A Cured Perfectionist

My life is the perfect example of the principle of entropy. Everything is gradually descending into chaos and I think my little family might end up becoming a mass of unorganized and dysfunctional energy roaming about the universe without structure.

Many of you probably think I have lost dedication to the blog, but do not be dismayed, I have written three blog posts since the last time I posted. Unfortunately, every time I get about 3/4 of the way through Jo has a meltdown about her purple hippopotamus (that was hard to spell) or her zucchini falling off her tray. So I never get to post them. I try to come back and finish them later, but by then I am in an entirely different mood and can't even remember what I was thinking when I had written. It never works to try and force the words either, just sounds awkward. I am a natural flowing spring, not an amusement park water slide. (Bad metaphor.)

I am a neat freak, I inherited this distressing trait from my grandmother who rearranges furniture once a week and washes out her cupboards before company comes over. I hate having a messy, unorganized home. But alas, my worst fears have come to fruition. Josephine has a strange obsession with bread crumbs. She is like a little duck, throw some nibbits at her and she is satisfied for hours. Unfortunately, this means that there are crumbs all over the house. I try to limit them to the kitchen, but she loves to throw them, plaster them to her forehead, roll her pants in them, and even stick them down her diaper.

That child is a crawling carbohydrate dispenser. It is a good thing we don't have a dog or it would just follow her around and eat her fallen crumbs all day. Although, that doesn't sound like a bad idea.

I have not been grocery shopping in over two weeks either. We are out of milk, eggs, bananas, meatballs, whipped cream, and, thanks to Jo, bread. I couldn't have toast for breakfast this morning, so I just ate a couple pieces of cake instead. Delicious.

I am feeling very overwhelmed by all this disarray, but at the same time, it is somewhat freeing. I imagine this is what it feels like to go to the bathroom outside. You know it is the wrong way of doing things, but you also can't help feeling a little liberated. (Another bad metaphor.)

I was beginning to feel bad earlier this week when things started getting out of hand. I thought that in order to be worthy of the title "Wife" you should be able to keep a spotless house, wash out the fishbowl once a week, make sure your child never pukes on her clothes, have a scrumptious dinner prepared every night by six, and run a local charity.

I have been most happily disillusioned by the events of this past week though. Jordan came home to crunchy carpet, a fish swimming around in mud, a wife who hadn't showered in two days, and a daughter that was tearing apart magazines. That good man said, "Hello, family!" in a cheery voice and acted pleased that we were having bagged salad for dinner.

It was one of those glorious moments of epiphony that I crave so. "I don't have to make everything perfect, and be perfect, in order to be the perfect wife!" A neon orange bar sign pulsating the word "Magnifico" lit up the dark recesses of my 1950's mind.

In order to be the perfect wife I just have to be myself. (It only took me two and a half years to figure out.) I just have to be happy and optomistic about whatever comes our way. Whether that means Jo did an interpretive sprinkler dance and showered the bathroom with urine, or Jordan had to work till eight. My main responsibility is to keep my cool, laugh it off, and think "That is great material for a blog post." My family doesn't need perfection, they need a mother who gives hugs despite bread crumbs, no breakfast, and spilled milk. Jordan needs a wife who is ready to laugh, play games, and let the dishes just sit for a night.

I feel as if I have been reborn since last Monday night. I am ready to start a new life as a cured perfectionist who no longer cares about being perfect. OCD now means Optimistic Chaos Disorder. And let me tell you, it is the funnest behavioral issue I have ever had.

Life could be glorious if we would just glory in the flaws as well as the faultless. It's all part of the game. You're not always going to win, so you might as well learn to enjoy losing too.


P.S. Jordan got a campus visit and interview with Pittsburgh. BOOYA!!!!!
P.P.S Jo's bottom wiggles in a very adorable fashion when she crawls.

The Important Goals

I was really depressed earlier this week because I got an 80% on my Physical Science midterm. I wrote a blog post about it, actually, but then didn't post it because it was a little too angsty. I didn't want to spread the hate - this blog is all about spreading the love.

Everyone keeps on telling me that class is "so easy." It makes me feel kind of stupid. If it is so easy, then why can't I get an A? This was troubling me for some time, and I was beginning to wonder if I could accomplish anything meaningful in my life. Everyone knows it is a universal law of intellectualism that only people who can swim through the Special Theory of Relativity and Steller Pallaxes are valuable to society. (Sarcasm)

The truth is, everyone is incredibly important, no matter where their talents lie.

I have been thinking a lot about my very good friend Meg and her baby lately. Madelyn was born six weeks early and very small. She was a mere three pounds and had to spend two months in the NICU. Madelyn is almost a year now, and she has not grown or developed very much. Jordan and I went to visit her and her parents in the hospital this weekend. While we were there I thought, "Oh, I hope this baby is able to do everything Meg wants her to some day."

The truth is, Madelyn has already done so much. She may not be able to roll over or see very well. But she has ignited a transformation in my heart that helped me to see past the physical world and find the spiritual truths that surround us. When I talk with Meg, and listen to her tell me about all the trials Madelyn has faced before the age of one, I can hear the Savior's voice. Meg has been through so much on behalf of her child, and I am sure she will go through a lot more. Meg is unbelievably patient, she is optimistic, she is brave, and she is so madly in love with her daughter. When you see Meg look at Madelyn you wouldn't think there was a single thing wrong with that baby. Meg knows her daughter is delayed, but she has the ability to see past all the doctors' diagnoses and see the incredible, pure spirit of Madelyn. A brave daughter of God that was willing to come to Earth amidst the many trials Heavenly Father has allowed her to face.

Last General Conference President Monson shared a story about a wonderful flower that a gardener had placed in an old, broken pot. When a friend asked the gardener why she had put the most beautiful flower in the worst pot the gardener replied, "This flower was so beautiful, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in that old pot, just for a little while." To Meg, and myself, Madelyn is that precious flower. She has left an impression on my heart that I hope to share with my own daughter some day. I am so grateful to know that little girl and her incredible mother.

There are so many wonderful examples of gospel truths in my life. I just hope that I can be an example to others, too. When I stand before God at the judgment day I doubt He is going to ask me, "Did you get an A in Physical Science?" Instead, He will say, "Did you share my gospel with others in both word and deed? Were you a light to those around you?" I hope I can respond "Yes."

Life isn't about our worldly accomplishments. Whether or not I write a Pulitzer Prize winner is not as important as whether or not I raise my daughter to love God with all her soul, might, mind, and strength. The critics and literary hot-shots will recognize me more for the first, but God will recognize me more for the latter. I just have to decide who I am trying to impress.

And just like Joshua I say, "Choose you this day whom ye will serve, but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."

Exciting Living

Jordan is playing music that makes my heart melt on his piano, and Jo is attempting to crawl using one leg, and I am obviously sitting at my computer writing. Life here is normal, but also exciting.

When I was in highschool I believed that exciting only meant being irresponsible, spontaneous, hyper, and flirtatious. I used to go to disco dance parties with strobe lights and sparkly pants at the dormitory laundry room, or go run around lakes in freezing temperatures, or stay up late jumping on beds while listening to Pink Floyd. To me these activities were what brought excitement and happiness.

A lot has changed since then, and I am sure all my friends think I am boring now. Spontaneity now means making sure I have diapers, wipes, three burp rags, a spoon, mashed carrots, and an extra onesie before I head out the door. I can't be irresponsible, or I might end up with a child screaming at the top of her lungs in the library (that was last Thursday). I am hyper when I have ten minutes to myself and can run around like a maniac trying to decide how to use my precious time. And flirtatious involves sneaking in a kiss for Jordan before Jo makes things awkward by staring at us and drooling.

My life is in a different galazy than it was four years ago. I might as well be hanging out with cling-ons and Chewbacca. (I pretty much am - Jo is the cling-on, and Jordan is my Chewbacca.)

I am young, healthy, and ready for adventure. I talked to a good friend from high school the other day. She asked me what was new, I said "Flu shots and baby teeth." I asked her what was new, and she said "Parties, boys, and clothes." When I compare my life to that of my highschool friends', I feel old and uninteresting. I don't buy new clothes - I buy diapers and rash cream, I don't go out with new boys - I share dinner every night with the same man I have for the past three years, I don't go to parties - I tickle my 6 month old and play scrabble.

Sometimes I wonder if I got married too young, had kids too soon, and missed out on my chance for the bright lights of uptown, the thrill of hot pink lipstick, and a loud bass beat pumping my blood. All of these things are the Hollywood versions of exciting, and appear to be what every 21 year old girl with a love for dancing should be doing.

I love to dance, and I am still barely above drinking age. And I must admit that every time we get out of the house to go dancing, or romance at a fancy restaurant is like a burst of sweet oxygen after being trapped inside a vacuum for years. But this is not the life I chose for myself. I had my chance to be the flippant bachelorette who cared for high-heeled boots and sparkly tank-tops more than baby hairbows and missing socks.

My life is by no means the standard definition of exciting and fresh. But it offers these sensations in a way no Hollywood producer could understand. Seeing my daughter smile for the first time was more heart-thrilling than being sung to by the cute blonde guitar player on stage for my seventeenth birthday. Knowing Jordan will be home in only half an hour is more exciting than waiting for Friday night's techno jam. And hanging with Jordan and Jo is more satisfying than finding myself with a cute stranger at the club.

So, even though my purse is filled with bibs and extra onesies instead of eyeshadow and extra lipgloss, I think my life is pretty exciting. I have been given the joy of love and security. I would take that over spontaneity, irresponsibility, and expendable funds any day.

I know my life has meaning. I see that meaning every day when Jo morphs into a bundle of smiles when I take her from the crib every morning. I see it when Jordan gratefully accepts my hug and chocolate chip cookies after a long day at work. I see it when we start giggling over spit up or playing kung-fu with our chopsticks.

Nothing can be more thrilling than finding those you love most find joy in your presence. I am glad I made the decision I did. I wouldn't go back and change it for anything. I have everything happiness and fulfillment requires. I revel in my current life and sometimes wonder how my old friends live without the incredible blessings of family.

Life at the Barlow home is one adventure after another. And I am ready to take on them all - as long as they don't interfere with naptime.

That Wasn't Water

When I was seven years old, my older brother, Jacob, had a best friend named McKenzie who lived across the street. McKenzie was twelve (don't ask me why he was hanging around with a nine year old) and I thought he was a hunk. He was older, wore glasses, and seemed to know everything. I did all I could to convince McKenzie that I was the girl for him - I annoyed him and my brother without end.

One day, the three of us were outside on a hot summer's day in Eldorado, Kansas, having a water balloon fight. The teams were divided very poorly; it was myself against two merciless older boys. I willingly accepted the beating, though, because I wanted to hang out with my cool older brother and his dashing friend.

After some time we got down to the last water balloon. I was glad that I could escape from being pelted by rubber filled with cold hose water, and also glad that I could now run inside and go to the bathroom without being called a "chicken."

Jake stopped me before I could get to the door, though. "Bean, pop this water balloon over our heads."

As much as I wanted to instantly please them, I knew I couldn't hold it much longer. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Just do it real quick, it will only take a second."

"Jake, I have to go potty first."

"Come on, just do it fast."

I looked over at McKenzie waiting for me and very foolishly decided to comply. We quickly ran to the backyard where the swing set was. My brother and his friend stood underneath the middle of the monkey bars and instructed me to take the water balloon, go hold it right above their heads, and then pop it so they would both be splattered. Neither of them seemed to notice how desperately I was doing the potty dance.

I grabbed the balloon, climbed the monkey bars, and positioned myself so that I was directly over both boys. I began to twist - nothing happened. I folded it in half and twisted it again, I smashed it between my two hands as hard as I could. It seemed that this water balloon had been made with stronger rubber than all the other ones. I squeezed and squeezed, I even bit it, but no matter what I did the water balloon would just not break.

Then something terrible happened. I froze. I could feel it going, but I was powerless to stop it. I began panicking as my bladder gushed out everything it had been holding in for so long. It only lasted a few moments, but those few moments have left a deep impression in my memory.

I looked down to see Jake and McKenzie get sprayed with the last of my urine. Jake had a somewhat puzzled expression on his face. He turned to McKenzie and asked, "Why was it warm?"

Both boys looked up to see me sitting directly above them, still holding the water balloon in my shaking hands. Understanding broke across their faces and they both yelled "Ewwww!" They sprinted for the hose and immediately began fighting over the water. I hurriedly climbed down from my perch of shame and bolted for the house. I locked myself in the bathroom and knew that it was over.

Jake would torment me with this humiliation for the rest of my life. I was branded. Even worse, McKenzie would never like me. From now on I would only be known as the girl who peed on his head.

I would like to say that this was the last time I ever peed on someone, but that would be a lie. My older sister Regina received an unpleasant surprise when I used my bladder as a weapon of revenge.

But that is another story, for another day.

Today we will leave it with, "That Wasn't Water".

Judging Success

I tried painting today – which was a very bad idea. Any time I try to do something remotely artistic it results in disaster and very low self-esteem. This, like most things in my life, got me to thinking, though. Why do I care so much that I can’t paint? Why does it give me emotional heartburn that every line is squiggly, or that my colors clash and things are disproportionate? I seriously throw myself into a miniature depression every time I try to do something artsy.

President Uchtdorf said that our ability to create is a divine gift from God and that we should enjoy it – but I can’t enjoy it! I want to make magnificent paintings, but all I come out with is bad bubble letters no one can read and blotchy colors. This is a serious flaw!

I have been thinking a lot about my flaws lately, it seems I have hit a point in my life where I have beaten down into a fetal position, and am still being kicked at from all directions. It isn’t that anything horrible has happened to me; I just don’t feel like I am conquering the world and molding myself into an admirable person.

I am taking Physics of the Human Body right now, which isn’t helping my self confidence. The homework is impossible to understand. I never get higher than an 80%. My understanding physics is like a deaf person trying to understand harmony – not going to happen. Based on the projection of my current velocity, miraculous powers need to intervene if I am going to graduate with a good G.P.A. This shouldn’t be a big deal; I haven’t even decided if I am going back for my Master’s or not. And I can afford a B on my transcript and still get into a good creative writing program. Why am I freaking out then?

It is because I am terrified of failure. If I fail, then I feel like I have disappointed every living creature and am of no value. I know that no one besides myself cares about what I splash onto a canvas, or what I get on my physics quiz, or what my hair looks like, but for some reason, I can’t help feeling guilty for every little thing I do wrong.

It is like I have this weird pass or fail mentality. I create this line through my life. If I can do enough things right and stay above it, then I pass the test of life, but if I am two points off and fall below the line, I might as well have not taken the class at all. This is sick and demented – I know – but I can’t be the only one who sometimes feels they are on the edge of an existence failure cliff.

I had an epiphany about all these ludicrous emotions the other night. Jordan was reading the scriptures to me, and I was reminded of President Monson’s memento “If you spend all your time judging others, you don’t have enough time to love them.” I think this applies to us too. If we spend all our time judging ourselves, then we don’t have any energy to appreciate our blessings and gifts. When I do nothing other than sit there and stare at my hideous acrylic creation, I don’t have time to enjoy my family, or enjoy writing, or enjoy collecting shells on the beach.

I also don’t have the time to enjoy serving others if I am constantly worrying about myself. I am so busy worrying about making myself perfect that I forget to worry about making others perfect. I wasn’t born so that I could be the best at everything all the time, I was born so I could help others learn about God, and then through that process become the kind of perfect God wants me to be.

God doesn’t care if my paintings look like ferret poo mixed with key lime pie, and he doesn’t want me to care about that either. He wants me to care about the things He cares about – my daughter, my husband, our family, my neighbors, and the kart man who sits outside the library.

Now, if I enjoy painting, and am pleased with what I create and feel good about myself while doing it, then that is a good thing and painting would be a good activity for me to engage in. But if I am going to have an emotional fit over it, then it is better if I just lay my weapon down and stop murdering myself along with the canvas.

A good life isn’t about being your idea of perfect; it is about being God’s idea of perfect. And His idea of perfect is someone who loves Him with their whole selves, is willing to be obedient in all places and times, and gladly serves wherever called.

The greatest fortune that man can possess
Is not vast wisdom or full treasure chests
But a precious gift, so great to behold
A wonderful, loving, heart of pure gold
I need to accept myself for the faulty woman that I am, and trust that, with some divine intervention, it will be good enough. When you have God on your side, no one can stand against you - not even yourself.

I am so glad true success doesn’t depend on intelligence, artistic skill, wealth, or other worldly measures of worth. I am so glad it depends on that strange and intangible part of ourselves that ties us to the eternities. God measures success by the condition of our souls. We just have to make sure our souls are in the right place; close enough for Him to reach them.

Quarter Life Crisis

I have written three blog posts in the last few days and have deleted them all. I simply can't find the words to describe how I am feeling right now. My life is a confusing conglomeration of stress, happiness, fun, school, and complete exhaustion. I feel like Ramonovich from Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment - except I haven't killed anyone.

Somehow, I feel like I am always doing something wrong. Like I didn't make Josephine happy enough, or I didn't make a good enough dinner, or if I was smart then I would get 100% on every physics test, or my haircut is bad. Just dumb random things I know aren't true, but I can't help thinking.

I feel like I am floating along in an ocean of "human debris" without any direction or any real accomplishments. I am 21 years old, about to graduate, with a husband, a baby, and a future that is like looking into the blur on a very foggy day.

My bishop made a very interesting comment about me the other day. He said, "Your whole life is looking outward, focusing on that little baby in your arms, and focusing on your husband's doctorate programs, and focusing on making everyone else happy. Sometimes it is good to just focus on yourself for a few minutes."

Well, I tried this, and I think that is my problem. I have no idea what the hoozle I am doing. I am a million different things smashed together in a mess of ME. Does anyone else ever feel this way? Or does everyone else in the world know exactly who they are, exactly where they are going, and exactly what they want?

Sometimes I wish it was as simple as "My name is Kayleen Barlow, I am 21, I am a mother, a wife, a writer, and a nutcase." But it isn't that clear. I think probably because I won't let it be. I don't want to be just this or that. I want to be everything. I want to be a dancer on the Pennsylvania Ballet Company, I want to be a Pulitzer Prize winner, I want to be a renowned physicist, I want to be a pastry chef, and I want to be the best mom that ever lived.

The only thing is that I am not any of these things. I am an average dancer, a mediocre writer, horrible at physics, killer of anything pastry, and a mom who makes a thousand mistakes every day. Sometimes I scream out "Why can't I be perfect?" Then I collapse in tears on the bed, bury myself under all our pillows, and feel sorry for my lack of awesomeness. I usually fall asleep after about 20 minutes.

When I wake up, Jordan has made me pancakes, done the dishes, made Jo a giggle apparatus and gives me a hug. Jo smiles so big her eyes squint when she sees me and I can't help but squeeze her till she squeaks.

It is nice to know that I am loved, even if I am severely deficient. I have to remind myself that it is okay if I can't do everything and be everything. Because who I am must be good enough if I am so lucky as to have Jordan and so blessed to have my Jo. It is good to be loved - it makes me feel like so much more than I really am.

I am definitely not perfect, and I am always amazed at Jordan's patience with me, but I know that no matter who I am, or what I do, I have a home.

It is a wonderful thing to know that I will always be loved - it is like wearing a ray of sunshine in the middle of a winter storm.

So I am suffering a quarter life crisis. But I have an anchor that is holding me together in the midst of crashing waves and confusing signals. That anchor is God's love and his plan for me. Hopefully it will eventually lead me in the right direction. We all know I am definitely not qualified to be captain. I just need the faith to keep on going wherever he leads me - even if that is to the primary.

It is good to know he is always by my side. I would be totally lost without Him.

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.