Don't cry for us, Argentina (Or anybody else for that matter)

Once upon a time, Husband and I had the opportunity to spend Christmas somewhere other than Virginia. We were so excited to do something different, and be wrapped up in other traditions than our own. We were poor back then (hey, that must be a perpetual thing!) and had saved much for our journey.

Christmas morning we woke up to our meager pile of gifts, but we were joyful.

And then the children came out.

I'm not talking about our children. All we had that year was O.S. (This was a very long time ago).

I'm talking about someone else's children. And these children were very, very, very blessed in what they were given. Did I say very?

They each received more than I probably received in three Christmas's when I was a child. I was oohing and aahing over their presents. They were amazing, and wonderful, and expensive.

And these kids whined. There were actual tears that they had not received what they wanted.

And I wanted to smack them.

I told myself right then and there that I would do my level best to make sure my kids never acted that way. I wasn't sure what had happened to these kids, as they had a very good set of parents who most definitely did not act that way themselves. And I wasn't sure how to assure that my kids were thankful for what they received. But I was determined.

We are going to Wyoming for Christmas this year. Yes, I know I shouldn't post that because someone might break into my house and steal all my stuff. Go right ahead. I could use the insurance money. (Just kidding, USAA. I'll keep my sad little treasures. Thank you very much.)

Like I said, we are going out of town for Christmas. So FHE last night was gift opening time.

I didn't tell my kids to, but about a month ago they really got into the spirit of things, and began making their own gifts for eachother. I'd never even told them that they had to get each other anything, because frankly, I can't afford for all four of my kids to exhange a gift with each sibling. And I was too overwhelmed with all that needed to be done to care anyway.

Yesterday, I was gazing over at our pile of gifts and I felt sad. My kids were going to get some fun things, mostly because Grandma always comes to the rescue. But I wished I could give them more, better, expensive stuff.

But last night they taught me a lesson.

First thing, our kids exclaim that they can't believe we have so many gifts under our tree. Than we sit down and sing our opening song, Toddler says that most darling prayer in which she prayed for everyone, including Barbie.  And then the gift giving begins.

O.S. walks up and hands me a manila envelope. I already knew what it was. A few weeks ago, he confessed that the present he had tried to make for me was too arduous, and asked what else I would like.

"Write me a story, Buddy."

So he did.

It was about a boy that really wanted a Lego Star Destroyer, which any parent of a boy must know costs one hundred and fifty dollars. The boy's mom gently informs him that he might want to dream smaller.

On Christmas morning he opens his one present from his parents. It's a Christmas Wreath. Then he opens his one present from Santa. It's a sleigh bell. He tells his parents thank you, hugs them, hangs the bell on the wreath, and runs out to go sledding with his friends. It was the best Christmas he ever had because he got to be with the people he loved.

This story was a complete omen for our own little Christmas.

O.S. and Y.S. both got some Mega Blocks they'd been wanting months ago. You should have seen the delight on their faces. They couldn't have been more thrilled.

Daughter opened the new Tangled doll and exclaimed, "Oh, thank you, Mom. This is exactly what I wanted!"

Toddler loved the baby doll car seat and carried it around all night, when she wasn't lying on the fluffy new sleeping bag Grandma had given her.

Husband got a puzzle, and a Dave Ramsey book, and some passes to the new aquatic center in town. (He's getting a helmet later. But he has to pick that out for himself. I wouldn't dare try.)

I got some fun stuff. Chocolate fudge pop tarts, which I will moan and roll my eyes over, as I inhale them straight from the toaster, slathered in butter. A new spatula, some measuring spoons and some earrings. (Hubby says I can buy a nice souvenir in Wyoming).

The family got other things too, like a new game for the Wii, a couple of remotes, and a new movie.

But the thing that I loved the most was that every time a homemade gift was opened they were so excited to see what the person had made for them. There were hugs all around. And laughter. So much laughter. I thought the boys would drop everything when they saw the Wii stuff, but an hour later they were still at the kitchen table working together to put their Mega Blocks together, as Daughter played her new American Girl phonograph in the background. (Courtesy again of Grandma).

Never once did someone cry that they didn't get what they wanted. There were no looks of disappointment, or tears of frustration. There was only happiness, and thankfulness, and joy.

What better gift could I receive than these children who already understand what Christmas is really about?

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Tithing settlement

I try to be a good mom. I really do. I mean, I cook dinner most nights. I make them cookies after school at least twice a week. The house is clean most of the time.

But to hear my kids tell it you would think I was a soap opera watching, bon-bon eating, mu-mu wearing bum.

Last night we had tithing settlement with the bishop. Mind you, this man must think somewhat highly of me since he just called me to be Young Women's president. And I would like his opinion of me to remain as is.

Not happening.

First thing when we get in there, I realize Toddler girl has no shoes on. That wouldn't be too terrible if we lived in Southern California, or Hawaii. But we live in the mountains. And it was snowing outside.

Gosh, what a terrible mom I am.

Anyway, so we sit down and he starts asking us all of we're full tithe payers. Schew. We totally are. I'm thinking we were looking pretty good too since each of our kids went to Grandma's house for a few weeks this summer, and earned some pretty pennies, and then they each paid tithing on those pretty pennies.

(That Grandma pays a heck of a lot better than she did when I was a kid. I'm just sayin'...)

It was going very well. Until he handed out the tithing statements.

On the statements are listed all of your personal information like: full given name, address, baptism date, confirmation date, etc.

Oldest Daughter holds hers up and says to her dad, "What does that word mean?" with an angelic little face that was really saying, "I've heard this word. I know it's not good. And I know this is not the appropriate place to discuss my question, but I'm going to ask it anyway even if it leaves you squirming."

The word? Sex. As in--are you male or female.

The Bishop raised an eyebrow, but gave a smile.

Husband handled it very well, and soon we were moving on.

Then the Bishop asks each of us what blessings we derive from paying tithing. My kids gave fabulous answers--a house, our family, food to eat.

We were redeeming ourself for the s word, right?

I'm last, and I have a great answer. "I get to be a stay at home mom."

Oldest Son looks at me with his face all skewed, like why would that be a blessing, and says, "You don't like being a stay at home mom. You always want to leave."

My mouth dropped open, because seriously, where did he get that idea? I LOOOVVVVVEEEEE to be at home. Then he went on and on about all the times I try to leave. They weren't even true, but it must appear that way to him.

I stammered and tried to correct him, but he kept disputing the fact, and the more I defended myself the worse I looked.

The Bishop kept a straight face but he was probably questioning his own judgment, and maybe even the Lord's.

Husband was laughing at me.

I guess it's payback for the Chinese farter.

What goes around comes around, right?

Applause, please.

Oldest Daughter's violin recital was last night, and I didn't get to go.

Our toddler got sick with a nasty stomach bug and there was no way we could take her.  So I volunteered to stay home.

I was lamenting over how it sucks to be a mom sometimes as I watched Barbie in A Mermaid's Tale for the fifth time that day.

And then the rest of them got home. And now I'm not lamenting at all.

I said, "How'd it go?"

Oldest Daughter chimes, "Great!!"

Then Husband shoots me the dirtiest look ever and says, "Terrible." As if I am somehow responsible. "We sat next to some Chinese dude who farted the entire time."

You have to understand, I think my husband is a little OCD. He hates poop, cleaning toilets, stinky gas, etc.  Of course, I've watched him shove his arm up inside a horse's behind, but it's different. According to him.

Then Oldest Son says, "Yeah. Dad thought it was me.  At intermission he told me to knock it off, because I smelled terrible. But I told him it wasn't me. And then we see the guy next to us look all sheepish." (He didn't say sheepish. He just imitated the guy. It was a sheepish look.)

Yes, the guy actually heard them talking about it. And guess what? He still ripped them all the way through the second half of the performance.

That guy has nerve. And stinky gas.

I laughed until my eyes were leaking, and my stomach muscles ached. Who needs sit ups?


I asked them why they didn't move and Husband said it was standing room only. There was nowhere to go.

They were trapped, in stinky gas.

The more I laughed the more I thought my life might be in danger,  but I couldn't stop.

I said, "It was really bad, huh?" as I tried not to pee my pants.

Then Husband says, "Smelled like something had crawled up inside him and died. "

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

I wanted to say that maybe that's a custom where he comes from. You know--like in Tonga where you're supposed to belch after a good  meal. The louder the burp the more of a compliment. Maybe this is the way they applaud in China. But I couldn't say it because I couldn't speak. I could hardly breathe.

I know. I'm terrible, and I shouldn't have shared that with you. But, I just had to.

Tonight I'm going to pop some corn, kick back and watch that recital on my t.v. And as I do, I'm going to inhale deep.

I am Mormon, hear me whisper

It's inbedded in my brain and has been my whole life. Get your food storage. What does that mean? Well, it means that as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I won't be a burden to anyone if something happens and there is a food shortage in this country. It means that I'll be someone to turn to, not turn away.

So I realized the other day that my flour and sugar storage was running low, and I was appalled at myself. Husband says that my idea of food storage is a year supply of ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. Sadly, he's not far off. If I run out of green beans I'm not ruffled. But if there aren't any chocolate chips in this house, it's very upsetting. Anyway. I realized I was low on the important stuff, so I headed out to Walmart. I loaded up my cart with a twenty five pound bag of sugar and another of flour. Then I dumped in some of those huge bags of chocolate chips, some brown sugar and some powdered sugar. That made up the majority of my shopping list. (This isn't a years supply in my house. It's just all I felt I could afford at the time. But I will be going back very soon.)

And I was so happy. Life was going to be alright again.

The cashier lady began ringing me up. I don't know how Walmart workers are where you live, but here in Southwest Virginia they chat with you like they've known you forever, even if this is the first time they've ever seen you. So the lady says, "I just have to know. What are you baking with all of this?"

Her eyes were sparkling. I'm sure she thought I was going to divulge some great Christmas cookie recipe.

I shrugged and said, "I just hate to run out. That's all."

She gave me the oddest look, and I was reminded that not everyone in this world gets the whole food storage thing. Many people have cupboards only stocked for the week. Some people run to the store on a daily basis, and are always running out of this, that and the other.

I could have expounded that I was LDS but I was pretty sure her weird stare might just turn into crossed eyes. So I paid and left.

Smack, smack, smack. I should have done better.

Ever since I've started this blog I've wondered--is this a good way to spend my time? Am I distracting folks from other things they could be doing that are so much more important than this little piece of space out there in cyberworld. But Sunday our Bishop read a letter from our Prophet. We are encouraged to share our testimony through Facebook, Twitter, and our personal blogs.

Sigh. Big weight off my shoulders.

And then I realized, that's really what I've been doing all this time anyway. Most of my posts are in some way linked to my beliefs and my love of the Savior. But I also realize that some of you probably don't really have a clue what it means to be Mormon.

Let me start with what it isn't.

It doesn't mean that my husband has more than one wife. (Yes, my neighbor I've known all my life saw this on a talk show and asked me if my dad had another family somewhere) I'm his, he's mine, and that's all. It doesn't mean that we have secret horns that come out when we're at church meetings, or that I don't believe in birth control. It does not mean that I believe Joseph Smith was a gold digger. Because he wasn't. And it definitely doesn't mean that I'm a member of a cult.

It means that I serve my callings at church on a volunteer basis, as do all of the members of position, including the Bishop, who is equivalent to a pastor. It means that I pay one tenth of my income to my church, of my own free will, as a tithing, because I am thankful for all my Savior has done for me and I want to help build up his kingdom in every way possible. And I am blessed until there is not room to receive it. It means that once every few months, I take my turn, go down to the church with my family and help clean our building so it can be beautiful and sparkling. It means that I don't drink alcohol, coffee, tea, partake of tobacco or drugs, or any other thing that is addictive or harmful to my body. It means that I believe my body is a temple, a gift from my Heavenly Father, and I do not defile it with tattoos or excessive piercings. I dress modestly, but beautifully. I read my scriptures everyday, including the Bible. It means that I love the same Lord and Savior that you do, with all my heart. I love Him more than anyone on this earth because I owe Him everything. I am grateful for and partake daily of His atonement. I believe in the resurrection. It means that I believe in grace, but also works. I have to earn my spot in heaven. I pray sincerely daily and I feel the whisperings of the Holy Ghost because I do. I attend every Sunday, even if I'm on vacation. I sustain my church leaders and do what they ask because I know they are inspired. I love my Young Women, even though I was just called two weeks ago to be their leader because I feel the love Heavenly Father has for them, and I know they are important to Him. It means I'm not perfect, but I'm trying. My family has been sealed in the temple and that means that we will be a family forever, even after we die. It means that my husband holds the same priesthood as Jesus Christ. Literally. It is the power to act in the name of God. And when I, or one of our children, is sad, hurt, discouraged, or downtrodden, my husband places his hands on our head and with that power blesses us, and we can feel that power working. It means I believe that miracles still happen today, not just in Biblical times. I have seen them and been a part of them. We have a prophet on the earth today and I know he is a prophet because the spirit has testified it to me. I know the Book of Mormon is true scripture--translated by Joseph Smith through much sacrifice and tribulation. I have felt the sweet peace it offers when I partake of the words there. And when he prayed as a fourteen year old boy, I know. I know. He saw God and Jesus Christ.

It means I am not ashamed.

But most of all, being a Mormon means that even though you may not believe what I believe, I still love you with all my heart and respect our differences.

On my sidebar I have posted a link to Mormon. org. Feel free to browse and look around. And if you have any questions I am more than willing, and happy, to answer them.

Book Covers

So I have this really spectacular friend who did the most spectacular thing. For me. For free. And it took many, many hours of hard work and sacrifice from her, and her sister in law. But mostly from her.

She made some mock-ups for the cover of my book. No this does NOT mean I'm getting published. It has nothing to do with a publishing company and she is a free-lance graphic design artist. She just did this out of the goodness of her heart, because she loves my book. She believes in my book, and she wants to help any way that she can.

I'm sure you're dying to see them, and I'm dying to show them to you. Things you need to know: the model in three of these is my beautiful cousin who is one of my favorite people on this earth. I have talked about her on this blog before. I love that she's the model for Sarah (the main character in my story) because she is beautiful inside and out just like Sarah. She has lived through hard things like my main character and she has risen above them to become better than her circumstances, also like Sarah. Also, she reads all my stuff and seems to be one of the two people most in tune with what it is I'm trying to do, and where my story is going. Maybe it has something to do with sharing similar DNA. I don't know. I just know when I get my edits back from her I feel lifted.

If I get published and if by some crazy chance I get to use one of these, I will be thrilled to the sky. I am posting my comments below each picture so that I don't taint your initial reaction.

I love them all but of course I have my favorites, so I will post from least to most.

Drum roll please...

This is one of the first she finished. The model is not anyone that I know but I loved her sweet face. And C. (my graphic design friend) put in the fireflies which I also love since the story takes place in Virginia.

Next one...

Do I even need to explain what I love about this one? My cousin thinks she looks hideous--and will probably die when she finds out I've posted these--but I think, and C. agrees--that my cousin looks gorgeous. This one leaves me feeling peaceful, and probably gives a good feeling of how my story feels. At least I hope my story makes people feel peace.

And another...

I love this one because it's all my idea, and it tells you exactly what the title means. Throughout the book Sarah changes and grows, becoming less and less self centered and more like the Savior. Her last act is to put hundreds of glow in the dark stars on the ceiling of someone that she has hurt. It's something he's done for her before, and the ultimate way for her to express everything she's feeling. So I love, love, love this one.

The last one is my very favorite though, even if it doesn't explain perfectly what Putting Up Stars means.

Here it is...

Why do I love it? Well. For so many reasons. First of all, Sarah falls in love with this little sister that she thought she didn't want. This baby heals her after a tragedy occurs that makes her feel that she will always have a hole in her heart. Also, see the football lights in the background. Nobody planned this, but when I saw the lights I was so happy. There is football in my story. Football ties them all together in the beginning. It's not so strong later on, but I can see Sarah on that field long after everyone has left her and all she has is her baby sister, her memories and those glittering stars. Also, I love the title in this one. Don't you? It's just looks right.

So there they are, and my hope is that I'll get published and that one of these will be used, or at least that the cover will be taken from these ideas. And if they aren't, these are still mine to treasure.

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I would love to hear what everyone thinks and which one is your favorite, what your initial reaction was to each cover and why.