enjoyable mentality to have. Because even if you think your in-laws are the crazy ones, just wait until your spouse has to meet your family, and I am sure they will offer you another perspective.

P.S. I dedicate this blog post to Ivica, who not only was not born and raised in the Church, is from outside of Utah, but is also joining the Barlow clan with the perspective of a Croatian - God speed my friend.

I love mine and Jordan's family, and am grateful to be included in the lunacies of both.

Strut Your Laugh Lines

I was at the gym today, faithfully plodding away on the elliptical. (I have decided to forgo the sufferfest spinning classes until I'm done with various doctor's appointments.) The ellipticals at the gym have little TVs on all of them. So those who want to ignore the fact that they are exercising can lose themselves in the wonderful entertainment options of today (a little sarcasm there).

Well, I felt like torturing myself a bit so I began searching for the food channel, where they have shows like "Watch me travel the world and eat all this delicious food while you sit on the couch with stale Cheetos," and "Easy recipes anyone can make . . . as long as they went to culinary school." And my favorite, "Make this incredible meal that takes two hours to prepare, will cost forty dollars in ingredients, and then forget about it in the oven and turn it into a WWII memorial! Your grandfather will be proud."

As I was flipping, I was surprised by how many infomercials (it was 11 a.m.) there were about anti-aging creams, face lifts, lipo, and miracle products that will make your fifty-year old boobs look like they belong on a seventh-grader. (Please! Don't do it!)

On one station there was a 50+ woman (I'm sure she keeps her actual age locked away in the dark recesses of her mind), showing pictures of her Halloween party. I guess she was a celebrity. Who she was, I have no idea, but this chick was old. I quote, "I wanted to go as the Queen of Hearts, so I began looking around and found some okay costumes. But then I had the brilliant idea to check a lingerie site for something a little sexier, and look what I found!" A picture of her dressed in a grotesque, ridiculous and pornographic red and black costume then appeared. All I know is if she had shown up at my party I would have guessed "Lady of the Night" and definitely NOT the Queen of Hearts. I was repulsed. It then showed what she put her grandchild in . . . I don't want to go there - sad.

This got me to thinking about our lovely society. We are so obsessed with staying fit, looking young, being sexy, and seducing everyone within a ten-mile radius. It is almost horrific. When did age become such a horrible thing and youth become so desirable? In my opinion, old age means a good mentor, someone who has stood where you now stand and probably has fairly reliable directions. And youth is like a flashing sign that reads, "Warning! About to do something incredibly stupid!"

Anti-aging creams should be banned from the market. They should be thrust out entirely. They remove all those wonderful wrinkles, fine lines, laugh lines, and every other elderly blemish. The old are decorated with these symbols of years for a reason - because they show something. A wrinkled forehead means that woman stayed up all night cradling a sick child and praying fervently for a miracle. A creased eyebrow means that man worked late for six months so his children could take music lessons. The laugh lines and crow feet mean that woman spent every night laughing with her family over dinner.

These aren't blemishes! They are evidences of a life well lived. They mean this person had something to worry about, something to be excited about, something to cry over, something to be radiant for. They mean the bearer has felt love and cared deeply for those around them.

When I was in the seventh grade, my mother and I were driving to school. I pulled down the little mirror and looked at my face. I distinctly remember proclaiming in anguish, "Mom! I'm only thirteen and I already have laugh lines." After rolling her eyes, my mother said something very profound; "Well, you should be grateful that at the young age of thirteen you have had so much to laugh about." Of course, at the time I thought she was absolutely naive about life and was frustrated that she didn't understand me. (Ugh, I shudder at that version of myself.) But today I think she was struck with a moment of genius.

Stop trying to erase the grays, smooth out the wrinkles, and pump your skin with chemicals that will make you look ten years younger. Be proud of your age, be proud of your aged verifications. Why pretend to be something other than what you are? Why hide the proof of the experiences you have had, the full life you have lived, and all you have had to care about over the years?

Say, "Yes my hair was gray by thirty, but that is because I spent hours slaving away at calculus with my ambitious teenager." "Yes I have laugh lines, but that is because my son is a comical genius." Yes my boobs sag, but that is because I selflessly nursed three children, often at 2 a.m. - which explains the puffy eyes too." "Yes I am sixty-seven, and I bet I know a lot more than that twenty-one-year-old bimbo in scandalously short shorts!"

Don't let all those young, booty-shaking hooligans get you down. Step up and strut your laugh lines with gusto!

(I think I am going to go draw some wrinkles on right now... too bad my eyeliner is purple.)

Give Yourself a Pat

I think that we as women, especially LDS women, have a disgusting tendency to beat up on ourselves. We are constantly comparing ourselves to others, which is a destructive and very bad habit. We look at so-and-so and we say to ourselves, “She is so good at sewing. I wish I could sew like her.” We look at so-and-so number two and say, “She is so pretty, I wish I was as skinny as she is.” We look at so-and-so number three and say, “She is so smart, I wish I was that smart.” Pretty soon we have a list of fifty-seven different so-and-sos we are comparing ourselves to. We are taking the best element of each of these women and then expecting all of them in us.

Our one little person can’t be a sewing master like one, a model like two, and a genius like three. It simply isn’t possible. You would have to stop eating, sleeping and enjoying yourself all together if you were to develop all of these talents to the same degree as all of these women have. Did you ever notice that number one is very good at sewing, but she can’t even bake a frozen lasagna? Or that two is so stylish and skinny, but has horrible grammar? Maybe three is a genius, but also a social handicap (disclaimer: not all geniuses are social handicaps - just most of them.)These women aren’t perfect. They have specific areas they excel in, but many of them are limited beyond this sphere.

Did you ever stop and think that one of these fifty-seven women could look at you and say, “I wish I was as funny as she is” or “I wish I could dance like her.” Well, guess what, they do! They do the exact same thing. They are picking out the very best qualities in your character, throwing all the flaws aside, and then making a false ideal for themselves. This may be a pleasant boost for your self-esteem, but it probably doesn’t help theirs.  

The truth is we are all talented and incredible in different ways. “But I don’t have any talent”, you say in a pity-party tone. WRONG! You do, so stop whining. It might not be something people usually consider a talent, but it is still very valuable and makes you you. Maybe you are good at listening, maybe you are good at remembering those in need, maybe you are good at helping others feel better. Sadly, these wonderful character traits are often overlooked by our "be the best" and "get ahead" society. But let me ask you this – would you rather be friends with someone that has these qualities, or with someone who knows how to make a kick-butt triple chocolate cheesecake, and doesn’t know how to share?

Go search out your individual particles of perfection, recognize your good qualities and be proud of them. So what if you are bad at math? You have perfect pitch!

And stop comparing yourself to others! Instead, acknowledge the abilities your friends and family have. And if it is something you want to improve in, then ask them to help you. I doubt anyone will say, “Sorry, but I have to be better than you at this, so I can’t give you any advice.” Even if they are thinking that, they won’t say it, because that would be mean and they want to pretend to be nice. Most likely they will be glad to have someone to share their favorite past time with.

Stop trying to be perfect, cause honestly – you will never get there.

“But isn’t the goal eternal perfection?” you may ask.

Yes, but you are missing one very important point, the word is ETERNAL! That means you are never going to be perfect, or even close it, until eternity. And even then, it isn’t you that makes you perfect. You fall way too short of that bar. It is Christ that makes you perfect. His more than perfectness makes it possible for you to become that way, because he has so generously taken all your imperfections on himself for your benefit. And I’m not talking too big of a waistline or horrible cooking skills here. I don’t think Christ really cares about these imperfections too much. I’m talking about flaws such as greed, pessimism, criticism, or impatience. These are the icky things innate to human nature that hold us back. Not our inability to do the splits.

Focus on rooting out these character weeds rather than shedding those last five pounds. Happy people are those who have learned to love – not those who wear a size two.

Whether you believe it or not, the fact is, you are a daughter of God. You are a little bundle of unlimited potential. The creator of the entire universe loves you with infinite capacity, because he sees you for who you really are. (Something you are extremely incapable of doing.)

So go ahead; give yourself a pat on the back. Even if you don’t think you deserve it. God does, and to be honest, his opinion is the only one that really matters.

No Cake Walk

Small talk is an inevitable part of American society, and one of the first questions commonly presented by a new companion for this lovely past time is "So what do you do?" Most people realize this means "What is your job?"

To be honest, I somewhat dread this question. I can always see the snicker in their mind when I respond with, "I'm a writer." People raise their eyebrows and say "Oh, well, that's fun." They never say it, but I know what they are thinking behind those pleasant, crinkled eyes, "You mean you sit at home all day eating bonbons and writing a blog that no one reads."

Well, I have news for them! I don't eat bonbons, because I like bridgemix better, and people read my blog, at least I know my mom does. So back off successful and beautiful accountant lady! I always boost my injured writing spirits with imagining the day when I will be a New York Times bestseller, eating brie cheese in my London flat. While they are still sitting in their cubicle cage because someone else got the promotion." This prepared and well rehearsed day dream is what makes it possible for me to smile bright and say "Yeah, I love it."

I don’t know why everyone assumes that if you do something even a little artsy it suddenly becomes a hobby more than a job. They think that creative jobs never require brainpower or that you jump out of bed every morning so excited to go dance, sing, write, or paint. In an ideal world this would be the case, but sometimes, you just want to veg out in front of a computer screen punching numbers instead of dealing with your psycho colleagues that eat only tofu.

 People always say, “Well, if I could have, I would have been a studio art major. But I wanted something where I could find a good job, so I picked mechanical engineering.” I like to respond with, “Well, if I could have, I would have been a neurosciences major, but I wanted something where I could pass my classes, so I did literature instead.”

Except people still say, “Oh literature, that must be fun. I love to read.” It always makes me want to rip Twilight out of their hands and whack them on the head with Tolstoy shouting, “Yeah? Well read this in less than two weeks, and then write a ten page analytical response using only three obscure sentences for textual support. Oh, and make sure you have at least seventeen different reliable sources in your bib.” See if you think it is so fun now!

Don’t get me wrong. I love literature, but sometimes it is unadulterated agony. Having to read Hamlet in one night and then think of something brilliant to say for tomorrow’s graded discussion is next to impossible. All I come up with is “Everyone in this play has major emotional problems, they need family counseling. And I am pretty sure Shakespeare was suicidal.”

 Of course I can’t really say this, because my professor mentioned that she sees a lot of her own family members in the characters (her neighbors need to lock their doors) and she named her son William Shakespeare Christiansen (there is no hope for that child.)

Instead I say something like, “I was so moved by Ophelia’s drowning scene. I think it represents a step towards spiritual death for the characters because it enhances Hamlet’s sense of hopeless desperation.” Sometimes they look at you like a deep individual, sometimes they look at you like you are a total crack-pot. But you don’t want to give that impression because marijuana is a no-no here at the Lord’s University, and then they might report you to the Honor Code office.

All in all, no matter how fun it is, it is still hard! Every major is hard. Except for maybe Home and Family Living – I still have my doubts about that one. Seriously, baking cookies? I do that in my free time. Who knows, maybe they bake Russian cookies.

So have some respect for the writer. It’s not like words just pop out of nowhere, and my head grammar is absolutely atrocious. I work hard on my blog. And it is no cake-walk to type and eat bridgemix simultaneously – don’t want to get chocolate on the keyboard.