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.

Grateful

Today I was thinking about all the things I am grateful for, and it just so happens, my list of blessings is never ending.

I think what I am most grateful for is the abundance of love I recieve every day.

I went for a walk around the mall today. Jo and I had an hour in between the time we went to get flu shots and when we had to pick Jordan up from work. The mall is just across the street and I thought it would be fun to snoop around. (P.S. - the mall is not a good place to bargain shop.) The first thing I realized while there was that I am very unfashionable. But it doesn't matter much since Jordan doesn't care about that, and neither do I. I didn't even realize that until today, when I looked at the manicans and thought, "What are they wearing?" Then I turned around and realized everyone else in the mall was wearing the same thing. I actually busted up laughing. Everyone looked so ridiculous, and then I thought, "They all probably think I look ridiculous." So I guess society and I have a mutual understanding - we both look ridiculous to each other, and to be honest, that is quite alright with me. Don't misunderstand, I am no hard-core anti-society advocate. I like to look nice, I want people to think I look nice, but I prefer the simple and sophisticated wardrobe. So much easier that way.

I did find something that caught my eye, though. A ginormous, glorious, softly lit, white-frosted Christmas tree with pinecones tucked into the branches. This was pure holiday beauty, my friends. I thought about our small, somewhat beat-up Christmas tree we use every year. And I checked the price tag. Well, obviously it was too expensive for us. So I let out a little sigh and thought, "someday."

Then I felt incredibly ridiculous. My best Christmases have been under that hand-me-down tree. The first year we had it, we didn't have any ornaments to hang on it. So I just hung up some decorated gingerbread cookies instead. They were very cute, but I had a hard time resisting. Every time I walked by I would have to take a bite out of one. Jordan would just come home, look at the tree, roll his eyes and say something like "Kayleen, stop eating the Christmas tree."

To use a favorite aphorism, "If you can buy it, it can't make you happy." It would be nice to have such a beautiful tree, but what really makes me happy at Christmas time is having someone to help me decorate the tree. And I have a wonderful husband to fuss over the lights and bake cookies with me. Even better, this year we have a wonderful Josephine to dress up in red hats and white stockings and take to see Santa. That is what I am looking forward to most this year - a Christmas with people I love.

And that is what I am grateful for every day. Being surrounded by people I love, and who love me back. Jordan is the husband of my dreams, and Jo is the daughter I could have never even anticipated. She is quite a collection of miracles. I am so blessed to have this incredbile blessing in my life. It does get hard to be away from my parents, sisters, and brother all the time. But it makes me all the more grateful for the times I do have with them, and I have just come to be grateful for cell phones.

In the end, it is love that makes me happy each day. Love from and for my little family is the foundation of my life, it is why I wake up every morning, and why I go to bed every night saying "Thank you Heavenly Father, for such a wonderful life."

Another favorite aphorism - "Without love we are like birds with broken wings." Well, I can most gratefully say my wings are fully intact, and I have a wingspan that could take me to the moon and back. Thanks to the love from my husband, my mom, my dad, my sisters, my brother, my grandma, my in-laws, and my friends.

I am grateful for love. What else could there be if this wasn't our foundation?
Well, thankfully, I have never had the opportunity to find out.

P.S. Jordan is playing the piano while I write this - ah, what satisfaction to my soul.

Books

I have been reading the 7th Harry Potter book recently (gearing up for the new movie.) I brought it to the gym with me this morning so I could read it while on the elliptical. I reached the part where Fred dies and Percy throws himself over his body (sorry if that was a spoiler) and I started crying. Yes, crying. You can imagine my embarrassment. Who starts crying while they are working out? (Well, unless they're in a spinning class.) Fortunately, I was sweating so bad it was probably impossible to discern the tears on my face. And my face gets rather blotchy when I am out of breath so I'm sure people did not notice my red eyes either.

This outburst of literary emotion got me thinking about my love for books. When living at home, it would drive my brother insane when I would cry while reading. Even worse was when I would bust out laughing. My obsession for books is something he has never understood. (He also doesn't understand my addiction to tap dancing in the grocery store.) But I say, why not get into it? Why just sit there and remain emotionally removed from what you are reading? That's like surrounding yourself with a bunch of people you couldn't care less about. Who wants to go to a party with a bunch of boring people you hope you never run into again? No thanks.

Reading is like getting to meet new people. And this way, if they are boring you aren't forced to sit there and make small talk while waiting for you phone to ring so you can pretend your grandma just died and leave. If the characters are boring, or unbelievable - which is much worse- then you can just close the book and pretend they don't exist! If they are well written though, then you have just encountered not only the work of a great author, but the complexity of a great character. And there is something to be learned, my friend - it may take a few reads, but some characters are oh so worth it. (I just finished reading A Tale of Two Cities for the third time and I have never had such a crush on Sydney Carton before - talk about a romantic tragic hero.)

I think I love books so much because I love people. I find them very interesting (well, not all of them, some characters out there are really quite two-dimensional. If this is you, well, I am sorry. Hopefully you don't bore yourself to death.) I think that is one of the reasons I married Jordan. I knew I had found someone that would be able to keep my attention past the third date. He is so very complex. I never could have married anyone I would have figured out in less than 20 years. And I am happy to say I may never fully understand that intriguing brain hidden behind all that red hair. His mind is absolutely riveting.

Sorry for the somewhat romantic but also somewhat creepy digression. As I was saying, I love people. I have an awful habit of people-watching. (It is rather awkward when I am caught.) I considered psychology as a major, but it sort of ruined people for me. I like to believe there are not always explanations for why people do the things they do, that sometimes we just act out irrationally, and we are far too fascinating of creatures to be explained by science. P.S. - Freud was nutty as squirrel poo.

Not only do you get to meet new characters, you get to learn about different experiences. Every book you read is a pathway into someone else's life, into a different time period, a different culture, a different race or gender, and, if done well, a different world. I have no experience with being a slave. For one, I am white. Another, I was born in the 1980s - long after abolition. But, I read a Toni Morrison book, and holy ants on a log. She didn't just write about the back-breaking work, the selling off of family members, or the white male dominance over the defenseless slave woman. She went so much further than that. She wrote about what slavery does to the human mind and spirit, how it slowly eats away at a persons very essence. She depicted it as a cavity for the soul, something that decays their eternal identity. No wonder she won the Pulitzer!

Toni Morrison was a great writer because she understood something about the individual human - not because she had a great education (which she didn't) or because she had a fancy way of writing (which she doesn't.) P.S. if you haven't read her, you must before you die. Just understand that your stomach will be tied up in knots and you will probably have to get a massage after you finish. May I suggest Beloved?

Books are the only thing Jordan and I have had a real disagreement over. We were fighting about how much money I should be allowed to spend on new books each month. He said that I should just go to the library, where they are free. The stories are exactly the same anyway. Well, this was a very rational argument from a monetary perspective. But to my literary soul it was atrocious! I can't go to the library! That's like dating someone who is already married. They just don't belong to you. You don't have that claim on them that makes them yours. It may be a wonderful love affair, but eventually you have to give them back. There is no solidity to the passion. When I have to return a book I have completely fallen for to the library it is like going through a messy break-up. I just can't handle that kind of emotional stress every month!

To be honest, I am working on some literature of my own. Although, I do not think I have that innate knack for it. One very wise professor once told me that when writing, your book can't be about you, it can't be fulfilling your own personal agenda or following the plans you laid out for it. He said that books are all about the characters; they form themselves. Books should take the author somewhere even they did not even expect to go. That is how you write a masterpiece. Well, I don't know if this is true or not. But I know I have read books where I can tell the author is forcing the plot to fit their desires. And it is repulsive every time.

Another professor told me that you should never try to write what you don't know. This is a sure way to produce something dishonest. He said you must always write from the very core of yourself. I also believe this is true. If the subject matter is not a part of you, then how do you know if what you say is true?

I imagine there must be a fine balance between these two points. A no-man's-land that creates the classics. I believe it takes a very powerful mind to locate this corner of the intellect and write a masterpiece. Ah, if only I possessed such a gift.

Oh well, I remain grateful to all those humanity geniuses who have accomplished this wonderful and delicate skill. I raise my literary glass to Dostoevsky, Louisa May Alcott, Steinbeck, Bronte (all three), Betty Smith, and J.K. Rowling - who created a world believable enough to take over the real one. I applaud your excellence and value the lessons I have learned from your pages.

And most of all, I thank my mother, who taught me to love reading. And grounded me from it from time to time, in order to make that noble occupation all the more desirable.

P.S. Dear brother, if you have read this, I hope you can still bear to call me kin. : )

Grover and Old Spice

Thanks Lanette for posting this on your blog. We wanted to re-share it. You have to be familiar with the now-famous Old Spice commercial to really "get" this. So if you haven't seen it, look it up first.

Explanation

Seeing that it is Sunday I thought we should post something a little more "Sundayish." Jordan wrote this little explanation about what the Book of Mormon is, what its purpose is, and how we as LDS people use it.

The Book of Mormon is a book of scripture that testifies of Jesus. It is similar to the Bible, and supports the Bible's teachings about God, Jesus Christ, their mercy, love, and teachings. The Book of Mormon does not seek to replace the Bible. In fact, the LDS Church uses the Book of Mormon in conjunction with the Bible. The Book of Mormon also tells of a people who lived in the ancient Americas, and of Christ's visit to them after his resurrection. We believe that Jesus Christ is Lord and God of all people on the Earth, and that He visited others besides those living in Jerusalem and that area of the world. The Book of Mormon gives us testimony and teachings about Jesus Christ. I love the Book of Mormon. It has helped me be a better person and a better disciple of Christ.

I would also like to say that I believe the Book of Mormon is scripture. Many people find this strange, and all I can say is - I know. Before I read the Book of Mormon for the first time I believed it was a false set of scripture written by Joseph Smith in order to deceive people. After spending a whole year reading it though, my opinion changed. I learned that the teachings in the Book of Mormon are teachings of Christ, that support and confirm his teachings in the Bible. But don't take my word for it. One of my biggest pet peeves is when people blindly trust others' perceptions. If you want to find out if Dickens' extensive use of imagery is just plain sentimental or if it is a genius literary skill - then go read A Tale of Two Cities. If you want to know if Jacob or Edward is hotter, then go read Twilight. If you want to find out if the Book of Mormon is scripture or not - then read it!

 Don't take anyone else's word as fact. You have the responsibility to find out for yourself. Cause I doubt at the judgement bar you can say "Well, so and so  told me it would be okay to steal from that person, or spread lies about this person." And then Christ will respond with, "Oh, that's okay. I understand, you were misinformed." He'd probably be more likely to say, "So and so isn't responsible for your ignorance, you should have read the ten commandments for yourself." (Except in a more loving way I am sure.)

So there is my mind for you. Take it or leave it.
If I have offended anyone, well then I am very sorry. It was not my intention.
Happy Sunday! And in the words of my wonderful mother, "If you remember anything at all, remember this - Jesus loves you."

Blah

Today was not the best day.
Jo cried for most of the day. (She is going through a purple period). And I cried for some of it too. (I'm going through a period of my own too). But as alway, Jordan was a dear. He rocked Jo and showed the most enduring patience with her, and then he petted my hair and let me cry for awhile too. Probably not what he wanted to do with his day off. But that is what a good man does, he uses his one free day out of the week and takes care of his family before thinking of himself. (He is currently washing the dishes.) Talk about husband of the year.
We did go to the Homecoming Parade this morning. They were handing out free blue pancakes. They were supposed to be in the shape of a cougar, but they ended up looking more like a hybrid of Chucky, (the murderous doll), and Mickey Mouse. They were a little scary, but nothing can keep me from a pancake. Even if it does look moldy and and somewhat demonic. I ate 4.5 to tell the truth.
I did see some celebraties. Our good friend Ron made an appearance with the drum line, Shaun and Lanette were on the adoption float, I knew a few dancers, and I told President Samuelson that we love him. : ) I had been invited to participate through the Honors Program, but I chose pancakes over a few minutes of glorious fame and a free t-shirt. It paid off too; I won a 2 litre of rootbeer from Brick Oven because I cheered for them so loud. Later Jordan told me I was a little embarassing. He is easily embarassed though, and really, I am nothing compared to my sister Marissa. She gets so excited I'm surprised she hasn't been arrested for disturbance of the public peace yet. Although, you do have to admire that kind of energy in a woman of 25. My perception of embarassing parade behavior is a little skewed.

All in all, it was a good day, it had a few down points, but Jordan kept us going, like he always does. And I couldn't ask for a better man.

Comments from a Horrible and Regretful Cyclist

Good Morning World!!!

We woke up late today, and by late I mean 7am. Which meant that I did not have time to get myself ready, feed Jo, and prepare lunches before Jordan had to be at work. Most times he just goes late, but today he is going to a meeting about ISYS research during his lunch break. So he can't just skip it and make up for the time lost in the morning.
As a result of all this, I was not able to go to my 9am spinning class. I am somewhat conflicted about this outcome. On the one hand, I saved myself an hour of pure torture. On the other hand, I know I will miss that satisfying moment when I get off the bike and say "I did it! I survived! My legs feel like jello, my brain is all a fuzz, and my arms are shaking - but I did not surrender! I fought a good fight!"
Granted my good fights are pathetic compared to everyone else in the class.
The woman who is 6 months pregnant and cycles next to me can go twice as fast, and everyone else in the class can go twice as fast as her. I won't even talk about my teacher.
They have a poster of Lance Armstrong on the wall and all I can think is "his life must be continual pain." How anyone can spend their lives cycling is beyond me. Any more than three hours a week and I would be suicidal.
Everyone else comes into the class with big smiles on their faces, all wet from just finishing their swim training. And they cheer during class! Yes, CHEER!! I mean we will have just finished two minutes of power-jumps, (if you don't know what those are, count your blessings), and then the teacher screams into the microphone, "Keep it up! Don't let yourself fall behind" and the whole class responds with "WooHoo! Yeah!" One woman even claps sometimes.
What do I do? I practice self-control. Not in making myself work harder, oh no, by that point I can't even feel my legs anymore. I practice self-control by trying not to think evil thoughts about my smiling, perfectly skinny, teacher. Who somehow has her hair softly flowing down her smooth slender shoulders. Doesn't this woman ever sweat?
When I glance up at the clock (this takes a lot of effort) and see there are still ten minutes of class I feel like crying. I want to get off my bike and crawl out of the room. But I can't do this. I can't let my teacher, miss Cylcist Barbie, win. I refuse to give her the satisfaction.
So I keep cycling, as fast as I can, which is rather slow really. And I loathingly listen as the two girls in front of me start talking about the marathon they ran on Saturday.
Cyclist 1: "How do you think you did?"
Cyclist 2: "I did okay. I wasn't really trying this time. I just signed up for fun."
Cyclist 1: "Yeah, those are the best marathons. When you just do it to relax and get outside."
I hold my breath to keep myself from puking all over her Utah County Triathlon shirt. But then I realize I am getting dizzy, I've lost the ability to hear, and am slowly falling to the left. I quickly take two deep breaths to keep from completely passing out and take another peek at the clock. Eight minutes left!!!! You've gotta be kidding me!!
After a millenium, (and not the fun kind when Christ will rule the earth. Pretty sure cycling classes will be banned during that one) class is finally over. Everyone else gets off their bike (Cyclist Barbie springs off with a cheerful smile on her sweat-free face). They all begin to stretch and act all chummy. I just sit on my bike staring at the handle bars. I'm afraid that if I try and clamber off I will fall over because me feet are numb.
Once everyone has left I stumble off my bike and stare at Jo sitting in her carseat. I grab the handle with both hands and literally drag her out of the classroom. I collapse on a couch in the hallway. Still breathing heavily.

Then something miraculous happens. Then comes that moment of pure satisfaction - "I did it! I survived! My legs feel like jello, my brain is all a fuzz, and my arms are shaking - but I did not surrender! I fought a good fight!"
And I can go throughout the rest of my day feeling like a champion. No matter how bad dinner tastes, no matter how long it takes me to find the right flavor of ice-cream at the grocery store, no matter how dirty the floors are, or how fussy Jo is. I did not give up, I did not back down. I survived spinning!! And that is really saying something.

My Personal Field of Daffodils

From time to time I experience one of those "Wordsworthian" moments of transcendence. Today it happened after I gave up on taking a nap because Jo was squeaking like a mouse on cocaine who happened to be at a county carnival.
I put Jo in her swing, snuggled her into a blanket and turned on Jordan's Piano Classics CD. I just sat there and watched Jo bat at her toys and chew on her blanket. She cooed when I talked with her, she smiled when I smiled, and we could hear the rain as it gently tapped at her window. In every way it was a perfect moment.
For anyone who does not know, my unfulfilled dream is to travel to London, visit the Lake District, and take a moment to breathe in the scent of Wordsworth's famous daffodil field. There is a study abroad at BYU which does this every Fall, but being married makes this very unpractical. I was deeply disappointed, but life goes on and you get over things.
Although, today I can't help but feeling, that no matter how glorious it would be to visit the home of the Romantic Poets and some of the greatest novelists (Austen and the Brontes) nothing could compare to this moment with my beautiful daughter. Apt 6 has become my own field of Daffodils.

Transcendence comes in unexpected moments. It sweeps you up and forces you to focus on the sublime things still in the world. In many ways it is like hot cocoa for your heart, or a warm cupcake for the soul.

For those of you who do not know who or what poem I am talking about (Shame on you). I have included a copy below.

Wordsworth "Daffodils" - 1804
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;Beside the lake, beneath the trees,Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:Ten thousand saw I at a glance,Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;And then my heart with pleasure fills,And dances with the daffodils.

P.S. (For anyone who does not yet have a copy of Jordan's CD, I deeply pity you. One may be purchased for $X when contributed to the Camp Family Reunion Fund).
P.S. If you have never read Austen or the Bronte Sisters - get yourself to a library!

Musing for the Day

Today Jordan and I rolled out of bed at 6:30 with very heavy eyelids. Jo had already been crying for quite some time and we could ignore her pleadings no longer. Whenever Jo sees her rescuer she does this odd thing where she begins to smile rather largely but continues crying at the same time. We hope it does not mean she is prone to emotional confusion.
I told Jordan I was too tired to go to the gym, he then encouraged me to stay home, sleep, and eat all day. Which means I ended up going to the gym, running around all day, and eating very little. I have an innate tendency to do exactly the opposite of what I am told. My mother has had a difficult life. I know it is a major flaw, but I cannot help it. It lurks deep within me somewhere and cannot be cured. I have a hopeless case of chronic disobedience.
Jordan was a good little boy and went to work, he always does what he is supposed to. Last Friday when he "skipped" work I was quite surprised. Then he told me he was already scheduled to be out of the office, and that his appointment had been canceled. I knew such a rebellious streak could not have existed behind that innocent red-headed complexion.
Has anyone else noticed that red-heads are either completely good, like Dumbledore (before it turned white), or extremely devilish like Poison-Ivy from Batman?
Anyways, we all fulfilled our respective duties to the tee. Jordan sat in front of a computer punching numbers all day and dreaming of PhD school. I got all excited about a show on campus and then canceled because it was raining and I didn't want Jo to get wet on the long walk. And Jo cried, pooped, slept, and giggled until she got the hiccups. I would say, of the three of us, Jo is the most talented.
Sometimes I sit back and wonder how I landed here. A successful and loving husband, who supports us not only monetarily but in every way. An adorable baby who keeps me on my feet. And a wonderful home filled with hundreds of books and a very well-played piano.

All in all, life is good. Who could ask for more?