On Visiting Teaching

I totally believe in the theory and principle behind visiting teaching. Really, I do. But here's a secret: visiting teaching pretty much makes me feel bad all the time. If I'm not feeling anxious and guilty about not going yet, then I am feeling guilty while I sit in my visiting teachee's house and thinking to myself "she can see right through me."

I genuinely like my visiting teachees and I want to be there for them, but does that come across at all? Because I just feel like a big phony every time I call them to schedule an appointment (which inevitably is couched with four hundred apologies and excuses for why I am not calling until the last week of the month). It's like I am sorry for calling them at all, but I'm also sorry for not visiting them earlier, and I am sorry for not just knowing what they need and then giving it to them.

I am sorry when I run into them at church. I am sorry when I run into them at the store. I am sorry when I see their husband. I'm sorry when I see their kids. I'm sorry when all I can think of to say is "how are you?" because that just seems so trite and cliche. I am basically just sorry that I exist at all when it comes to my visiting teachees. I am so sorry that when they allow me to come visit them I gush and say thank you so much over and over again like a little sycophantic fool.

And then when I am not feeling sorry about either not doing it yet, or doing it, but possibly coming across as insincere (last day of the month, anyone?), then I am feeling horrified by something my companion has just said. You can't always keep your companion from saying things like the following:

"Your child is just average, but my daughter is advanced"

"I would never let my kids have a play date this late"

"Who would want to live in this apartment?"

What does one do in this situation? Sit in silence, try to catch the other person's eye and perform a discreet eye roll? Look down and act like you didn't hear or aren't in the room at all? What?

I'm not really asking for advice, here. Just giving my thoughts. I'd talk about hating my neck or my purse or something, but Nora Ephron already did that. So all I have left is visiting teaching.

Or parenting, but you should really just read Kacy for that.

Or being pregnant, but you already know how I feel about that.

Once I went to some sort of training for people in Relief Society presidencies and Sister Beck told this extremely horrible story about a poor woman who had recently had a baby, and whose husband had two broken legs, and whose kitchen was covered with cheerios and milk, and whose kids were not being attended to, and whose newborn was wailing in another room of the house . . . all while her visiting teachers were sitting in her living room delivering the monthly message, completely unaware of what was happening. I shudder when I think of this story. Because that is probably how thick-headed I come across as a visiting teacher.

"Thank you SO much for letting me come," I say, grabbing my purse for a fast get-away. "If you need anything, please let me know. I really mean that. I do."

I do, really. Really!

A PhD in the Study of Rudeness

I am overly interested in/appalled by/obsessed with the rudeness of people. I honestly wish that advanced degrees were offered in the study of rudeness because I believe it is my true calling in life. Let it go! normal people say to me. That's just his/her personality. HOGWASH, I say. Let it go? And waste a lifetime of collecting, filing, and cataloging the rudeness of people? All those agonizing hours just flushed down the toilet? I don't think so. No, I would much rather file that rude remark in the enlarged portion of my brain designated as "The Rudeness Center" to be recalled at a future, beneficial date. And can I just say that I am so tired of hearing the "that's just the way she is" excuse all the time? If we all just went around acting like ourselves, following our primal instincts, then almost everyone would be rude! If rude is "just the way you are" then you need to change the way you are. No more excuses!

But anyway. I'm really into the rudeness of other people. You can imagine that this--character flaw, super-human sensitivity, or 6th sense, whatever you'd like to call it--makes it hard to be married to me. Especially for a person like my husband, who is so good at letting things go and forgetting the past. I mean, the man hardly remembers my birthday (but, that is filed away for a future, beneficial date). I hear myself saying "but don't you think that was so rude?" to him all the time--particularly after church. My husband really is a saint for just saying "YES! Can you believe it?" to me when I am on a rudeness rampage.

I know we aren't supposed to be easily offended. But I feel that most of my interest in rudeness stems from genuine, detached fascination, rather than personal offense (unless the rudeness was directed right at me from a person who ought to know better--I'm looking at you, family). I just wonder, how can people be like this? Why do they think it's okay? I ask a lot of deep, probing rudeness-related questions, which is why I am such an expert.

Observe:
Did you know that clicking over to call waiting while you are talking to someone, unless it is a serious emergency, is rude? Well, it is.

Did you know that making someone feel bad because they were half an hour late to a preschool parents meeting is rude? It is!

(This is just off the top of my head!)

Asking someone if they fed the dog or gave the chickens water in a certain tone: rude.

Dumping on somebody by name on your blog: also rude.

Inundating people with forwarded emails: rude.

Using a negative-sounding term to describe someone's Christmas present (i.e. "Oh, you got a big green pot"): rude.


Ah me. I could go on. But you've probably seen my other blog posts, and the rudeness of others is a running theme.

P.S. In case you are ready to tell me that people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, I ought to let you know that a comment like that is so rude.

Some Truths I'm Trying to Come to Grips With

1. Some people are just mean. They don't care if it's wrong to be mean. They don't care if they reduce you to tears in the church parking lot. They don't care if they look like a demon when they squint their eyes and shake their heads at you.

2. Apparently my beloved home town of Provo is now a fantasy land full of felt flowers, freebies, and frosted cupcakes. This Provo doesn't extend farther west than BYU, and is being taken over by a small group of people who paint a picture of life that suggests everyone has their own personal professional photographer/filmmaker. Sigh. I know this is a controversial thing to say, but I don't know what's happened to the old sleepy town I grew up in. Where are my humble orchards and peculiar, salt-of-the-earth people? Where is my auto shop/Mormon art store, not to mention Norton's, D&B Woods, GRANDVIEW ELEMENTARY, and all that they embody? I know everyone means well, but what has happened to normal Provo? I guess elite Provo is replacing it.

3. Kids make horrifying messes and break things, no matter what you do, or how hard you try to prevent/avoid it.

4. Whatever happens, there will be urine to clean up.

5. I can't dance.

6. I am going to have to toughen up and crack down on people that I hate, including some children and some of the elderly.

It's been a rough couple of weeks.

December Update (or, sorry I haven't blogged in a while, not that anyone cares or anything....or do you care? who knows?)

I've been engaged in my usual philosophical battle: to blog or not to blog? Sometimes I think my style of blogging is out of touch, but then I think that I don't want to join the ranks of the blog braggers (you know, the people who seem to conduct their lives according to the dictates of what will make excellent photos for their blogs), which is such a fast-growing and huge movement that I feel very much left out in the cold. Maybe you think I already am a blog bragger? I sincerely hope not....

So, then I think, well, instead of being a blog bragger, I could just blog a record of my children and family, which is probably the selfless and proper thing to do. But since when have I ever been selfless and proper? Ummm--hello!--never. I figure that between the hours of 7:00 am and 7:00 pm the world necessarily revolves around my children. Why inflate their heads with a blog dedicated solely to them as well? All of these thoughts inevitably lead me back to where I started: why blog at all unless it is about what a fool I am? So, without further ado, The Stupid Things I Did In December:

1. Came home from church crying 2 out of 4 Sundays because my new calling as Relief Society secretary is inexplicably kicking my trash. (Sometimes ladies can be very cranky about their weekly R.S. bulletins).

2. In an act of total desperation (as a result of aforementioned calling), I asked a lady who I have never seen before to say the opening prayer in Relief Society. The kicker? She wasn't even in our ward, not that I knew the difference.

3. Attempted to dip homemade marshmallows in homemade fudge: the fudge wouldn't stick, I tell you!

4. Threw out the fudge (after eating most of it with my fingers), then gave our neighbors and friends plain homemade marshmallows with no hot chocolate mix, candy canes, or cinnamon sticks. "Merry Christmas. Here, enjoy this ziplock bag of plain amorphous marshmallows courtesy of the Pauls." Classy.

5. Sprayed fake snow on pine cones,and plastic wreaths, and windows, and the floor, and the counter.....

6. Painstakingly wrapped lights and a garland around our porch railing, only to forget to turn the lights on ever again.

7. Made chocolate peanut butter truffles and then ate all of them myself, making myself completely sick every day.

8. Bought Mike a sweater for Christmas. He hates sweaters for Christmas, but every year I succumb to the temptation to dress him like a professor.

9. Went snowmobiling with Mike and screamed and chuckled in a deep, mannish voice the whole time until I almost fell off the back.

10. Bought the makings for a huge Christmas dinner, and then didn't feel like cooking on Christmas day, so just served leftovers.

There. Comment all you like--comments about the amount of calories involved in my adventures are ESPECIALLY appreciated.

Getting Back to What I do Best: Humiliate Myself at Church

So, I'm sure you are all DYING to know what I ended up doing with my free evening. But do you really HAVE to guess? Yes, I ate ice cream in the tub. It worked out rather well, but there were a few kinks to iron out, so I tried it again on Saturday night. I think one more trial run ought to get me there. It's kind of a tricky balancing act, and you definitely need water to go with your ice cream (it makes you so thirsty sitting in hot water AND eating cold ice cream), which requires some sort of table to put everything on. Then, if you are a bath tub reader, as I am, you need a way to finesse the book-holding/bowl and spoon operating activities that COULD lead you down a path to total disaster, i.e., dropping BOTH book AND bowl into the water and ruining your evening. Sigh. It's going to take some more practice.

But what I want to talk about is how I am getting back to my roots by embarrassing myself at church. It's been a while since I did something humiliating at church. I'm not sure why I've been so out of touch with myself. It's probably because we've moved around a lot and so I have kept a low profile. But we are in this ward for keeps, and so it's really important to me to make friends and get a nice reputation as a funny, awesome person, which leads to sweaty, frantic talking and sarcastic remarks that people don't realize are sarcastic. Sigh. Socializing is going to take A LOT more practice than eating ice cream in the tub.

So I was asked to participate in an object lesson in Relief Society. I was embarrassed. I was preoccupied with the food storage sign up sheet I was holding in my hands when they called on me. I was still pondering the benefits of dehydrated eggs, so I didn't really listen to the instructions for the activity. I was SUPPOSED to talk to the teacher and stop the conversation when I thought thirty seconds had gone by. One minute and forty five seconds later, the teacher stopped me from talking and said "don't you think thirty seconds have passed yet?" "Oh, TOTALLY," I said. In my defense, I am too young to remember this game that apparently was a smash hit on the Art Linklater show.

Then, after this embarrassing little incident, I had an even WORSE exchange with my target friend. You know how you pick out people that you want to be friends with? My criteria are simple: they must dress well, look pretty, and not be cheesy. I usually know if I want to be friends with someone if they are wearing snakeskin heels or if they have pretty blond hair, or if they make a good remark in a lesson. I'm not proud of my shallowness. But there you have it. At least I target those who are more beautiful than I am so that I can always be "the ugly one" when we are together. I'm a giving person. Anywho... so we were talking about how big Ruby is and she said her daughter was big and she acted like she was starting to wonder about it, and I said "yeah, should you be worried..." and I just was echoing her sentiment. I wasn't literally ASKING her if she should worry. OF COURSE I know she shouldn't worry about a thing like that. But she didn't understand my sarcasm, and said "well, no. I'm not worried." It was horrible, how I must have sounded. So now, my target friend, who is so pretty and dresses so well, thinks I believe her daughter to be morbidly obese.

And that, my friends, is how I do church.

Top Ten Most Annoying People at Church

10. The "I-Can-Teach-This-Lesson-Better-Than-You" guy. The one who interrupts the teacher, corrects everything she says (even the way she pronounces "Colossians"), and then reminds her that she finished class two minutes early.

9. The "Everything-is-Serious-all-the-Time" ladies. Those ones who refuse to laugh when you accidentally announce that Debbie HARRY will be giving the opening prayer instead of Debbie Hardy.


8. The "I'm-in-Charge-of-Your-Modesty" lady, who tugs at whatever part of your underclothes accidentally stick out after you spend an hour wrestling a two-year-old in sacrament meeting. Once she gets your attention with vigorous, and highly invasive, tugging, she gives you a disapproving look, and then you hear her whisper to her husband about you.

7. The "Visiting-Testimony-Bearer" who visits your ward so she can bear her testimony in not one, but two meetings, and make lots of evaluative comments about the "feel" of your ward.

6. The "Don't-Limit-Your-Family" Nazi who lectures the women in Relief Society that it is wrong to limit the number of children you have based on something as selfish as "health."

5. The "I-Hate-Children" ladies who give you dirty looks when your kids make noise in sacrament meeting, and then talk about how moms can't keep their kids under control these days in Relief Society. Some of these ladies are also "Don't-Limit-Your-Family" Nazis.

4. The "I've-Had-a-Tough-Week" woman. You know the one. Every time she gives a lesson she alludes to all sorts of awful trials in her life, but never really gives you the real dirt, leaving you guessing what's wrong with her for the duration of her lesson, rather than paying attention.

3. The "Point-Out-all-Your-Flaws" lady who says things like "you look tired!" or "look at all those mosquito bites!!!!" while she rubs her hand along your leg.

2. The "I'm-in-Charge-of-Your-Fast" person who hangs out by the drinking fountain to remind people that it's Fast Sunday and they are not allowed to partake under any circumstances.

1. The "Aloha" sayer. This is the person who may have no other connection to Hawaii than a two-week vacation who starts every talk, lesson, or testimony with "brothers and sisters, Aloha!!!" To which the congregation feels obligated to reply with another "aloha!" even though we are not in Hawaii, but are actually in Springville, Utah.

In Defense of My Saintliness

So recently I was accused of being the more devout sister by Kacy. Lest you think I am REALLY a Ned Flanders-esque ninny, here's some hard proof that I am no saint, my childish reservations about going to Winchells on Sunday aside:

1. I was actually HOPING that a couple of my students would be kicked out of school--it just means fewer papers for my new intern to grade.

2. I intimidated aforementioned intern to the point of incapacitation the other day with my withering stare.

3. What I lack in sabbath-breaking ability I make up for in diet coke and chocolate consumption.

4. One time, and it WAS the sabbath, mind you, I went into a public bathroom on BYU campus and saw that the VENDING machine was broken. Its contents were scattered all over the floor, still in their wrappers, and in perfectly good condition. It was a smorgasbord of feminine hygiene products! Marcy Dibbleblotts (who I think we can all agree is more devout than any of us) encouraged me not to steal from a bathroom, especially on a Sunday. Did I listen? Did I put down my feminine plunder? Of course not! I was not going to pass up this kind of opportunity.

5. I really like Kid Rock despite myself.

6. I haven't cleaned my house or canned a single peach, pear, or tomato in my entire life.

7. I like to run home and eat entire trays of rice krispy treats on fast Sundays.

8. Last Sunday Hazel bumped her head during our Marriage and Family Relations class (I'm such a rebel, I don't even go to the regular gospel doctrine class). She started to cry, I walked out of the room, out of the church, over to my car, got in, drove home, put her in bed, then went to sleep till church was over. Mike was left alone in the marriage class with a bunch of women.

9. Hazel is crying in her crib right now. I'll get to her as soon as I publish this post.......

10. Holden can't seem to stop saying the H word and the D word. Where did he learn this?

Making Friends

I am SO good at making friends. Here are a couple of examples of my friendship prowess:

A girl in my ward named her daughter Carlie--same as me, only I spell my name with a "y." We were discussing this, when, thinking that it would be a big hit, I launched into my "I've always hated my name" speech. "People always thought my name was Carla. Who wants to be named after the short, obnoxious woman on 'Cheers'? I always felt like my name was so unfeminine, which was amplified every time someone thought that my name was actually Carlyle and that I was a man..." This went on till I saw the look on the poor woman's face, at which time I shifted into full back-pedal mode: "but YOUR daughter won't have the trouble that I had. I mean, the 'ie' spelling is so much better--more feminine. I mean, she's already got the good spelling going for her. And really, it was just me that had the problem. I'm just a neurotic freak..." I don't think my back pedaling did much to brighten her spirits. Although, she and I were probably not destined to be soulmates, as she admitted to exercising five times a week shortly before we had the name conversation. Anyone who ever uses the term "cardio" seriously in a conversation probably wouldn't want to waste their time on me, because I'm sure they would see me writing/reading blogs all day and conclude that all I do is waste my time sitting at a computer when I could be spending it with a medicine ball in a gym.

Example number two: after an uncomfortably short Relief Society (during which 15 minutes were allotted for testimonies and only five of those fifteen minutes were used) I had a jolly conversation with the Sunday School teacher: "Boy, that was short. Why was it so short?" she asked. "Well, no one bore their testimony," I said with wide eyes, then added "and I wasn't about to do it!" Laugh, laugh? No. Dead silence, then an awkward "well, I already talk enough" from the Sunday School teacher, which was presumably a reference to her weekly lessons, and which provided me with a great segway into safer territory--namely, complimenting her fabulous lessons (and they are really good). Think she'll be calling on me next time I raise my hand in Sunday School? It's doubtful. Thankfully, I have never been inclined to raise my hand and comment in Sunday School--I mean, that's definitely another thing I'M not about to do, so we're all set...

Then there was that time when I jokingly offered up the phrase "I hate church" as a suggestion for Holden's speaking part in the Sacrament Meeting Progam. It was, of course, a joke, but I am not sure the primary president appreciated it. Nevermind, because Holden was the only kid who didn't speak or sing a word during the program. I like to think that he is just not a big ham, like all the other kids. He's too humble to even speak or sing, not like those prideful kids who say their part.

So, that's three down, one hundred more women left to alienate and offend. I am sure I'll manage somehow. My track record indicates that by this time next year I will have had such painful encounters with every woman in my ward.

More Maturity Give Me, More Patience In Church

Well, we went to our new ward yesterday. We'd been looking forward to it all week, and had to force ourselves not to get there too early so as not to appear over-eager and needy (which we both were). I knew that Holden, our resident three-year-old, might have some qualms about going to a new Sunbeams class, but I remained cautiously optimistic. When he took his shirt off 15 minutes into sacrament meeting, however, my optimism about his behavior in church began to diminish ever so slightly. Two minutes later, when I had him locked in the women's bathroom as a last ditch effort to make him obey, I wondered if he'd willingly go into the Primary Room. When he fell asleep on my lap while I sat on one of those miniature kids' chairs during opening exercises, I pretty much gave up. Two hours (and a lot of time spent holding the bathroom door closed) later, it was time to go home. We found Mike, blissfully ignorant of my ordeal, making new friends in Elders' Quorum. I had been able to spend about five minutes in Relief Society--just long enough to get the gist of the lesson, titled "No Success Can Compensate for Failure in the Home" and feel guilty about my parenting skills, and the look of twisted rage that I saw on my face in the bathroom mirror just minutes before. Mike also had a very ironic lesson in Elders Quorum: "Why Our Wives are More Patient and Selfless Than We Are." Ha! Not all wives, I'm afraid. Not all...

This Just In!

I saw Michelle King in the Cougareat today.

For those of you who didn't grow up in Utah, Michelle King is the anchorwoman for Eyewitness News. I have been watching her since I can remember. In fact, I used to pretend to be her when I was little. I was so star-struck when I saw her in line for a pita wrap (I was getting KFC),that I just stood there saying "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh." She was there with the whole fam, wearing a hot pink jacket over black pants. To my pleasure, she sat one table away from us so I could watch everything. I was surprised when she gave her roll to who was either her mother or mother-in-law. She's eloquent, beautiful, AND selfless. What famous person do you know who would give up a roll? Her family was picture-perfect, too. I just sat there trying not to stare. I decided not to approach her. You know, what would I say? "I love you?" No way. That's my Bono-speech. (I've been working on it for a while now.) No, I just sat back and admired her. But if it HAD been Bono(presumably getting a bite to eat after attending the graduation of his daugher Memphis Eve--hey, if Michelle King's daughter attended BYU, why not Bono's? I am planning on sending him a Book of Mormon any moment now), I would have HAD to speak. I would have butted in on his special family day to say "I love you" and to kick myself for not having a cell phone that takes pictures. But alas, no Bono. But Michelle King was certainly enough to make my day.

For the celebrity-sitings record, I have also seen
1. Art Garfunkel at Bryce Canyon National Park
2. Ronald Reagan driving on I15 (actually, Nancy was driving; he was navigating)
3. Vin Diesel at the airport (this was just a few weeks ago)
4. Newman (from Seinfeld) in sacrament meeting at a church in Virginia

And I have Matthew Broderick's autograph, although I never met him and I have since lost it. I do love him, though.

Number of mice killed in our home: 10.
How this makes me feel inside: DIRTY

My Illustrious Singing Career

When I was little--maybe 7 or 8?--I decided that since I couldn't be in Mrs. Melville's performing group of children called "The Sunshine Generation," I would try out for a really posh and hoity-toity BYU children's choir instead. The details are all so fuzzy for me, though. For instance, I don't know what the posh BYU choir was called, or what is was for. I think it may have been to record some sort of church music album? I don't know when or how or where I heard about the auditions. All I remember is choosing "I Can't Smile Without You" by Barry Manilow as my audtion song, and making my mom leave work early to drive me to the try-outs. I remember going over the song once or twice before going to the Harris Fine Arts Center at the Brigham Young University. I didn't think I needed to practice, as I had been singing "I Can't Smile Without You" (in addition to many other Barry Manilow classics) from atop the piano while Kacy accompanied me since I was three.

My mom seemed a little worried, though. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she kept asking. "Are you ready? Have you practiced?" "What song will you sing? Do you have any back-up music?" The questions kept coming and coming, and I kept staying cool, saying "how hard can this be? I get up there, sing my song, and sit down." I was totally calm, positive that I would be chosen and then Mrs. Melville and her army of snotty "Sunshiners" would be really sorry that they thought they were better than me.

This confidence lasted through the entire car ride and the anxious questioning from my mother. It lasted through the walk in the parking lot. It lasted all the way up the maze of stairs leading to the building. I almost made it through the front door of the building, but then saw a child auditioning through a window. She was polished. We're talking better than even the "Sunshine Generation." Her hair was quaffed, her dress was frilly. She had choreography, for crying out loud. I was wearing a pair of jeans, most likely, and an old sweatshirt. When I saw her I realized just how unprepared I really was for this little gig. I turned and looked at my mother, who knew exactly what I was thinking. Without saying anything, we turned around and walked right back down the stairs of the HFAC, never looking back once. My mom may have run inside to take my name off the audition list. Like I said, the specific details have all left me. All I remember is the humiliation of thinking that I was up for such a cut-throat event, the embarrassment of making my mom take me all the way there only to turn around and leave.

Some people might think that I shouldn't have left the HFAC that day. Some would go on and on about never giving up, being brave, trying new things, etc. But those people are full of malarky. It was the right thing to do to walk away that day. My mother knew it before I did, and it wasn't because she had no faith in me. It was because she knew me better than I did. And she knew my strengths. And singing wasn't one of them. Still not convinced? Well, listen to this, then: when I did finally get up the nerve to audition for the high school musical (some ten years later), did I get a part? Even in the chorus? As an extra? A stage hand? NO. So the peeps who say to keep trying are wrong--when it comes to me and singing, that is. Now the only time I sing is in church, and Mike puts his ear really close to my face, pretending that he can't hear me. And he can't. Cause I give up.

Jesus Wants Holden for a Sun Beam (even if his teacher doesn't)

So I am standing in the hall at church last Sunday and Brother K (soft-spoken, short husband of Sister K, the Sun Beam teacher) comes up to me and says this:



"Gee, your son has a lot of energy." Well, we all know that is code for "your kid is a troublemaker." So I looked surprised and said, "Oh, does he misbehave?" and Brother K said "no, he just has a lot of energy," (translation: I am too polite to tell you what I really think, but I will use this cliche term to get my point across.) He walked away, leaving me puzzled and unnerved.



So, after primary I went to pick up Holden and decided to have a chat with Sister K.



"So, how did he do today?" I asked her hopefully. Well. She just stared at me, as if trying to figure out how to break the news. Then she said, "he's just so YOUNG. He can't keep still for more than two seconds and is just all over the place . . . " upon saying this, she flailed her arms in the air, as if to illustrate exactly how out of control Holden is. Thanks for the visual aid, Sister K.



She said a lot more after that but I was concentrating too hard on not bursting into tears to pay any attention. I couldn't believe it! She did not have one positive thing to say about my boy. Young? Well, of course he's young. He turned three on January first. According to the Primary Manual, "children who are three on or before January first must go into Sun Beams." I struggled with this rule, discussed it with the Primary president, and was told that he'd be fine and it was the right thing to do. Then, THREE WEEKS into Sun Beams his teacher is acting as if he should know the ropes and be able to sit through two hours of lessons (which, if her personality outside the classroom is any indication of her personality inside of it,then those lessons are probably dull as can be). I don't want to rant and rave, here, but don't you think that is a LITTLE insensitive of her? A little un-Sun-Beam-teacher-like? Isn't part of her role to TEACH him to sit still? (I do not pretend that it isn't my role, too. But this is why our children go to church and learn from people besides their parents, right? It takes a village, and for Mormons, it takes a ward--one with a sensitive Sun Beam teacher.)



Now, I am not saying that Holden was wrongfully accused. He DOES have a hard time sitting still, but tell me how that sets him apart from any other three year old in the world--not to mention in that Sun Beam class? What Sun Beam wouldn't run up to the front of the room to stand by his grandmother while she gives the temple lesson? What Sun Beam wouldn't tell the Primary president to sit down and be quiet because he and his grandma are teaching? This is normal stuff, right? And, frankly, there's this other kid that sits and cries the entire time. Holden doesn't do that, at least. And, I won't say that Holden is the ward darling, but I won't NOT say it either. I've only ever heard positive things about him. Most of the other primary teachers love him. "What a character!" they say, or "he's so cute," etc. I mean, the only negative comment I ever got about him was one time when he pushed a kid in nursery--and the negative comment came from a woman who once kissed me on the mouth at girls' camp, so clearly, she's no judge of character. (By the way, her kiss was unsolicited, and came after a casual compliment regarding her cooking. Does THAT warrant a kiss?)



To show just how mean this Sun Beam teacher really is, compare her statement of "he's just so young . . . can't sit still" to the Primary president's observation that "he gets better every week." That's a better way to say that he's not used to things in Primary but he's making progress. I was just dumbfounded. Sister K walked away from me without a single nice word, and I don't remember saying anything to her at all. It's a good thing I am not a very emotional person, or I would have spent a lot longer than ten minutes crying in the miniature stall of the girls' bathroom before pulling myself together and making my way to sacrament meeting (in our ward, sacrament meeting is last. Cruel joke). Of course, I immediately blamed myself as a mother: "Where did I go wrong? What does he not know that other three-year-olds DO know? I want to die, die, die" and so forth.



Mike was trying to comfort me "Men are from Mars" style: "don't be so sensitive. She meant well. Holden is okay. You shouldn't feel so bad about it" etc. This did not help me at all, and made me start to cry all over again. I mean, really, I know I joke about the sweat pants, the hair cut, the "ip" shoes, but Holden is good. He's not better than other children, but he is good. He doesn't have developmental problems, and seems pretty normal. And to have Sister K be so negative... and the kicker is that SHE ASKED TO BE THE SUN BEAM TEACHER. I mean, don't you think she gave up all complaining rights when she requested that position? I mean, actually asked for it?



So now I have no idea what to do next week. Should I a) tell Holden to yack it up and be as loud as he wants, at Sister K's expense? (Which is the revenge style approach.) b) go in there with him to help out, throwing crusty glances in Sister K's direction every few minutes (the passive aggressive revenge style approach) or should I c) talk to Holden ahead of time and help him committ to being a reverent three-year-old? (the healthy, let's-solve-this-problem approach). I need advice.

My Day of Rest

The following things all happened during the three hour block of church last Sunday:



1. Noticed v. posh woman in ward--woman who is engineering teacher at BYU, teaches her kids the value of work, and loves to go backpacking in the woods--wearing NUDE FISHNETS. Feel vindicated.



2. Sat down in Relief Society, only to discover that red high heel was stuck in air vent.



3. Received look of horror and shocked exclamation of "no!" from former Primary president upon explaining that I am in charge of the annual Primary Christmas Pageant. Panic ensued.



4. During Sunday school when Brother Macy asked who the Book of Mormon was intended for, and someone answered "Jew and Gentile" and Mike leaned over to me and said "who doesn't that include?" I replied, "the Chinese." This made Mike v. mad, but I thought was good laugh riot. (PS have nothing against the Chinese. Lived among them for six months and found them delightsome).



5. During sacrament meeting, had to pry Holden off elderly lady's feet.



6. Leaned over to Mike four times during Sunday school and said something to make him feel guilty for going to Mexico over Thanksgiving holiday. Cause it's my job.



7. Like fool, stopped executive secretary in hall to explain that I had a dream in which I was ordered to kill him.



8. Pretended not to know where loud growling sound was coming from during passing of sacrament. (It was Holden, laying on elderly lady's feet).