Something for Earth Day: My Rainforest

Hi friends, this post (marriage: my rainforest) has been reposted here: 

http://guardmarriage.com/marriage-politics 

I have to take it off my blog, so it won't impact the other site's search results for being repeat content. I've just left the ending here, since they didn't take it with the rest of the essay. 

Ciao!

Sally

Please, keep talking . . . "Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe" (Milton)

 photo credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/neanderthal/3721585903/  

My Best Lesson Yet!

Bondage, Passover, and Exodus

That was the title of today's lesson. . . . Oh, haven't mentioned, I teach Gospel Doctrine? . . .That's because I just barely admitted it to myself (even after 6 months).

It's my bi-weekly heart attack . . . and the closest I have ever come to saying no to a calling. (fyi: in my family, saying no to a calling is roughly the equivalent of  . . . oh, I don't know what--but something awful--truly awful. And, I'm nobly passing on this fine tradition to my own children.)

Today was my best lesson ever!

I've been dreading it because it covers so much and it's so important--basically, everything between the death of Joseph and the Exodus out of Egypt--no sweat. 

Moses' miraculous rescue, his childhood as a prince of Egypt, going out to look at "his" people, defending the slave, killing the Egyptian, escape into Midian, life with Reuel/Jethro and Zipporah, children born, meeting with God, burning bush, prophetic calling, rejection by the Pharaoh and the Israelites (he had the toughest job! even worse than Gospel Doctrine teacher), 10 plagues, institution of Passover (don't forget to tie it into the Last Supper and institution of the Sacrament), gather spoils of Egypt, prep to leave, the big exit, Pillar of Fire / Cloud, walk through the Red Sea. Egypt decimated, Israel free.  

I left Sacrament Meeting during the closing hymn to set up my awesome powerpoint. Went for a quick hair check, and coming back into the room, I heard the most magical words: "I thought I had the lesson?" 

Yes! She did. I blew it. Joy! Peace! Love! (Finally, a weakness becomes a strength--calendar problems.)

I absolutely insisted that my fine partner proceed with her lesson. It was delightful. I was totally prepared and didn't have to go through with it--the greatest of all possibilities. 

I love my calling! 


Can someone please explain the freaky formatting issues in blogger? This is getting ridiculous.

Shill Sisters Conference

I don’t usually have two sisters’ conferences in one month, but somehow it happened this year.

Our Shill conference started when we met at the Assembly Hall on Temple Square for a zipping concert of the St. Michael Trio. Wow! It was perfect music and the perfect way to start our summit! I’m so mad we didn’t get a pict. We must have been too overwhelmed by the music!

We missed Elizabeth who was in Guatemala picking up Heather from her mission and Katrina who was coming up for Easter and couldn’t do the trip twice. Amy and Danae joined us Friday night and Saturday, but we never got a picture all together. Ug.

Here are a few highlights.

Sorry, Dad, I’m not great with the timer, and your mantle is to dang high!

Marsali practiced every spare minute she had, making do with the sorry accompanists who had to take turns to keep up with her.

Emily typed her recipes right up to the bitter end.

Party favors! Book about Grandma Inie (with journals of Cora Lindsay Ashton), sealing wax & signet, lemon hand soap, basil seeds, bookmark, and spatula extraordinaire.

Danae read a true life Hallmark story that her parents lived through—amazing!

Saying good-bye.

Sunday evening, Emily joined me, singing with the Draper Temple Choir for a fireside in the Tabernacle. What a place!

David and his brothers, Austin and Ray, also sang in the choir. That's Ray who looks like he's standing next to me.

Between rehearsal and fireside.

Sorry about the eyes, Em, but it was such a cute picture otherwise, I thought your public should have it. 

When Little Girls Play "Guns"

I've noticed something about little girls: their play and work involve a lot of talking. And, I mean A LOT: Talk . . . plan . . . talk some more.

Our cute neighbor boys like to play with guns. They run hard and play what looks to me like random war games: run, chase, duck, feint, serpentine, . . . rinse and repeat. From what I can tell, there is no talking required. They could be deaf and dumb without hampering the game at all.

I don't actually have toy guns--not out of any principle, just lack of interest. But Jonathan has shown the girls how anything with a right angle can be a firearm. Grab the short end and the long end transforms into a gunbarrel: K'Nex, legos, even a Barbie--bent at the waist, she's Napolean's double barrel pistol.

Today, this happened with a tabletop easel.

My easel broke in half at the hinges, making (if you're hugely creative) a perfectly matched set of handguns. Eden brought Alice into the entry for gunplay. Here's the conversation I overheard:

EDEN: "Alice, YOU stand here. . . . I'LL stand here," (3 feet apart, facing each other). "Now, you shoot me, and I shoot you." [Seriously, this had to be discussed.]
ALICE: "No, I shoot!" [This makes no sense: she's two and just needs to say 'no'.]
EDEN: "Ready, go! . . . pieou, pieou . . . pieou, pieou, . . . pieou!" [These are little girl gun sounds.]
"Now, we put our guns down and do 'Ring around the Rosies'."
[Begin rosies and posies, end gun play.]

So goes the warfare of little girls. Aren't girls great?

. . . and when the Huns show up at the border, I think I prefer the warfare of little boys. Boys are great, too!

Whatever you do, don't try to tell me it's environmental! Jonathan made his first Barbie-gun when he was two years old, back when I didn't allow guns of any kind in the house. Nice try, Mom.

In Defense of Snails and Flies

I don't want to be the girl who complains about the weather . . . in Utah . . . in January.

So I won't.

Instead of telling you how it's been 3 solid weeks since I've seen that HUGE MOUNTAIN right in front of my house, I'm going to reminisce about summer and my pots.

I'm thinking, we gave Eden the right name.

I have a sea green flower pot that sits low on one of the landings of my front walk. I fill it with white petunias, some pink begonias, and a sea green vine.

I love this pot.

Last summer, I had the horror of finding several large, juicy snails eating their way through the petunias and begonias. Enraged, I threw the snails to the ground as hard as I could, breaking their shells.

Eden is my witness and accuser. Her high-pitched voice screamed in distress: "MOM! You broke his house! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!"

In the echo of her accusation, my answer sounded thin. "They were eating my flowers."

"SO! YOU BROKE HIS HOUSE?! How would you like it if somebody broke your house."

This struck a memory.

Just a few weeks before, I had heard something similar as I swatted flies in my kitchen: "MOM, THINK OF HOW THE FLY FEELS! THINK. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF SOMEONE SWATTED YOU?"

Honestly, I'm not much of a bug killer. When I find them outside, I feel like I am in their space and give them a shoo. But my kitchen is my space, and I can't cook with flies around. So, in the summer, when my children leave the doors open day and night, I have an evening ritual of purging the flies before I cook.

I'm thinking that whatever connection Eve had with the garden and the animals, survives still in my Eden.

Isn't she sweet?

Linguistic Gymnastics: Thoughts of an 8 Year Old

"Mom, can you lick your own tongue?"

Joanne asked me that as she rolled her tongue around in her mouth. I had to think about it. I don't know, can you lick your own tongue?

And is she really asking about the capacity of the human tongue or could she be probing the boundaries of the word "lick"? I don't know, but I'm completely fascinated that she could even conceive the thought.

After some consideration, I've decided, no, you can't lick your own tongue--like the mirrors in the celestial room where you can't see yourself in the repeating reflection, only the repeated reflection of the person standing next to you--only someone else can lick your tongue, linguistically or otherwise.

Ew. That was gross.

The Last Night of Summer

It's pitch black outside, and I can still hear my children squealing as they ride their bikes around the circle with the neighbor children. I should call them in and put them to bed, but tonight is the last night of Summer. (Sundays don't count.) Monday morning, Joanne, Lizzy, and Sarah head off to school; the rest of them start Wednesday. Play on, sweet peeps! Play as late as you want tonight. I hate to see Summer end, but I'm torn. The last two weeks, my little girls have lazed around complaining, "There's nothing to do," They avoid all forms of work and have tuned out the sound of my voice completely. Just last week I was complaining that I've had enough of summer. Now that it's really ending . . . I'm sad. I have loved the warm nights and hanging flower pots, hours and hours of play time, and the almost constant baking projects (the inescapable fate of a woman with 7 daughters). My kitchen never rests. Lately, we've had lemon bars and Margarita cupcakes,brownies, Texas sheet cakes (many), cookies of every variety (not always recognizable), and loaves and loaves bread (Sarah's newest venture). Somehow the cooking falls back to me when the sun sets earlier and everyone's in school. David just whistled out the window for everyone to come in. Lizzy yelled back, "But, Dad, we're playing Ghost in the Graveyard." "Okay," he said. I guess we're of one mind tonight.

Tooth Fairy Followup

Marguerite lost another tooth. Here's the note she left with her tooth:

Dear Tooth fery, You can giv my haw [You can give me how] much muny you wont.

She's a quick study!

Letter to the Tooth Fairy

My daughter, (please, let her marry a wealthy man), just lost her first tooth. She left this note, in grey crayon, for the Tooth Fairy:

Dear toth fery

Can yuo giv me 20 dolrs?

Unfortunately for her, the Draper Tooth Fairy is a little absent-minded (as all my children know) and forgot to retrieve the tooth that night. In the morning, I saw her thinking deeply about something. She said, "The Tooth Fairy didn't come last night. [Ouch.] I wonder if it's because I asked for 20 dollars."

She's a thinker!

Desert Poetry

We're in Arizona, visiting Emily. It's been a long time, maybe 5 years, since I've been here. Intellectually, I remember that the temperature exceeds 115 regularly; biologically, my body is incapable of adjusting to that reality.

I want to apologize to all you family and friends for dragging you to Arizona in June for our wedding. Yesterday, we took our kids to see the Mesa temple, thinking they might have some passing interest in THE place that facilitated their existence. We couldn't even get a good picture, everyone was moaning and complaining that their lives were in peril.

It made me think of this poem that was taped up on the wall in my dad's office. I was 11 or 12 when I read it for the first time, and I thought it was the most pithy, witty poem I had ever read. I'll put it in brown in honor of the landscape.

The devil wanted a place on earth

Sort of a summer home

A place to spend his vacation Whenever he wanted to roam.

So he picked out Arizona A place both wretched and rough Where the climate was to his liking And the cowboys hardened and tough.

He dried up the streams in the canyons And ordered no rain to fall He dried up the lakes in the valleys Then baked and scorched it all.

Then over his barren country He transplanted shrubs from hell.

. . .

Then he made scorpions and lizards And the ugly old horned toad. He placed spiders of every description Under rocks by the side of the road.

Then he ordered the sun to shine hotter, Hotter and hotter still. Until even the cactus wilted And the old horned lizard took ill.

. . .

'Twas summer now and Satan lay By a prickly pear to rest. The sweat rolled off his swarthy brow So he took off his coat and vest.

"By Golly, " he finally panted, "I did my job too well, I'm going back to where I came from, Arizona is hotter than Hell."

Next Up: Overdosing on Nostalgia . . . OR . . . "You Can't Go Home Again Angel"