#GiveOhGive

I was pretty excited to be invited to an LDS bloggers powwow last week. You hear about them and you suspect they exist but you never know. The suits rounded us up and fed us a boxed lunch. I was ready to do anything they asked. Plug Swiffer? You bet. Talk about the Fictionists? ANYTHING!

Just kidding. It wasn't like that at all, except for the suits rounding us up and feeding us a boxed lunch. After that we met Megan (see her on my sidebar) and had a genuine brainstorming session where LDS Philanthropies asked us bloggers if and how we could support a scholarship program for single parents at LDS Business College. (If you are suspicious of LDS Philanthropies and think it might be a corrupt money-making society don't worry--with bloggers alone they sent $500,000 to Haiti last year. They're legit.)

They asked us if we thought it was possible to raise $7200 in November, which is enough for 4 full-tuition scholarships which can only be used by single parents. They are need-based and guaranteed. I personally know at least 4 people who could use these to basically change their lives. Think about how awful your day is sometimes and how tired you are at night. Can you imagine having to read or study or write a paper or go to a night class after your kids go to bed? Yuck. And--let's be real for a second--if you find yourself in this situation it's probably because your jerk husband left you. So--there's that to contend with as well.

And, if I may, your jerk husband probably (most likely) left you (in part) because of pernogrify he saw on the internet. I don't mean to be gross but it IS gross. The internet is gross. Let's take back the internet. Let's use it to do good things. I applaud the church for challenging us to raise this money (100% goes directly to the scholarships) and I applaud them for embracing social networking instead of being afraid of it. Well, I do.

ALSO, in the heady excitement of the boxed lunches and getting out of the house we, the mommy bloggers, may have implied that $7200 was nothing, that we could raise that in a weekend, and that they could count on three--no, four TIMES! that amount to come rolling in from the donation widget on our sidebars. We may have gotten carried away. But let's see what we can do. Let's just see. It's a good cause. Donate if you can. Take the widget and put it on your blog. Let's just see what happens. Like my sidebar says, "Mommy Bloggers Unite!" I embrace the term mommy blogger. Would I have chosen it for the name of my club? No. Never. Not, probably, in a million years.  But there it is. It doesn't have to mean "lame." I have just decided that it means cool and interesting. And, if my lunch at LDS Philanthropies is any indication, people kind of fear the mommy bloggers. It's kind of rad. Don't get us mommy bloggers angry...You won't like us when we're angry.

Occupy Parenthood

I don't really know what I mean by that title. It's just something to think about. I think about parenting everyday. Sometimes I think about it with great reflection and purpose. Sometimes I think about just surviving it with a modicum of dignity. Yesterday I sat at the top of my stairs with tears in my eyes because Ellen was throwing a fit and being a nightmare. She is delightful and funny and bright and wonderful and sometimes, at least daily, a total nightmare. I'm starting to think that all kids--all people--are all those things. In many ways Ellen is my "easiest." Still, I sat there feeling awful because I'd done it "right," I'd tried "ignoring," and I'd even gotten to the point where I didn't care what she did, said, ate, or wore. Nothing worked. It wasn't me, It was her.  As I sat there I thought to myself, "People would tell me to enjoy these fleeting moments with my 4 year old." And they're right. When she's older I will miss 4-year-old Ellen. But it still felt awful sitting there helplessly while she screamed that she hated me. It's like, I lose now and I lose later. But it's not all bad. Yesterday she "made me a Crystal Light" in a tall glass with ice. She also changed her name to Violet. She also told her preschool class she's having a baby sister. You just read this paragraph and so you know: That's a laugh. (Knock on wood.)

At church on Sunday a returned missionary played standing base with his dad on mandolin and his brothers on piano and violin while his sister in law sang "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing." I don't like a lot of musical numbers at church because such things as "a Capella," "harmony," and "falsetto" make me feel uncomfortable. But it's hard to go wrong with a mandolin and the Fount. It was really lovely. I wished wistfully to have a family of performers. I guess it could happen, but since our current deal is that my kids learn one hymn PER YEAR I think it is not bloody likely. Family bands are cool! If I were in charge that might happen. But again, it's not me--it's them.

I made a decision many years ago that my guiding principle of parenting would be to raise likable children. When you've got 4 kids and church and jobs and school and lots of stuff you find out that you can't do everything. So you start making choices about how to spend your time. When I say likable I don't mean popular. Think about the people you like. The people I like are good, interesting, nice, helpful, smart, competent, hard-working, and fun. That's how I want my kids to be. I want them to be a pleasure to know and be around. You know those people you hate? You know those people who are hard to love and serve? You know those people who are frankly just a pain? I don't want my kids to be those people. If you know my kids and you don't like them--bear with me. I'm not done with them yet.

Before I had kids I think I would have said I wanted my children to be accomplished. Being accomplished is great. I want my kids to be accomplished. But it isn't the only thing or even the most important thing I want.  And as we work through their strengths and weaknesses sometimes being accomplished takes a back seat to being likable. It's just what I've chosen. Maybe if you're super accomplished you don't have to be nice. Maybe you can be super accomplished in everything and nice. There's more than one way to raise a kid.

Before I had Sam I had a dream about him. We were standing in line for a ride at Lagoon. He was about 6 and he was wearing a red and white striped windbreaker that I had when I was his age. Before we started the ride he looked at me with fear in his eyes and I looked back with fear in mine. We both nodded and I knew we were thinking: "Shoes on tight, pockets empty, seat belt on, this is scary, but it will be over soon." He did turn out to be very much like the kid in that dream which is to say, very much like me. I don't know why but when he was little I made him take Kindermusik, soccer, piano, and gymnastics. We quit all of them. Now he doesn't even play the mandolin. But he does have very muscular legs!

When Sam was a baby there was a woman in our ward who had a sweet, quiet, little boy. When it was his turn to say his part in the primary program at church he put his head down and mumbled it to himself. The primary teacher grabbed his face and held his mouth up to the microphone. I saw his mom in the audience with tears in her eyes and I thought--I will kill anyone who does that to Sam. Or Maggie. Or Ben. Or Ellen.

Ben said his part in the primary program loud enough to hear for the first time last year. He doesn't exactly shake hands and say how do you do. We are working on the niceties. But he is known among the men in our ward as being strong and hardworking because he shows up for moves and fence-building and church-cleaning and chair setting-up with his dad and he has earned their respect that way even though he looks away when they try to give him a high-five. So I guess I'm saying, I don't know what I'm saying. I worry that people think Ben is rude. But people like him. And that's a relief. I like him. One thing is for sure--he will never hug and kiss you.

We were practicing our primary program at church yesterday. I was talking to my class so I didn't know what was happening. When I looked up Ellen was singing a song into the microphone with two other little girls. I was very pleasantly surprised. Kids: They'll surprise you!

This essay is very good.

I Wonder

I've been saving up a few things to tell you but they are random--not related. I wonder if you mind?

First of all, last week at church I wore a wide elastic belt over my dress. Midway through sacrament meeting it exploded off me and I had to catch it before it whipped someone in the face. I demurely folded it and put it in my bag. I think of it as madcap instead of as me being really fat or something. Maybe it was a tender mercy. But I don't have the perspective to see it like that yet.

I also got a new calling. So that's exciting. I'm the counselor in the primary presidency over cub scouts. My mom has the same calling. Tell me if you have the same calling and we can form a supportive clique. We're getting the yellow scout leader shirts, right? Are we doing scarves? My ward has the most awesome bridge you guys--I'm not even kidding.  I've been teaching primary for the last year (since the Activities Committee was dissolved) and while primary doesn't afford me as many opportunities to make playlists, it's a perfectly nice place to be. My husband and the primary president's husband are both in the bishopric, so you'd think we would form a very powerful and effective quadfecta but as it turns out I can't even get a replacement for my primary class yet. We sought to strengthen our respective powers by combining them but we made a mistake. By increasing our power we weakened it. Was it greed? Only time will tell what the consequences of this perverse lust for control will be. Prediction: One day my whole family will sit together at Round Table. The table itself will be made of stone and Aslan will die on it. (Leave Sharing Time ideas and links in the comments, please.)

Last night I saw a movie called The Big Year. It was rather a pleasant movie but I wouldn't say it's a MUST SEE, unless you've waited your whole life to see Steve Martin wild-and-crazy-guying it in the same frame as Jack Black Jack-blacking it, which I have. It's about the competitive nature of birding. It's not a hilarious spoof like Best in Show but it is amusing and in this day and age of ironic mustaches and refusing to weigh in on things until you know if it's cool, I appreciated the earnestness of The Big Year.  I like spotting birds. I have a birding life list and I keep trying to get my kids into it. Since I'm lazy and impatient my life list is short.  However, on my life list is Owen Wilson's nose. He's a very hard-core birder in the movie. Reeeeeeeaaaaaaaaal bird nerd.

Which brings me to my last observation--it's just an observation. People now use the word "nerd" to mean "enthusiast." It's interesting. Nerdy used to apply to computer and math stuff. But over the last few years I've noticed that everyone says it about their hobby. "I'm a real choir nerd." "I'm a total film nerd." When was film ever nerdy? But see, it's a way of saying "I'm a film enthusiast" while also acting self-deprecating (I'm a total nerd, guys!) but really you are a film nerd because you think film is cool in the same way that computer nerds think programming is cool, which it is. It has become an interesting way to sort of brag or discuss your interests safely, in case the person you are talking to does not share your passion. See how it works? Calling yourself a nerd is short hand for, "I recognize that some people think its dumb but I'm actually very passionate about it and if you laugh and shrug it off I won't mention it again but if you are the same kind of nerd I am then we can drop this pretense and really talk about graphic novels in depth." It's just something I've noticed. And I say that as someone who reads Webster's Dictionary of English Usage for fun so in terms of nerd--I know whereof I speak. (See? I just did it too.)

My Cat is So Weird

I've written about my cat, Ozzy, before. He is so weird. He is bulking up for winter. But I guess his body is not adjusting to binge mode because he threw up all his food on the kitchen floor yesterday morning. (Believe me, there are much worse things to wake up to.) It's a wooden floor but he was all daintily side-stepping the vomit pile and swiping his feet over it as if he were burying it in sand mixed with baking soda. I wanted to say, "Ozzy. It's a wooden floor. You aren't covering that stinky pile with anything. You are doing a pantomime of covering it. It's not helping. Why don't you stop this charade and just eat it again?" That's what I wanted to say. But he just kept swiping with his little feet like a mom swiping brownie crumbs off the counter into her hand. He is so weird.

He has ways of letting us know when he wants to go outside. Whatever his schedule is, I am unable to discern the patterns. He lets us know if he wants to go out in the middle of the night by first pawing at the water cups on our nightstands. Sometimes Christian will hear him and awaken me with, "Your water!" If we don't wake up and let him out he will tip the water over. This makes us so mad. Sometimes we grab him and throw him really far when he does this. (They always land on their feet.) I think he understands that the water-spilling isn't worth it. Sometimes he rustles papers with his paws until we let him out. He is learning--just like iTunes learns to pick songs you will like. It's kind of unnerving.

Lately he has been doing the worst thing of all. He sits right in front of the Tivo receiver so we can't change the channel or pause TV from our bed. He sits there until we let him out! It's infuriating, but effective.

Ozzy's maneuvering makes my other cat, Snoopy, look like a big idiot when he wants to go out. Snoopy just stands by the door and goes, "MEOW MEOW MEOW." I always think he's so stupid and refuse to let him out. Later when Ozzy uses his strategy to get me to open the door,  Snoopy runs really fast to get out the door behind him. What a moron.

George Harrison: It Feels Like Years Since He's Been Here

I LOVE the HBO documentaries. Martin Scorsese did one on George Harrison. I found it so moving and interesting, I had to share.

You can't help being interested in George Harrison. (Get it, Help? Why am I not writing for Spin!) Beatles trivia is always interesting. I am personally intrigued by the British Invasion. I think it's the accents, fur vests, and pixie haircuts. Scorsese included footage in this documentary I had never seen before and believe me--I've seen EVERYTHING. There were also interviews with Pattie Boyd and Eric Clapton--FRANK interviews. I mean, how can you sit there, Eric Clapton, and talk about how much you miss George Harrison when we all know you wrote "Layla" to [successfully] steal his wife from him! Eric Clapton tells the story. It begins, "I think we shared a lot of tastes--Cars or clothes and women, obviously." Eric Clapton knows we know.




George forgave him for it, by the way.

When you think about George Harrison you probably think about drugs and the sitar. And those were both a BIG part of his life. Not my taste, George! The Hare Krishna stuff doesn't appeal to me either but I'll tell you what I think: I think he was sincere in his search for spirituality. I respect that. Heck, I admire that.  Here's what you might not know about George Harrison: He mortgaged his house to finance Monty Python's Life of Brian. He loved Monty Python. I respect that. Heck, I admire that. George Harrison was a gentle soul.

His lovely, long-suffering second wife, Olivia, speaks lovingly of him but it's clear that he was probably-not-um-faithful to her. You know what she says? Ima tell you what George Harrison's wife told me about marriage. She says with great poise, "What's the secret to a long marriage? You don't get divorced! That's the secret." Put that in your hashpipe and smoke it, Pattie Boyd.

A few people alluded to George Harrison's dual nature. I guess he was really calm and nice but could also get really angry--like you do when, say, Eric Clapton steals your wife. At one point Paul McCartney describes George trying to play electric guitar over the opening to "Hey Jude" and how he had to tell him not to because he wanted only piano. It's a friendly anecdote but it makes George seem somewhat boorish. Later in the documentary they showed a clip from the Let it Be sessions which are, I guess, rife with tension. Interestingly, when they start to argue they don't get loud and play to the camera. In fact, when Paul and George disagree about the opening of "Hey Jude" (which Paul, of course, wrote) they move in closer to each other and lower their voices--not wanting to make a spectacle. That's hard to even wrap your head around given the nature of today's reality TV. But here's what George said to Paul,  "I'll play [this] or I'll play [that] or I'll play nothing--whatever would please you. I'll do whatever it would be that would please you." The accent makes it especially plaintive. George doesn't come off as unreasonable at all. But I don't know because I wasn't there. (I might remember it better, though. Ahem.)

You may recall that George Harrison fought off lung cancer. And then a crazy guy broke into his house and attacked him. I didn't realize it was such a knock-down-drag-out fight with the intruder. He laid on George and stabbed him repeatedly. Olivia had a "Swing Away" moment with a lamp but then the intruder went after her and George jumped on his back and fought him off. Crazy!

Towards the end of his life George Harrison got lung cancer. Ringo Starr went to visit him in Switzerland before he died. And here's the part that made me and Ringo Starr cry: Ringo was headed to Boston to be with his daughter who had a brain tumor. "Do you want me to come with you?" asked weak, bed-ridden George Harrison. That was the last thing he said to Ringo. 

I'm not saying George Harrison is perfect. But he did write "Here Comes the Sun," and that made your life better.