A Short One

Last month as I was sitting in my car outside of the dollar store, I witnessed an accident. One car backed into another. The driver at fault was an older woman. The other driver was a woman in her twenties.

I cringed as I watched them get out of their cars: Cat fight a-comin'. They looked at each other, examined the minimal damage, and then spoke for a few more moments. My window was down and I could hear their conversation.

"Are you OK? "

"Are you? Is your car hurt?"

"Is yours? I am so sorry, dear."

"It's fine. I'm just glad everyone's OK. Are you OK to drive?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine. Thank you, dear."

Then instead of exchanging insurance information, they hugged, got in their cars, and drove away.

Where Should the La Family Move? In Theory.

I want to move. Quickly and permanently.  I had a nice long post about all the reasons we ought to move, but let's just leave it at a simple my neighborhood leaves much to be desired. (Feel free back me up on this one, Wendy and Natalie.) It's not going to happen, but I like to dream. 

I'm looking for a good place to move and want your suggestions. Here's my wish list:

• sidewalks
• LDS church within ten miles
• children in the neighborhood 
• safe enough that responsible people let their children play outside alone
• reasonably priced
• casual
• no annual anti-Mormon events
• a good library
• higher education located within twenty miles
• no free roaming alligators or huge cockroaches
• low crime
• low community drug use
• a vibrant homeschool community
• mild winters
• normal everyday people walk and bike to their destination sometimes
• political, ethnic and religious diversity
• low unemployment
• neighbors who intend to stay in the area until their children are raised
• not located on a fault line, a floodplain or on the edge of a cliff

There are two or three local communities that fulfill most of desires, but that pesky "reasonably priced" doesn't bend. At all. And those great communities do not come cheaply. If I come into a half million dollars or the ability to pay for a $500,000 mortgage, I'd have it all under control, but so far I haven't and I don't. SO give me a name to match my dream, your favorite "nice places to raise a family." 

A Year Later, Looking Back at My Issues

During the October 2007 General Conference, Sister Beck's talk "Mothers Who Know" blindsided me. Sweet Sister Beck. I love her. I felt like a good friend had walked into my home and told me that everything I'd ever done was worthless. I flipped out. Flipped out.

That afternoon I went to a cub scout planning meeting and mentioned how upset I felt. My sweet beautiful friends looked at me as if I'd just spoken in Russian. They wanted to be there for me, but they couldn't. They didn't understand what I found so heartbreaking. They'd loved the talk. A lot.

So a year ago, the Monday after conference, I went searching online for women who understood. I found Kristine Haglund's very comforting post at By Common Consent. I found the Bloggernacle where smart and faithful LDS people discuss ideas that range from the petty to the profound.

Here is my first (extremely long) blog comment:

Thanks for a couple of laughs on the subject. I needed them. It sure beat the two cries I’d had on the subject. Although "Our Refined Heavenly Home" wins the most uninspiring depressing talk of the decade, this one came close.

This is a hard subject for me. Six kids, small house, homeschooling. We’re all here, all the time. And I’m trying. I really am. But if a clean house and neat children are required for exaltation, I’m out. Even trying my hardest, it’s a disaster around here.

IF I could fulfill the ideal she taught, my family and I would be happier. I like clean. I like organized. I like neat, reverent children. I like peace. I dream of these things. I despair of these things.

So Sunday, I’d stayed home, listening to conference, hoping to hear “the pleasing word of God, yea the word which healeth the wounded soul.”

Sabbath-breaker that I am, I needed to clean the “playroom.” So housework was exactly what I was doing when Sister Beck was talking. I stopped cleaning. I couldn't
decide if I wanted to send in my motherhood resignation, burn the house down, or ask to have my name removed from the records of the church. Love, civil duty and a testimony prevented me from following any of those knee-jerk reactions. Instead I just cried because one more fellow mom was judging her fellow moms one more time. I don’t know–maybe that’s the in the job description for GRS Presidents.

The points that stabbed most deeply:

(My memory of) Her definition of nurture. By “nurture” we mean housework, the physical upkeep of the family. (My dictionary says “Nurturing: 1. To nourish, feed. 2. To educate, train 3. To help grow or develop; cultivate.”)

And did she really say that it didn’t really matter how much education you have if you can’t keep your home properly? I must have misheard.

I’ve pondered “the wicked taketh the truth to be hard." Am I wicked? ‘Cause that seemed pretty hard.

Well, enough killing time. I need to go clean something, cook something and cancel some of my children’s outside activities.

I live to serve. Jami

Bitter? Me? OK, maybe a little. I'm better now. This year has been one of the most difficult of my life, spiritually and intellectually. Exciting. Invigorating. But hard. A good portion of my angst has come from my exploration of LDS issues, profound and petty, from participating in the Bloggernacle.

In spite of these growing pains, I celebrate this anniversary and my freedom to think and to write about those things which interest and concern me. I celebrate my pain because it has led to increased knowledge, to increased faith and to healing. Thank you, Kristine, for the post that started it all. As it turns out, I mostly like Sister Beck's talk too. That, however, is a subject for a different post.

OK...

which one of you narked me out to the bishop? I got called into the principal's bishop's office on Sunday. About this. He was a bit worried about me and thought a testimony check was in order.

Testimony? Check!

I am seriously so blessed that my bishop is one of the nicest men I've ever known. And even more blessed because he's fairly shock-proof due to his marvelously outspoken wife. So, my dearest narking friend, now that you know the bishop is reading you don't have to forward him my posts. He'll catch them on his own.

If you become concerned, you can just talk to me personally. If it's just too scary to talk to me, rest assured that I love my husband and my children. I believe that the gospel has been restored in its fullness. I know that Joseph was a prophet, that President Monson is a prophet as well. The Bible and Book of Mormon are the word of God. I know that God is my Father and loves me. You too, as a matter of fact. Jesus is the Christ, my Savior. Yours too, as a matter of fact. Even though I blog, I am still praying, reading my scriptures, and seeking to increase the influence of the Spirit in my life.

In short, I'm OK, but please don't do that again. Love ya!

Silver and Gold Have I None

...but such as I have, give I unto you. A blog post announcing...

Sue's Blog Book Project

to benefit Stephanie and Christian Nielson

Everyone in the blogosphere and the bloggernacle already knows that Nie-Nie and her husband were severely burnt in a plane accident two weeks ago, but for my non-blogging friends I just want to let you know that this wonderful couple is in need of our prayers. If you feel inclined to learn more about their family or to help them financially you can click here.

Sue's book will be a compilation of some of the wittiest and most amusing bloggers' take on the theme "Sometimes Life is Funny." You can enter a piece for consideration. The deadline for submissions is September 15th, 2008. You can send your submission to Sue at sometimeslifeisfunny at gmail dot com.

I can virtually guarantee that it's going to be an amazing book. When it comes out, you can buy a physical book or an e-book and all proceeds will benefit the Nielson family.

I now go to dig in the depths of my soul to see if I've got any giggles in there. Go and do thou likewise.

I'm infiltrating the Thomas Jefferson Education reactionary, fascist, evil training scam this week.

Gentle Readers,

There been much lip-flapping and hot air blowing on the subject of TJed and LEMI and Oliver DeMille. I'm not naming names but a certain person has been so nasty about the entire TJed community that I wonder if Mr. DeMille didn't leave said person at the altar at some point.

So, gentle readers I am going to a LEMI training Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I shall relentlessly dig out their logical fallacies and expose their illegal pyramid scam.

I still have a lot of reading to do, and so it is with regret that I must inform you that I am walking away from my computer until Sunday. It's true. Please come back next week to read my expose on the reactionary, evil, dangerous, fraud-riddled homeschool scam of the 21st century.

Most sneakily yours,
Jami La

Life is Pain...Anyone Who Says Differently is Selling Something

In the eighties, my sister, my mother and I, separated by hundreds of miles, had a bonding ritual. Each week we would watch "Star Trek: The Next Generation" then call each other to have a little trekkie chat. My sister and I were completely unified in our mockery of Counselor Deanna Troi, an empath, a really irritating empath. She'd stand on the bridge, stare out into space and look pained. "I sense confusion [pain/sorrow/negative emotion
du jour]" We were fairly certain that a good laxative would take care of poor Deanna's constant suffering.

Recently, I've felt a bit like the well-intentioned, but infinitely mockable Deanna as I stare into the vast Internet and feel the suffering. I wander around peeking into the lives of amazing people, their marriages, children, jobs. Their tragedies. It hurts and a laxative has given no relief. The pain is spiritual: the death of a loved one, the loss of faith, mental illness, disability, unemployment, poverty, pregnancy complications, the sorrows of real people I have come to love.

I promised when I was baptized that I was willing to mourn with those who mourn, to comfort those who stand in need of comfort. When a local friend has a miscarriage, I can hold her, cry with her, bring her a casserole and some helpful herbs. When an Internet friend suffers a miscarriage, all I can do is cry and pray that someone will hold her, bring her a casserole, and maybe some helpful herbs.

Perhaps there is some wisdom in the concept of not becoming emotionally involved with strangers, but as I ponder the Savior taking upon himself all of the physical, emotional, and spiritual pain of the world, I have a have a hard time believing that emotional distance is how we become more Christ-like. So I pray and occasionally send a poem. It's really all I can do which is, I guess, better than what Deanna, the hand-wringer, would do.

Life is pain. The joy that the scriptures talks about is not smiling through the death of a child, or humming happily as someone relearns how to walk. It is an eternal joy that comes when Jesus who vicariously suffered for us, who knows and loves us, removes the pain, brings peace to the troubled, heals the scars, and makes us whole again.

The Hypnotic Effect of Numbers

With six kids, there are few things that hold my undivided attention for long. The old grey matter ain't what it used to be. Off-hand, I can only think of three occasions of spontaneous, sustained concentration that have occurred since becoming a mother.

1. The night my first baby learned how to roll over, my husband and I sat on the couch and watched her figuring it out, for hours, joyously fixated. We've repeated the event another five times, but none were as delightfully addictive as the first.

2. The night my first E-Bay listing had a bidding war during the last hour. During the last few minutes, the item went up $100 which doubled its sale price. I re-loaded the page a bizillion times. Couldn't get enough of it. By the last five minutes, the whole family stood around the computer, giggling and cheering each new insane counter-bid.

3. Then there's last night, when I went for my daily visit to Times and Seasons and was reading along. Then I glanced at the sidebar. What? A link to my baby blog? Sorry T & S, but I immediately ditched you and ran to Stat Counter.

I had been pleased that I had gone from a daily visitor count that could be counted on one hand to one that required double digits. I enjoyed checking in. It was fun. At 3:30 pm yesterday, things were running steady. I was at about 20 page loads and 15 visitors. Maybe I'd hit twenty; that would be nice. Then Kaimi worked his magic.

By midnight, I'd hit 89 page loads and 67 visitors. I watched their lurking stats show up, hypnotized. Ooo, look, someone from England. Hm, a Buckeye. Canada, eh? Ooo-ah, that one read about the demon squirrels that must die. And the trend continues today. How addictive!

Here's the summary from 1:30 pm today.

I know I talk a lot, but I never would have guessed the fact that I am not talking about something would be news. Soon the link will be pushed off the list for more current ones, which is as it should be. Overall, I would rate this ride excellent. Well worth the cost of admission.

[Other news in the La Household: J-Teen was evacuated from his Boy Scout camp, because one of the Nor-Cal forest fires was a-comin' their way. You know what that means, don't you? That means he got to see the stat page too. ]

Update! Breaking News! Moment of Fame Over! Mother Returns to Normal Life!

OK, it's only 9:30 am, but I believe I can safely say that the statistical surge is over. Thanks, Kaimi. It's been fun.

SOCKS! for barefoot me

A long time ago, I signed up for a socks exchange. A crazy socks exchange. A soxy sox exchange. A sock exchange hosted by the one, the only, Elastic Waistband Lady!

Women who know...know that I don't wear socks. Pretty much ever. So what possessed me to swap socks? I guess I just don't get out enough, 'cause it just sounded fun! Shopping for crazy, weird socks for a total stranger. Getting crazy, weird socks from different total stranger.

I do have a sock-loving bunch of daughters, so I hid my membership in the girls-without-socks club and signed up. Then I went a-huntin' & found the weirdest socks in town at the Dollar Store and Big Lots. I shipped my bizarre finds out to Elastic, my sock buddy. Meanwhile, my other sock buddy, Glittersmama, searched the world over, travelling to the tropics to search for my socks, and then, like Dorothy, she discovered that there's no place like home for finding cool socks to go with ruby slippers.

Now,

without further ado,

I share the pictures

that I'm sure you scrolled down to look at

without reading my long-winded commentary:

Charming rainbow socks.

Black socks with white and pink stripes!

The stars and stripes go girly socks!

I also scored a nice card, some yummy lip balm and two pretty notepads.

Thank you for the goodies, Glittersmama!

Thank you for hosting, Elastic!

takes talent

Here's one of my favorite poems which I came to mind when I read this post over at Navel Gazing at Its Finest.



takes talent

there are two
kinds of human
beings in the world
so my observation
has told me
namely and to wit
as follows
firstly
those who
even though they
were to reveal
the secret of the universe
to you would fail
to impress you
with any sense
of the importance
of the news
and secondly
those who could
communicate to you
that they had
just purchased
ten cents worth
of paper napkins
and make you
thrill and vibrate
with the intelligence

archy

(For those of you who are unfamiliar with archy, he was a cockroach/poet who lived in Don Marquis' office. He typed his poems by jumping from key to key on Marquis' typewriter. Unfortunately, capital letters require pressing two keys at once and were beyond archy's gymnastic abilities.)