Lessons From Nie

I never regularly read NieNie's blog. I first heard about it from Aleatha, when I was planning to have Elisheva at home (which sadly did not happen - although I did have a great experience at the hospital). I read a few of her entries, but I'm very much a blah blah blah blogger, being interpreted as one who writes and also reads others who write in very long sentences with lots and lots to say et cetera (and don't forget my love of parentheses, which is why my blog was shortly named (Parenthetical) Dialogues. {Of course I want to rename my blog right now, but I'm just fickle like that}).

Until Stephanie and Neilson were in a private plane crash, and then suddenly, like many other women, I couldn't stop thinking about them. I kept on looking at her blog, trying to understand. What I was trying to understand, I can't quite say. Life? How one comes to this point? Why trials happen?

I began reading her blog from the beginning; three and a half years ago, when she actually wrote a different blog called Gracie J. Brunswick. I read clear through to the end, which took me about a week, and now I can positivily say that... I still don't know why trials happen.

But I did learn several lessons along the way.

1. Take pictures. Lots of pictures. Life, even messy, sometimes-out-of-focus-self-portraits-cut-off life is beautiful.

Avram sleeping today after church. He's so hard working. Yesterday after working all day, he came home and loaded our belongings into a trailer all evening. (I may or may not have asked him to do this although he was already weary). I'm showing my new dedication to posting odd pictures I would normally not show to anyone.

2. Do I sound as positive about my family as Nie does about hers? I love my husband, and I really love my children, Lydia and Elisheva. Just so you know.

3. Along with this, have I ever told you how much I love my job as a homemaker? It's my most favorite thing I've ever done. I love all aspects; being a mother, designing and decorating and improving my home (I'm particularly excited about this right now, since we'll be in our new home on Friday evening), home "business" managing with the bills and budgets, being a secretary with all the paperwork, being a wife.

Nie continously mentioned how she loved her role in life - the same role that I have, and I really appreciated it. Sometimes I think we as moms tend to talk about the diapers and seemingly overwhelming housecleaning and forget to dwell on the actual important and rewarding parts of our life. I liked how she talked about her handsome husband, and darling children, because I could tell she meant it. She had four children, was under thirty, and was proud of it. I'd like to be like that; I love having children. I'd like to have a large family.

4. I never knew there was a real, non magazine family out there that was that healthy. They had oatmeal for breakfast most days of the week, and are vegetarians, and hence eat tons and tons of veggies (as well as lots of yummy, homemade desserts, because didn't you know? Those are healthy too - at least I think so). I'd like to think that Avram and I are fairly healthy; when I din't babysit full time I made homemade whole wheat bread every week with flour that I ground myself (with an electric grinder; it took all of five minutes - I'm not that amazing). And even when we buy bread we've always bought 100% whole wheat bread - or whole meal bread in England. We also eat vegetables, although more one, maybe two servings a day, instead of the full amount. But I've realized that there's a lot more we can do, and I've become very lazy on our healthy eating ideals during this latest pregnancy and baby. Like I've always wanted to be a family that had oatmeal every morning, and now I've decided that this is actually a realistic goal.

5. I started reading thinking "Well, of course Nie's positive about her life! She lives near family, she has a great home she redecorated herself, and stuff." Then I started reading from the beginning, when she lived in New Jersey across the nation from all family, and then when they did move to Arizona they lived with Christian's parents for 10 months before a house they bid on finally went through and they had their own home again. Sometimes I think that I'm the only other person who isn't living in her own home - and it was good for me to realize that not having the ideal living arrangements doesn't excuse me from being a loving happy person. (Also, it was nice to realize that someone else misses living in Utah as much as I do).

I'd like to formally apologize here, because I feel like I've been a little negative over this summer, because I've often been frustrated that my entire physical belongings are made up of boxes, or that I've been dislocated from settling down for a year and a half, or that I can't decorate my own home, and as much as I love Avram's family, and as gracious and open they have been to our family letting us stay here in between Provo and England and then England and Ohio, I've really struggled to feel happy about my interim life. I know that I'm going to have my own apartment (let's just call it a townhome, since it is a townhome style apartment - doesn't that sound fancier?) soon, but I know that there are other things I struggle with coming to acceptance to, so this can apply to things to come as well.

I could tell that Nie wanted her own home a lot too over those posts for 10 months, but she remained a lot more positive about it than I have.

6. This brings me to number 6: be positive. Nie was very positive about life. I'm a positive person; I've never been depressed, really. But sometimes, maybe even a lot of the time, I've realized I like to complain. Not because I'm not enjoying myself over all, but just because I want Avram, or my family or whomever to be aware that although I'm being giving or kind, that it is a sacrifice for me, or hard. {Avram interjected here and asked me what was taking me so long to write? I told him I had a lot to say. Then he looked at me, and said, "Are you being positive?" I couldn't help but laugh. We had talked about me being positive lately, and working on being more positive in my outlook. See how relevent number six is to my life?}.

7. Spend more time with Lydia and Elisheva; write more about them (this'll make my Mom happy). Do family projects. Have family time. Don't let being on the computer interfere with family time.

8. And finally, be creative with my house. Don't get stuck in the beiges and grays that are so prevelant in current decorating. I don't have her same style at all; I'm more World Travelor/Eclectic than Vintage (I like to buy things wherever I go. I have an ornate iron candle lamp from Syria, Handstiched quilted pillowtops (I hung as pictures) from the Tentmaker's Souk in Egypt, a Wedgewood bowl from England, and Mortars and Pestles from everywhere, because they are my most favorite things ever). So it's not that I just want to become Nie, but more that she reminded me to live a little in decorating, and how fun it can be to explore styles and likes through my physical surroundings.

and finally

9. What a wonderful record a blog can be of a life. I know that they're recovering, although it'll take months, but even if they hadn't (God Forbid), she has touched thousands with her life, her blog, her example. She touched me. I don't know how many I've touched, or inspired ever, whether family, friends, or "strangers." (Once people read my blog, they're not really strangers anymore; then they're friends, so there are no strangers out there, just potential friends. And Stalkers. Which none of you are, so we're all right.) And that's okay. My life doesn't need to be large. If I can go back over my year and a half of writing, and learn from it for myself and for my children so that they can know me, than that's enough. I've wondered before if I'm sort of wasting my time with writing a blog, although I love having one and reading them. I do think I can spend to much time at it, but I also know how often reading others' lives of faith and daily workings toward Zion inspire me (and make me laugh) (in a good way).

While reading her blog, Avram was confused why I was doing this; so now he can know. Summed up, being inspired to be a better Mother, Homemaker, Wife, and Blogger.

P.S. Did you notice the self portrait? I took, and posted it, and didn't analyze how good I looked in it, or whether the background looked nice.

Et Cetera

I like to write. All the time. Good thing I have this great blog thingy to sop up all my excess thoughts, huh?

Some thoughts on my mind right now:

1. My Google reader isn't working. How can it not be working? How can I function in my life on the Internet without it? I cannot actually be expected to hand check every blog out there, can I? That would be like running the electricity in my house by riding a bicycle attached to electric thingies - unacceptable! (My italics are stuck on, too. I'm like the Anne's "friend" who talked in italics). So I'm sorry if you get no comments from me; you need to complain to my broken Google Reader.

2. My very own Avram is out right now, getting his driver's license! This day has been many years, maybe even decades coming - he is 27, after all. I'm very proud of him doing this, although he doesn't want one, but is doing it anyway. And then we can equal opportunity avoid driving, because I don't like to drive either.

3. We are in the midst of going to the mountains of bureaucratic steps involved in moving a car to Ohio that had Utah plates where the Utah registration was rescinded over a year ago, that is currently sitting in Virginia, but has nothing to do with Virginia, and that we'd have to personally go to Ohio to get a trip registration for the car to....drive it to Ohio. I love catch 22s. We were going to buy a three day permit for situations like this, but although the website for Virginia DMV says that we can get one for moving from Virginia, the women on the phone said it's only for moving in Virginia. Plus we would need to get two of these permits, so that we can get our battery checked out at the mechanics, because it's not staying charged now that our car has just sat for a year. Soooo, we need to get that done before we leave. I hate cars. They are like gigantic money buckets, and that's even before we add the issue of buying gas in.

Currently we're going to register our car in Virginia instead of trying to get two permits (good thing Avram became a Virginia resident when he got his learner's permit when we came here before), and get it Virginia plates and everything, and then move, and in a week and a half re-register it in Ohio all over again with Ohio plates. Somebody shoot me. Or my car. But make sure that you have good insurance, so your insurance will pay for a new car for us.

4. My 300 or so chigger bites are still there, especially the rings of fire around my respective ankles, but they are going down, and I can sleep at night, now. So I won't cut off my legs, and I will remember this fondly, or at least with humor, in ten years or so.

5. I have a current obsession with pepperoncinis, also called mild pepper rings. I put them on all my sandwiches and I love them. This is slightly funny, because I hate pickles, and anything that is picked, vinegary, or briny. Except pepperoncinis. They're yummy, and crunchy and slightly tart-like and they only have 5 calories a serving, unlike my other favorite condiment, Best Foods (or Hellman's) mayonnaise, that has a whopping 45 calories a serving.

6. Having house visitors leave makes me feel all directionless. I'm not exactly sure what I aught to be doing. Laundry, probably. And packing for our big move, and something else, something big, but I can't think of exactly what. Oh, yeah, get off the computer and be productive. That would be good.

It's Not That Easy Being Green

I've made the plunge, I've done it. I've gone and lost my mind and bought cloth diapers. It's been a hard decision for me. My little sister Mary, who's pregnant with her first, decided to do cloth diapers, and did a lot of research and preparation. She's talked to me for months about this, and her enthusiasm and dedication to the subject sparked me thinking about it. Back before we knew where we would live, I said that if we moved somewhere that we had our own washer and dryer, I would probably do it then. That sentence had enough clauses in it that I didn't really worry about the actualities of what it means to do cloth diapers. Now we have a place lined up - with the miraculous W&D connections. And in a couple of weeks, we're going to buy some nice used ones to place there, and voila, we have an automatic laundry doer-machiney-thing.

And my previous carefree statement began sticking in my throat. Because now I had to face the actual reality of cloth diapers or no.

No longer would it be the careless, free spirited chucking the dirty diaper into a trash can and carelessly taking it to the dumpster. No, it would be the careful dunk into the toilet to rinse out, then place into a forbidden zone of a pail until I had enough to wash and dry and then fold and put away and repeat ad nauseum.

Thinking of all of this, my might chose disposable diapers.

But, cloth diapers are cheaper in the long run, even with the extra laundry.

My mind chose cloth diapers.

My time is worth something, and it's more of a bother to do cloth diapers and I've never changed a cloth diaper in my life and honestly? I'm scared of them and I can't do this, and did I mention I have a fear of toilets? How could I knowingly dunk cloth into it and still use it again later?

My heart chose disposable diapers.

Did you know that every child that uses disposable diapers adds one ton of waste to a landfill? And that these same diapers will still be decomposing a few hundred years after my precious baby has herself already returned to the Earth and completely decomposed? Although cloth diapers do use water and electricity to clean, these are more renewable resources than landfills. I am a steward over this Earth, and have to be accountable for how I treated it, and so....

My strength (also known as my social conscience) chose once and for all cloth diapers.

I never knew that being green ran so deep in my veins. I think I still don't know, exactly, what happened. It's not that I think I was being completely wasteful as a person by using disposable diapers, but more that I knew I could be doing more, and that it was only my selfish desires and fears keeping me from doing so.

Even with this decision made inside, I still wavered on the outside. I talked to Aleatha about cloth diapers, since her mom had a baby three years ago, and they used cloth diapers on her, just like they had done for all previous of their six children. Aleatha told me that she had always planned to do cloth diapers, and since she had never known anything else, she didn't have to make a jump from the seeming ease of disposable diapers. Aleatha pointed out that I would just have to do it, that I wouldn't be comfortable in using cloth diapers until I used them (at least, this is what I got out of what she told me. Her actual words may have been quite different indeed.)

So, I made the jump. Last week while we were out, I bought cloth diapers. Partly what I had hemmed and hawed about before is that there are so many kinds of cloth diapers out there, and I didn't know what I wanted, and more importantly, what I could afford. Some are just like disposable diapers - preformed and everything, while others are the kind that covered your and my little baby bottoms - the basic "pre fold" that's basically just an absorbent cloth you fold yourself. I wanted the fanciest kind for convenience, and because they're slimmer, but then I realized that the basic ones were six times cheaper overall, and so I bought the good old kind.

I still need to buy the plastic "pants" online, since they didn't have them in the Walmart I was at, and then I'm officially ready to go. I'm kind of excited. I feel like I need to put flowers in my hair, and, I don't know, go to a sit-in or something. Because I think I might be a hippie. Or a granola. After all, I nurse, have natural births, like attachment parenting, sleep with my baby, and now I'm going to cloth diapers as well.

After all, as Kermit says, "I am green and it'll do fine, It's beautiful! And I think it's what I want to be."

P.S. If you don't use cloth diapers, do not think I am condemning you. After all, this was a very difficult decision to come to myself, and I completely understand using disposable diapers.

I'm alive!

I slept! Last night, from about 2:30 to morning! (Excepting of course nursing Elisheva, but since she sleeps in our bed, I don't really wake up for this much). I think I'm over the hump pf recovery, which I am very grateful for.

In other sad news, Samuel and Aleatha left this morning at four a.m. I wish they could have stayed longer; Aleatha and I had some really neat conversations. We don't know when we'll meet again, either, because Samuel is applying for graduate schools for next year, so where they go will depend on our next visit. I love having family; I love being a part of families.

I've been busy dreaming of Ohio. I'm looking forward to seeing what belongins we actually own. Like my kitchen-aid, whom I love (and yes, it is a person). Or all of the cute baby toys and decorations for Lydia and Elisheva's room. Or a baby changing table. I know that they aren't necessary, but I like having them a lot. Also our books; books are like old friends, and having them all packed up makes me feel like my roots are gone. I keep on wanting to look something up or reference something from one of my books, but then I can't. I'm not talking about facts or anything here; I'm not very good at reading non-fiction. I mean like finding out where Anne of Green Gables was in her fictional life when she was my age (pregnant with her first child).

Late Night Thoughts On Being Eaten Alive

I'm dying. I really am. It's two in the morning, and I'm awake, and I'm dying. Of itchiness. I bet you didn't know you could die of that, did you? I'm going to be the first one. Either that, or I'll be the first one to die of being a wimp. My ankles are on fire, my waist, my legs, everything, all because of chiggers. Last year, when I kvetched about poison ivy, I joked about thinking I had chiggars, and so finding out that it was only a plant rash made me feel better. Now I have the real thing, and I'm dying. Although I found out that chiggers don't actually lay eggs in you; that's a myth.

On Thursday we went to be historical and visited Manassas battlefield park, home to two different battles during the civil war.

Avram and I. See the cute shirt and necklace? Totally cost three dollars total for both.

One of them was the first real battle, the one where people came to for a Sunday afternoon picnic, and instead saw slaughter and destruction and the real beginning of the war. Never say you don't learn things of importance on my blog. Anyway, as part of the visit we went on a two and a half mile walk walk through fields and forest, encompassing the main area of the second battle. It was to show perspective, and give locations of major points for the men. One was a house, at the far end of the loop, that now is only a hay field next to a freeway. Another was a farm that was across a second highway, one with no pedestrian bridge over, so we had to turn back.

A Civil War Era historical field

This sounds like it was a wasted walk, but it was a very pleasant one to make, although we didn't really get a sense for anything Civil War era. Samuel pushed the girls most of the way, and Avram and I got to do crazy things like hang back, hold hands, and make light conversation. The air wasn't too hot, and we enjoyed walking through the shady woods. We talked about how my fears of being attacked by ticks kept me from enjoying the woods, and how nice it was to be out in them. Sariah, my sister-in-law early on told us that she had found lots of bugs, but we ignored her seeming sensitivity to nature. Later on she was taking off her shoes and whacking at all the bugs. Even later on she sat down on the ground, almost hysterical, and tried to get all the bugs off. At this point we finally looked down at ourselves, and saw many, many little bugs – like minuscule brown spots. They were all over my skirt.

I started screaming, then realized that we still had a half mile to walk to get back to the car, and there was nothing that I could do at that moment to get them all off. The dejected party, post bug discovery.

So I calmed down, and walked back, where I scraped off all the ones on my feet and legs, but couldn't get them off my skirt. We had planned to stop for custard on the way home, but we couldn't bear the thought of going out in that condition, and so we just bought some ice-cream at a supermarket on the way home to our showers. A shower later, with my clothes washing and everything solved, I felt much better. We had realized these were chiggers, and although I didn't enjoy the experience, I thought we would shortly look back and laugh at our “beautiful” walk.

Then yesterday morning I woke up, and I was covered with little red spots. Avram was covered as well. Some others in the family had them fairly bad, while others only ten or so. We looked it up online, and it turns out the bugs we saw yesterday actually weren't biting us – they were adult and nymph chiggers who live on plant matter. Their larvae relatives are unseen to the human eye, and they were the ones wreaking havoc with my precious body.

And now I'm dying. We did the whole nail polish thing, and it helped, but somehow it still itches anyway. Last night I started scratching, and it was an ugly vicious cycle, until I was jumping up and down and whimpering in pain and that unique uncomfortability that is an itch. I took a bath, and that helped enough to get me to sleep.

Until two am, at least – when I woke up, and exerted all the human will I possibly possess not to scratch myself to death. So now I'm writing this blog post, my greater immediate need to type keeping my hands from scratching. Self control is so hard. I want to cry like a baby. I want to be a baby, where I don't have the motor skills necessary to scratch.

I'm such a wimp. I'm throwing in the towel. I don't want to be a pioneer anymore. I'm sorry I ever expressed an interest, because I keep on being reminded by the world that no, I have no stamina. I hate ticks. I hate poision ivy. I now especially, with a deep inner hatred of things that belong in outer darkness, hate chiggers.

A lot of people don't like Utah for its climate – how dry it is, the lack of rain, the hot Summers. I know that even being from Utah, these things did bother me as well. I used to dream of living in exotic locales, like Maine, where it rained and the grass was green naturally. Now I've lived in other areas, and I want to go back. I think Utah is the promised land. I never had any ticks, or poison ivy, or chiggers there. Virginia? It's beautiful, but I think the land hates me. And I've heard that Ohio has chiggers too. I want to be brave, and not let this experience stop me from going out into nature. I want to be.

But right now I mostly want to crawl inside my apartment there and never go outside. Can you get chiggers in a city? I hope not. I often feel like a prisoner in the home here; outside is gorgeous foliage and trees, but I never go outside, because of my fears of all the bugs. I wish that I weren't a wimp and were strong. Not enough to actually get over my fears, but enough to wish it.

The funny thing is, we did get some ticks, but they weren't really a big deal at all. We caught them before they'd bitten or right when they did, so we just dealt with them and moved on to the bigger problem. It's amazing how with the right perspective I actually preferred ticks.

I've now been awake for an hour, and have had Samuel come out into the living room, with the exact same problem that I have. We talked about chiggers for a while, but now he's tried to go back to bed, and so I should also. Wish me luck, and more importantly, the ability to fall asleep without scratching. That and please attend my funeral – no need to send flowers, you can just donate to the PEF fund.

Update to Previous Post

Read Previous Post Before This One

Update: Aleatha told me that usual chigger bite amounts run in two or threes. So I realize you may all think I'm just whiny. But actually, my conservative estimate is from 150-200 chigger bites. And others have amounts around there. (I counted up to fifty five, but had only done half my stomach and a quarter of one thigh). (Isn't thigh a shocking sounding word? I should just say drumstick instead. A quarter of one drumstick). So have some sympathy, and send us all out of body experiences, because we currently aren't on speaking terms with ours.

P.S. Chigger bites can take three weeks to heal. Pray for us. I'm not kidding. Avram gave me a blessing this morning at four thirty a.m., which is the only way I got back to sleep. Pray of all sorts are good.

Late Night Thoughts On Being Eaten Alive

I'm dying. I really am. It's two in the morning, and I'm awake, and I'm dying. Of itchiness. I bet you didn't know you could die of that, did you? I'm going to be the first one. Either that, or I'll be the first one to die of being a wimp. My ankles are on fire, my waist, my legs, everything, all because of chiggers. Last year, when I kvetched about poison ivy, I joked about thinking I had chiggars, and so finding out that it was only a plant rash made me feel better. Now I have the real thing, and I'm dying. Although I found out that chiggers don't actually lay eggs in you; that's a myth.

On Thursday we went to be historical and visited Manassas battlefield park, home to two different battles during the civil war.

Avram and I. See the cute shirt and necklace? Totally cost three dollars total for both.

One of them was the first real battle, the one where people came to for a Sunday afternoon picnic, and instead saw slaughter and destruction and the real beginning of the war. Never say you don't learn things of importance on my blog. Anyway, as part of the visit we went on a two and a half mile walk walk through fields and forest, encompassing the main area of the second battle. It was to show perspective, and give locations of major points for the men. One was a house, at the far end of the loop, that now is only a hay field next to a freeway. Another was a farm that was across a second highway, one with no pedestrian bridge over, so we had to turn back.

A Civil War Era historical field

This sounds like it was a wasted walk, but it was a very pleasant one to make, although we didn't really get a sense for anything Civil War era. Samuel pushed the girls most of the way, and Avram and I got to do crazy things like hang back, hold hands, and make light conversation. The air wasn't too hot, and we enjoyed walking through the shady woods. We talked about how my fears of being attacked by ticks kept me from enjoying the woods, and how nice it was to be out in them. Sariah, my sister-in-law early on told us that she had found lots of bugs, but we ignored her seeming sensitivity to nature. Later on she was taking off her shoes and whacking at all the bugs. Even later on she sat down on the ground, almost hysterical, and tried to get all the bugs off. At this point we finally looked down at ourselves, and saw many, many little bugs – like minuscule brown spots. They were all over my skirt.

I started screaming, then realized that we still had a half mile to walk to get back to the car, and there was nothing that I could do at that moment to get them all off. The dejected party, post bug discovery.

So I calmed down, and walked back, where I scraped off all the ones on my feet and legs, but couldn't get them off my skirt. We had planned to stop for custard on the way home, but we couldn't bear the thought of going out in that condition, and so we just bought some ice-cream at a supermarket on the way home to our showers. A shower later, with my clothes washing and everything solved, I felt much better. We had realized these were chiggers, and although I didn't enjoy the experience, I thought we would shortly look back and laugh at our “beautiful” walk.

Then yesterday morning I woke up, and I was covered with little red spots. Avram was covered as well. Some others in the family had them fairly bad, while others only ten or so. We looked it up online, and it turns out the bugs we saw yesterday actually weren't biting us – they were adult and nymph chiggers who live on plant matter. Their larvae relatives are unseen to the human eye, and they were the ones wreaking havoc with my precious body.

And now I'm dying. We did the whole nail polish thing, and it helped, but somehow it still itches anyway. Last night I started scratching, and it was an ugly vicious cycle, until I was jumping up and down and whimpering in pain and that unique uncomfortability that is an itch. I took a bath, and that helped enough to get me to sleep.

Until two am, at least – when I woke up, and exerted all the human will I possibly possess not to scratch myself to death. So now I'm writing this blog post, my greater immediate need to type keeping my hands from scratching. Self control is so hard. I want to cry like a baby. I want to be a baby, where I don't have the motor skills necessary to scratch.

I'm such a wimp. I'm throwing in the towel. I don't want to be a pioneer anymore. I'm sorry I ever expressed an interest, because I keep on being reminded by the world that no, I have no stamina. I hate ticks. I hate poision ivy. I now especially, with a deep inner hatred of things that belong in outer darkness, hate chiggers.

A lot of people don't like Utah for its climate – how dry it is, the lack of rain, the hot Summers. I know that even being from Utah, these things did bother me as well. I used to dream of living in exotic locales, like Maine, where it rained and the grass was green naturally. Now I've lived in other areas, and I want to go back. I think Utah is the promised land. I never had any ticks, or poison ivy, or chiggers there. Virginia? It's beautiful, but I think the land hates me. And I've heard that Ohio has chiggers too. I want to be brave, and not let this experience stop me from going out into nature. I want to be.

But right now I mostly want to crawl inside my apartment there and never go outside. Can you get chiggers in a city? I hope not. I often feel like a prisoner in the home here; outside is gorgeous foliage and trees, but I never go outside, because of my fears of all the bugs. I wish that I weren't a wimp and were strong. Not enough to actually get over my fears, but enough to wish it.

The funny thing is, we did get some ticks, but they weren't really a big deal at all. We caught them before they'd bitten or right when they did, so we just dealt with them and moved on to the bigger problem. It's amazing how with the right perspective I actually preferred ticks.

I've now been awake for an hour, and have had Samuel come out into the living room, with the exact same problem that I have. We talked about chiggers for a while, but now he's tried to go back to bed, and so I should also. Wish me luck, and more importantly, the ability to fall asleep without scratching. That and please attend my funeral – no need to send flowers, you can just donate to the PEF fund.

Confession Number Two

Oh, how I love the Goodwill. Or DI. Or any used store. Because I love clothes, but I don't want to spend the money to support the amount of new clothes that I like. We went this week with Aleatha as an all girls trip. I bought lots of clothes and shoes and curtains, and not only was it cheap, I loved it. I love the thrill of going into a store and not knowing exactly what you could come out with - what they might have today, and what's available.

Aleatha says that a lot of going thrift store shopping is being able to see the potential in clothes or other items. Unlike new stores, everything isn't nicely arranged or displayed, and a to die for sweater can be surrounded on either side by fifty old lady sweatersfrom the eighties. So it's a hunt for that sweater, for a unique and femine skirt. All of the ugly clothes tends to disguise the nice clothes, so that when you do see them, you have to separate it out from its neighbors and mentally see it as part of a killer outfit, as cute, in it fullest potential.

I love it. And I love that everything is preshrunk, so that way you don't spend a lot of money on new clothes, only to have them shrink the first time you wear them. Even if money weren't a factor in my life, and let's face it, the more money you have, in some ways the larger a factor it plays in your life, I would still basically exclusively shop at thrift stores. I just love them.

Really what I ought to do here is post some pictures of clothes I've worn from thrift stores, but I'm not that organized. Trust me, though. I have some cute clothes. And I like shopping, too. I don't think I'm one of those people whose hobby is shopping, nor do I think that shopping is therapy. But I do like it. A lot. It's exciting; I never know what sort of exciting new thing I'm going to bring home. Like shoes. I love shoes.

I know I'm rambling. This is because this week has been information and action overload, so all of my spare brain cells are spent. I even just wrote "brain spells" as an example.

Oh, and here for you, Jami, is a bona fide family picture.
And just for kicks, this is me las fall in Yarnton in "my" Manor house. I used to go there and drink pepperimint tea and read and wait for Avram to get out of class. I liked to pretend it was my manor house, and I was British and from the Nineteenth Century.

My Sister-in-law Aleatha

Today I will write about my sister in law, Aleatha, because so much has been happening that I've had a hard time narrowing down what I want to say, so she suggested in jest to write about her, and so I am. I'm a very compliant person, sometimes. Occasionally. Rarely. Really, if I were in a novel, I'd be red-haired, because I'm so stubborn and strong-headed, but this is real life, so I have brown hair. Enough about me.

Avram's brother Samuel, who's my age, and his wife Aleatha are visiting for about a week and a half. Avram and Samuel are best friends, and have been all their life, so who Samuel married was always a slightly important topic to me. I used to hope (and occasionally try) to set Samuel up with already close friends of mine. About four tries later (most of them never actually got to a date stage, let alone anything else; I just thought of someone I knew, and then wished that on his own Samuel and she would spontaneously like each other - that's as far as I go in matchmaking; I'm not a successful matchmaker, just a hopeful one) I gave up, and left the fate of the rest of his eternity to himself.

And then he met Aleatha.

Basically they had a fairytale romance, and last May they got married. Aleatha isn't an in-your-face person, so I never felt like I got to know her really well over the time that they dated and were engaged when Avram and I were still in Provo. It's been great then that she started a blog this past year, and through virtual readings, I got to know her better.

Sometimes I'm a little intimidated by her, because she's beautiful, and tall and skinny. Now, to be completely honest, I think I'm cute, but I'm not tall (at 5'3''), and I've always wanted a couple more inches. But I can't hold that against her, so I try not be jealous. Plus she can sew really well. Since they came on Friday, she's sown together fourteen quilt blocks for a quilt top that her grandma cut the pieces out for. To make all of you feel better, she did have these pieces for the last two years before doing anything with them; nobody's perfect.

Aleatha is sitting her in the room with me while I write this post; it's funny, because I would never just tell her that I wish I were taller, and stuff, but I can write it, knowing that she'll read it, but somehow it's easier/more natural to write out my inner thoughts than to talk about them out loud.

On that topic, it's hard sometimes, because Samuel and Aleatha are very demonstratively romantic. Avram and I aren't. And I tend to compare myself to every other couple, and because I'm harder on myself than anyone else, I always feel like Avram's and mine relationship comes up short to basically every young couple's out there. Sometimes between Lydia and Elisheva, I feel like Avram and I never have the time or ability to be gaggy, as we affectionately call kissing and sitting together and stuff. I wish we were, though. When Avram and I were first married, and we'd walk in from the car together, we'd always walk together. I'd see other couples walking in, where one was ten feet in front of the other, just coming in order of who had gotten out first, or whatnot. I swore to myself then that Avram and I wouldn't be like that; that we'd always walk in together, always care enough about each other to do that.

Well, two kids later, guess what? We go in order of whomever manages to pull the respective child out of her carseat first. And we basically never specially wait to walk in together from the car. I know that we still love each other, and that we have a good relationship. But sometimes I wish that having children (they don't have any yet), didn't mean that on the outside your marriage looks so prosaic. Heck, from the inside a lot of the time my marriage and life seems prosaic.

Err, so I'm talking about me again. I told you that I like to talk about myself. And don't think that I'm all depressed about my life and being a young mother - I'm really happy where I am, and who I'm with. I just like to kvetch sometimes.

Aleatha also shares a birthday with me - October Fourth, except for she's four years younger than me. We decided someday we'll go on a hot air balloon ride for our birthdays together, and leave our husbands at home, because they would hate the experience.

Yesterday we went to Washington D.C. together, just us four and Elisheva. We got a lot of Smithsonian sight seeing done, which I may or may not talk about later (most specifically modern art), and it was nice to feel all exotic and responsablity-less, not counting having Elisheva there, of course. Elisheva was a good sport; she only complained the last half hour of driving home.

So now I'm getting to know Aleatha better in person, and not just from blogs, as well as Samuel and Aleatha together as a married couple. I'm glad that Samuel married someone who's a kindred spirit, and not just a good person, but someone who I can't relate to. Now if only I can get better at listening and not talking all the time, and such I'll get to know her even better, which is exciting. Because I like having a good group/couple dynamic. And I like all of us together.Samuel and Aleatha together, with Elisheva.

She has a year left at BYU finishing her degree in Humanities, and then they'll be moving somewhere for Graduate School for Summer. I hope they move close to us (three hours away, which is the nearest school Samuel's applying to), because then we can get together on long weekends and be all familial like.

This ends my post on Aleatha, although it's really more about me getting to know Aleatha, and wishing that I had such mad sowing skills wherein I sewed clothes all the time and feeling insecure about my marriage. But they're kind of the same, right?

England, England!

I miss England. It's funny, much of the time I spent living there I was homesick for America, or more accurately, for the ease of my life in America. I was reading a book of small essays about England and its traditions today, and as I read it I thought to myself how amazing it would be to actually witness this first-hand, and how England is a land of stories, a land of legend.

And then I remembered - Oh, wait. I did live in England. And I spent much of the time among its bureaucracy, its "nation of shopkeepers" (either Tolkien or C.S. Lewis), and most of all, its nation of the Pound, when I had the spending power of dollars. But occasionally I did get a glimpse of why the idea of England enchants me so much.

Now that I'm across an ocean from it, the day-to-day living has faded, and I only remember the misty mornings, the manor grounds out my window, the medieval architecture of Oxford and the quaint British culturalisms like saying "Bless" at everything.

I'm glad that in my memories the good remains and hard aspects fade. When I first came home from my study abroad in Egypt with subsequent trip to Jordan and Syria, my main topic of sight-seeing was the toilets. Now I actually recall aspects of cultural significance.

My friend RoseE recently talked about how the prospect and occurance of loss make love mean more. I think this especially holds true once something is lost.

Several days later:
Today we made "Bangers and Mash," with Yorkshire Pudding for a taste of the old country. Bangers and Mash are sausages and mashed potatoes, with a gravy. We make an onion gravy, a common one in England (according to the Internet, source of all casual knowledge). Before we went to England a lot of people warned us about British Food - that it was boring, and plain. In reality, we really liked it. It's the kind of food that sticks to your ribs and fills up the corners; it's not fancy, but we appreciated it when it was cold or rainy outside - which describes the vast majority of our time spent in England.

Although I have been missing England, especially after reading this post, now that we have housing in Ohio I've been spending my yearning moments and thoughts getting excited for the future and not feeling poignent about the past. Today I figured out while I fell asleep how to finally once and for all arrange my living room furniture - particularly the cabinet holding our TV that only shows DVDs. You know, the cabinet I have bought yet, to hold the free TV I haven't found yet, with a DVD player I also haven't bought yet.

I'm very good at planning - especially the future that exists only in my mind. It's easier that way, with no actual logistics to worry about.

All Things Lydia

My brain is on only half capacity today, so I may make illogical statements and have horrendous run-on sentences. Subject of the day? Lydia. She'll be two and a half Sept. 2, and has begun using sentences with verbs. On the way home from church recently she was licking a sucker that a sister at Church had given her. Every few minutes she would turn to me and say, "I lofve it, Mama, I lofve it!" She loves to "lofve" things. She also often says, "Don't want it! Don't want it!" although that's usually a must-have, like naps, so she gets it anyway.

I love being able to hold real conversations with her; I suddenly feel like we've entered the rennaissance of toddlerhood, after the long tunnel of dark ages that has been since she had a decided opinion, but couldn't express it. Lydia still has a decided opinion. Over all she's very obedient, but she does have the common streak of her age of wanting to do everything herself, "I do it! I do it!" (You'll note that she usually expresses her thoughts at least twice, but sometimes in a monotony until you recognize her thought by repeating it back to her, and then she'll stop.

Lydia love bikerides with her grandpa (She rides in a trailer in the back).
Her other hobby is posing for pictures.Yesterday at a Young Women's presidency meeting in front everyone she yelled out "Tick!" and then proceeded to pick a pretend tick off her arm, rip off its head (how Avram kills them), and then throw the pieces away.

Lydia loves to play pretend. She finds pretend ticks all the time. She also, in imation of her diabetic grandma, takes an empty tester, "pokes" her finger, shows us the pretend blood, and then pretends to suck off any extra blood.

That's my daughter, you can take her anywhere.

Lydia loves Elisheva.
Lydia finally both sleeps through the night and doesn't cry when we put her down to sleep for either naps or bed. I feel like we've reached a great milestone in life.

She desparately wants to be potty trained. She loves her chair, she loves her underwear (that she never gets to wear), and she loves every part of potty training; sitting on the chair, all things toilet paper, flushing, washing hands.

There's only one problem; Lydia can't for the life of her tell when she needs to go. So despite the long hours she's spent voluntarily sitting on her chair, nothering has every happened there. I keep hoping someday something will occur on accident, and then maybe we can get somewhere with this whole potty-training thing.

In other news, we have an apartment, we move on September fifth, and basically our whole future life is settled, which I'm extremely grateful for. Now I can go back to putting myself to sleep by mentally decorating my townhome apartment. It's very relaxing and puts me right to sleep (I've never really gotten past the living room), but when everything was up in the air, it just make me more anxious and awake.

I'll leave you with more Lydia cuteness.

An Apology Hijacked by a Written Aamiya Hater

I talked earlier about the holy trinity of topics not to be discussed in blogging; money stress, weight issues, and your "intimate" relationship. Actually I was lying about two of these. Conflict, one of the main driving forces of fiction, also drives true-life blogs (the other factor that keeps me reading is voice; also like good fiction). I find that blogs wherein the author has some sort of unresolved conflict/life developments/etc draw me in because I want to know what will happen next, and because they are real people I care more far than I do about fictional characters. For one thing, you can't pray for fictional people; and if you did, I don't think it would help their plights much.

Today I read Sue's blog about being overweight. See, I don't mind if she talks about it; she's funny, poignant, and most importantly not whiny. Same with Tracy about finances. Her husband is currently looking for a job, and so of course money is tight. I always check hoping I'll hear good news, and praying that soon they will hear good news.

What I meant was I don't like people who just aimlessly whine about these topics. Weight and money are awkward. Weight issues tend to feel shallow (although of course they're not, but writing in and of itself is already a two-dimensional medium, and so three-dimensional emotions and feelings tend to sound squished and flat in writing. I think that's why SOOOOO many people write *like this*!!!!! LOL {laughs derisively at the lack of grammar}. They're just trying to bring the spoken register of voice inflection into a written medium without transferring into known and accepted forms of emphasis and language structure. It's really just a written form of Aamiya, which is the spoken form of Arabic. It's so different from the written form, that the two are often indistinguishable as the same language. Our English "Aamiya" is quite obviously the same language, but it's vast differences are only highlighted when written down as if it were the appropriate register to write in.

But I digress from my pet peeve of blog writing (don't worry, if you write like this I still love you. I'm only half a linguistic Prescriptionist - one who says that to be correct English one must follow the rules. The other half of me is a wet and wild Descriptivist, that believes anything a native English speaker say is correct, because by the very act of creating it, you are speaking English, and so it can't be wrong. Just not in the dictionary {Until I see it in the dictionary, it's not correct, in my book - dictionary book, that is.} )

But now I'm really digressing. I can't help it, I've suddenly remembered I have a brain and intellectual opinions and vocabulary words like hermeneutical.

Ahem, I was saying that (see that ahem? That's me being all "spoken register" again. I told you I'm wild) weight issues tend to sound shallow, although they're not. Money issues on the other hand just sound stressed, understandably so. I once came across a blog where on the main page she talked about losing enough weight so that her thighs didn't brush together, and the last time she had been able to do it, her garden border little fence things, which they didn't buy enough of, but that's okay, because they accidentally saved some money, and that was a good thing, because money was tight, and her daughter's potty training, which wasn't going well, and they only had so much underwear for her daughter, because once again, money was tight but she'd only eaten such and such a dessert that day, so that was good.

It was somewhat an overwhelming blog of pity, in the altogether. I'm sure it was just a loss of written ability to garner sympathy, and that in person she comes across as a lot less tunnel-visionally minded on her three topics o' doom. But that was the basis for the first two of my holy trinity.

Except now I just realize it's all about how you talk about it. And not being whiny. Frustrated? Yes. Panicked? Sure. Unsure about the future? Of course. Whiny? Please stop talking. Unless you're particularly clever in your whinyness-then I'll keep reading you for the pleasure of the voice. As long as you have a grasp on grammar and the written register, that is.

P.S. I realize I come across sounding kind of jerky in this post. I really didn't mean to be. I was trying to mitigate my seeming jerkiness and lack of flexibility in life situations of the previous post. Because I'll love you even if you have no much but lots of weight. Really. I am a loving person. Who right about now wishes that she could use more of the spoken register to make this sound a little less flat. So mentally add some sincere inflection into this paragraph, please.

P.P.S. If you ever want to feel better about money, email and ask me what we made last year. I promise you it was less than you did. But we did it while living in England, so we still came out on top.

Please Enjoy the Olympics on my Behalf

I love not having a TV. I don't miss watching shows, commercials are incredibly spastic and noisy to me when I happen to see them on others' TVs, and although I'm not curing cancer, I do feel overall that my life is more productive without a TV.

Except now. Except during the Olympics. Every two years for two weeks the whole world is uniting over and discussing the Olympics, except Thora Shannon. I feel that despite the Internet that I live under a rock, an Olympic-less rock. Because of dial-up, I can't watch the Olympics online, so I can only read about the stories after it's all over, and that's just not the same.

I haven't really watched the Olympics at all since I was sixteen or so, when I was still living at home. The TV was in our basement, and we would all go down and watch the current sport every evening. Every Olympics since then, including the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics, which were centered only an hour from BYU, and in my hometown, nonetheless, I haven't watched them at all. I did go to Salt Lake and wander around pointlessly one day, but that was it.

I'm not an athletic person, and normally I don't watch sports at all. But I do like the Olympics - at least in memory. I don't know why; maybe because the competitors are the best in the world?

I wish that I could have TV, but only every other year, for the Olympics. And every six months for Conference. Of course, I would need Cable for both, the Olympics so that I wouldn't have the inane commentary that everyone is talking about, and for Conference because I'm not in Utah.

So enjoy the Olympics on my behalf. And if you're in Ohio, do you want to donate an analog TV to me, so that I can watch movies on it? Because I've been watching movies on Avram's parent's TV (it's not hooked up, so it can only be used for movies) and I don't think I can go back to watching wide-screen movies on a computer. I have to squint entirely too often for my comfort. I'm hoping with the change-over to only digital TVs will end up with a high-scale analog TV in our proverbial laps.

When the Internet Fails Me

I remember now why I never comment on forums or community style blogs, where people get into discussions in the comments. I went and commented on one today, about a sensitive topic to me, so I did it anonymously. And then I read several comments in return, and although there was a little good advice, for the most part I realized that they hadn't really understood what I meant. And then it hit me, that how in the world could they grasp the situation, when I had only left a couple of paragraphs anonymously?

Those few sentences couldn't possibly represent my whole life history, being, beliefs, trials, past experiences, basically couldn't possibly represent me. I needed for them to understand and give good advice fitting for me, and to be able to do that, they needed was to read a mini-novel that could tell them all this.

And then the epiphany struck; what I really wanted, was a real-life, flesh and blood person, who knew me, to talk to. What a shocking idea - a conversation where someone knows where I'm coming from! Where they know me!

The Internet has failed me. Or maybe I've failed the real world.

Except I haven't talked to people in real life about this particular issue because basically, I'm just at fault and would be whining about things in my life that I can't control, so I shouldn't try (And that's all I'm going to say about that).

I don't think this means that we shouldn't have conversations at all on the Internet. One unique advantage of Internet as media is its interactivity. I love reading others' blogs. I'm not always good at commenting on them, because I don't always know what to say, and every time that I do, I come off looking inane, or writing a novel. After I wrote that comment, I never checked the subsequent comments, because I was terrified that I came off sounding preachy and overly verbose (even for me), and I was half convinced that all the later comments went something like, "Wow, how did you attract such a weirdo who can't shut up to read your blog?"

Ironically, I love it when people I don't know comment on my blogs; I love reading them, and I've never been put off by anything that someone has commented on here. And I like commenting on blogs more than forums, because honestly, people are a lot harsher on forums about people who say things off the cuff of their mouth, and then go back and read them later and wonder, "Did I really come off sounding like that? That isn't me! I'm not that judgmental/pitiful/preachy/insert-embarrassing-behavior-here." On blogs people are usually very kind and excited that you're there. So I'm trying to be better at commenting on blogs when I have something to say (In order to also stave off the, "Hey! I'm commenting! Whoopie!" sort of comments).

Actually, I lied earlier in this post. About the original reason I had the epiphany - after I realized that the Internet had failed me, I read some scriptures, and prayed, and realized at least Heavenly Father and Jesus won't fail me, and they understood me, without me having to write a novel, because they'd seen my whole life as it had happened. And I felt better. I guess that's what I really needed people to tell me online, although it wasn't the actual advice I asked for; it was just the advice that I needed.(it was a Mormon forum type place); be Christlike, read your scriptures, pray, be patient. Seminary answers, except more often then not they're all the real life answers there are, too.

Confessions

1.My brother-in-law Samuel called yesterday, and no other adult was home, so we talked for a while. I really like to talk to Samuel, because we became good friends at BYU - after all, Avram and Samuel are best friends. For the first two years of our marriage, the person we saw the most outside of each other was Samuel, so in my life he was one of my closest friends. Have you ever known siblings who are truly each other's best friends? They are. Although I think that some in my family are that close too. Samuel and I almost never talk on the phone though; he usually talks to his mom or to Avram - which is fine and understandable. But sometimes, I like it when he calls and no one else is home, because then we get to talk. For one thing, we talk about role-playing, and our characters. And usually I only get to talk to Avram about that, so it's nice having a different viewpoint.

2.When people around me who don't understand reading blogs see me on the computer, it makes me self-conscious abut it, because I know that they think that I'm wasting my time. But then they read magazines, or the newspaper, or whatnot, and I really think that blogs are better than most magazine articles. More typos, but less blah blah.

3.I'm really excited for Avram to start school again; he really only thrives when he's attending school. Good thing he's getting a Phd, huh? And then he can become a professor, and never stop going to school. During Summers he gets aimless and goes crazy, although in the last few days he's attached himself to a history of Elizabeth I and so has some direction.

4.Lydia was waking in the middle of every night, and coming to sleep with us. But Avram, Elisheva, Lydia and I do not all fit on a double bed. Avram actually moved to the floor several times. So several days ago we put the round plastic cover things on the doorknob that make it so a kid can't open it, and although she got up the first night and rattled it while screaming for Daddy, since then she's slept like a charm.

5.There was a news article in the newspaper a few days ago about a missing women who had been gone for three years (although never reported), and the police found her in the freezer of her husband. For some reason this has stuck with me; the grossness of it all.

6.When I was pregnant with Lydia and used to have weird hormone-induced thoughts, I worried that somehow I would stick Lydia in the freezer once she was born. On accident, of course. Also, I worried that somehow I would accidentally put her in the oven. Avram joked about it once, to make me feel better, when we were looking in our oven after a cycle of self clean. It didn't make me feel better; I almost started crying.

7.I'm weird when I'm pregnant.

8.I've never stuck Lydia or Elisheva in the freezer, fridge, oven or microwave.

9.Now that I'm attached to Mormon Mommy Blogs, I've been getting new people looking at my blog. It makes me excited. Also, because the blog lists the titles and first lines of the most recent posts, I often consider how exciting and catchy my title and first line are.

10.This post fails that check. (Not that Samuel isn't exciting. But it should be something like, Now that I've won a Million Dollars... or, I See Dead People...).

11.I don't see dead people, but I've always been terrified that I will. When we lived in England there was supposed to be a ghost of a rector in our 350 year old home (that had been a vicarage for 320 years of its existence). I never wrote about that ghost while living there, because I was scared somehow that it would know I wrote about it. The ghost was supposed to haunt the stairs, and there were two staircases in the home, and I always hoped it was the staircase that wasn't part of our apartment.

12.Wouldn't a rector ghost be friendly? I always hoped that if I did meet him, he would tell me to read the bible, or something.

13.I believe in ghosts. I have a lot of dreams about meeting ghosts. And I believe theologically that spirits after they die who can stick around here, usually as a sort of spirit prison. Not to mention the legions of the never-born hosts of Lucifer. I believe that you could only see ghosts if you believe in them - otherwise you wouldn't believe that what you were seeing was a ghost.

14.I hate being caught in my own catch-22s, because this means that I would be able to see ghosts.

15.What have you always wanted to know about me and my thoughts? If you ask me any question in the comments I'll answer it completely, fully, and with all disclosure.

Ramblings in the Wee Hours

Here I am at o'dark thirty, up because Elisheva was fussy before six, and by the time that she fell asleep again, I was so awake I decided to get up. I'm not a morning person in that I don't like getting up early - but once I am up, I really love early morning (hush for those of you, like my mother, who don't think that getting up at 6:10 counts as really early). It's nice, and silent, and still cool outside, and I can use the Internet all by myself.

In updates from my Meta-Stress, Camilla had her baby, Preston Arthur, born at 11:08 pm on August 6. He was 8 lbs 3 oz and 20 1/2 inches long. Talking to her yesterday made me want a new baby, which is funny, because I only have a three month old, and we spent most of the conversation talking about labor, which I don't want. But I love holding a brand new baby, and knowing that a few minutes ago I only had one child, but now I have two, and seeing their wrinkly little face and small rootings and everything. Now I'm starting to sound like Pioneer Woman. And although Elisheva is still very much a baby, she's not a newborn at all anymore.

We still haven't received the application for housing in the mail (I had her read off my address to me last Friday, and it was correct, so I don't know what the problem is). So Avram downloaded a free fax thingy that accepts faxes, and then sends them to your email. Then yesterday I had the manager fax it to me, and voila, I finally filled out the application yesterday. We'll send it back today, and then everything should be amazing. I think that I'm going to write a second post now. Sit tight.

Oh, Matt, you've just confirmed my fears that I'm ruining my daughter's intelligence. She just likes Elmo so much; I think it's ingrained in small children, really.

In Which Thora Learns She's the Bee's Knees

I'm not a musical person. Oh, sure, I played classical Guitar and the violin as a child and in school and such, but what I mean is that I'm not the kind of person who would ever own an ipod. I'll go weeks never listening to any music at all, and when I do half the time it's “Happy Tappin' With Elmo”, for Lydia's benefit. Usually I listen to music when no one else is there (well, grown-ups, Lydia and Elisheva don't count in this), so either in the car when I turn it up loud and sing to it, or when I'm cleaning the house, when I also sing to it. Unless there are no lyrics, of course. I most definitely do not sing along to The Planets.

Ever since high school others around me have had their music tastes, and sometimes they were eclectic and unique vocalists with something to say in a alternative rock way, and sometimes they were mass-publicized and Pop with nothing to say, but most of the time they were eclectic and mass-publicized and all saying the same things about nothing. I was eclectic too, but not in the hip and cool way (insert appropriate slang for my generation here, because I can't think of any). I listened to Cat Stevens and Peter Paul and Mary, not because they were retro and unique, but because we happened to have their records and I liked the way they sounded and I could sing along to them while I played solitaire on the computer. The first CD I ever owned was Gregorian Chanting, picked out by me as a present from my parents for my birthday when I was a teenager, about 13 or 14. I never bought a CD for myself until I was a junior in college. It was Moving, an albulm of Peter, Paul and Mary's.

Suddenly I became wild, and bought CDs like cheap classical ones at Walmart (the best of Baroque, etc) and even a Tim McGraw greatest hits (I'm a sometimes country person) and the soundtrack to O Brother, Where Art Thou. Actually, basically all of my meager personal CD collection came form these few months.

Then, I got engaged and married and didn't have lots of disposable income for my developing music interests, and just took up exploring Avram's already very extensive music collection. From that I broadened my retro music tastes to Arlo Guthrie and Tanglefoot (a Canadian fold group. They're great). Hey, Avram even gave me a CD of Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens – he converted to Islam a long time ago) singing Muslim themed songs. Arabic, Cat Stevens, all in the same place: I love it when my interests coincide.

Mostly though in the last four years I've not thought about music much at all. Until yesterday, when Mom Shannon was trying out a Christmas CD, and hearing it in the other room, I listened to the low, almost jazzy sound of the female singer and realized how much I really liked it. And that reminded me of a music preference of mine; low, mellow female voices, ala Fiona Apple (her first albulm Tidal) and Nora Jones.

Suddenly today I've been looking them up on itunes and listening to two second snippets (it would be thirty seconds, but our dial-up Internet can only deliver the severely shortened versions) and remembering how much I really like their voices, and music style.

And all of a sudden, for the first time since I was in high school, and thought that Alanis Morissette was quirky and Tori Amos's voice beautiful and lyrics genius (and confusing), I realized that I have bona-fide music tastes. And not being in high school any more, I don't need to worry if people around either know or don't know what I'm listening to, and I don't need a cohesive listening genre anyway (this last thing really stopped me, after all, I like bits from almost every genre). See, I feel less frumpy already, because twenty something homemakers who only listen to Seseme Street are frumpy and forgotten, but a twenty something homemaker who has her own vibe and tastes is the bee's knees.

I also explored in two second snippets Carmina Burana, and polyphonic French religious female music like the Anonymous 4 and Hildegard Von Bingen, and I love it. I love it all. Even more amazing, I want to buy it! What I mean here, is I put it on a list, and let Avram buy it for me for birthdays or Christmas, because I have a hard time justifying spending money on music, or books. Avram has the opposite problem; he can buy all the music or books in the world, but balks at things like clothes (which I definitely can buy). He even had a shirt when we got married that read, “When I get a little money, I buy books, and if any is left, I buy food and clothes,” - Erasmus. So I buy him his clothes, and he buys me media and we're all happy.

I don't expect I'll take up ipods and go to concerts, or anything – I haven't had that large of a change of heart. I do feel like I have tastes and they are valid, and I don't need to apologize for not being a music person, because I am one, even if a small one. And whether this means Medieval Baebes (medieval lyrics set to modern Medieval-ish arrangements) or The Fellowship of the Rings soundtrack or even Iz's Over the Rainbow, it's my tastes and I love them.

What do you love?

P.S. I'm continuously amazed by how we our whole lives, but especially in High School, have to be different from everyone around us, but only in carefully pre-arranged ways. Not just in music, but in everything; in clothes, where countless kids express their individuality by all wearing the same color, black, or in all media, where we watch the same popular movies, and read the same popular books about Vampire romance, and be ourselves – just like every one else. We all want to be different, but not too different, then that's just weird.

Now, I'm not condemning something just because everyone is doing it – that's as silly as condemning something because it's different. For example, the greatness that is Lord of the Rings isn't lessened by everyone now liking it. My religious values also aren't lessened because 13 million other people are Mormon and believe what I believe as well. Neither is wearing a medieval clothes and a cloak ridiculous because no one else around is, or being a stay at home mom and having a large family when most of the western world mocks this decision.

I could go on, but I'll end this subsequent soap-box to the main post.

Blather from the Underground

I checked my Google Analytics, and decided to write a post so all my readers didn't abandon me. Now I just have to come up with a topic. I'm all out of rants. Okay, that's not really true, but I can't think of a way to talk about most of them.

Plus I'm trying to watch MASH the television show at the same time, and multi-tasking in your entertainments doesn't really work. For example, I mis-spelled both television and entertainment in the last sentence.

Yesterday we watched "The Phone Call," a BYU film production from 1977. If you haven't seen it, then you should, because it's hilarious. After all, every movie with the soundtrack composed of a bassoon is worth seeing. We also watched Jonny Lingo (the short, not the recent one). We're trying to doctrinate our daughter Lydia in Mormon culture. I remember one ward in my stake decorated their campsite one Young Women's Camp with Cows, to represent their eight-cow wifeness.

Avram got my ring for a really good deal (after Christmas sale) and it's a sapphire, not a diamond, so it was very frugal. Does this mean I'm only a three cow wife? I hope not. Although I'm currently ring-less. (I bought my wife with blood, sweat and tears--I don't know how many cows that is, but it's lots. -ARS.) (I actually don't don't think I'm a three cow wife at all, and I love my ring, and my husband).

One day in February I was drifting in and out of pregnancy and anemia-induced sleep, and Lydia was pulling my ring on and off my finger in fascination. I drifted into deeper sleep. I woke up, and found my ring that evening, on the floor, the normal round shape turned into a new, pointed oval shape.

The mind boggles. My mind boggled. I still don't know what Lydia did to my poor, undeserving ring. But it's completely un-wearable, and so until we get it re-wearable, people think that I have a "partner" not a husband, and my maiden name is Shannon. I always make sure to mention "my Husband" a lot, so no one thinks I obtained these two girls on my own.

So I hope I've convinced you to add my blog to your reader, make you my best friend, or at least not give up on. me. Catch you next time, and I'll hand out free peanuts. Call it a giveaway.

Meta-Stress

I'm having a meta-stressful day. It's where many things are on my mind, but it's not like I'm doing (whether through ability or laziness) anything about them.

My sister Camilla was due on Monday, but I had a dream when she was only about six weeks along that she was pregnant, and due in August. This is before she had told the family she was pregnant, so it was very prophetic. Except, today is August first, so her baby Preston can come, already. I called her today, and she didn't answer her phone. So I momentarily panicked, and thought she might be in the hospital in labour, so I called my Mom. Who also didn't answer. I'd say this was a sure sign, except I called another sister, and she hasn't heard anything about any labour, so they were probably just taking the garbage out. Or at the hospital. I can't decide.

Then, in this last week, three months post-partem from dear Elisheva, I went and got extra stretch marks on my abdomen (isn't that an odd word? I think I should use the ant word instead; I got them on my thorax.) It's not fair! I'm significantly smaller than I was when I was nine months pregnant, so why do the fates of the universe do this to me? I'm aware that this is a very shallow stress. That's why it's only meta. After all, I'm not exactly going out to exercise in the hundred degree heat with the ticks, or anything. And I am unable to confirm my alleged eating of multiple rice krispie treats today. (So I promise not to turn this into a blog of my weight issues from having children. I find this a very tiresome topic, and very discouraging to people without children. After all, as a person am I defined by my stomach either before or after a baby? I really don't have weight issues at all; I weigh less than I did in high school (I gained the freshman fifteen in high school, and lost it in college. I'm weird like that), and I don't think my children ruined my figure.)

Even if I worried about my weight/looks, I've found reading about other's issues on this subject to be boring and monotonous. They belong to the holy trinity of topics to not blog about (in my book. Or blog, as the case may be). They are; weight, money (specifically money stress), and my physical romantic (intimate, for the Mormons) life.

And finally, we asked a week ago for an application for the apartment to be mailed to us, and nothing has come. Hoping that I didn't come across as an Undesirable, I called again today, and the friendly manager had sent it, last Friday! I think the post office ate it. So she's sending another one, but of course now I'm imagining not being approved in time, and having to go somewhere else overpriced and undersafe.

Please, feel free to meta-stress with me. It's mostly composed of surfing the Internet, rocking Elisheva in her bouncy chair with my foot, and eating the occasional rice krispie treat, all while pondering these topics.

What are your meta-stresses?