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.)