Boys and Beauty

One of the things I love about raising children is watching them handle new and different situations.  I never quite know how they will respond to challenging and uncomfortable things.  Sometimes, I confess, I shudder in their embarrassment with them.  Other times I giggle to myself at the adorable awkwardness.  In every case, the entertainment value is priceless.  I have been dying to share one such event that is long over due in its report.

So last year was Talmage's first year in Junior High.  Based on his regular reports throughout the year, he did swimmingly well.  With the combination of his unassuming charm and a wardrobe of dark wash denim jeans and trendy plaid shirts with rolled up sleeves, he established himself as a stealthy navigator of the social scene and definitely not awkward.  We heard about the "other" kids who did supposedly fit that description, but Talmage was definitely not one of them.  Imagine our delight when in the spring we learned we would have a chance to observe this "social success" in action at an end of the year Ballroom Dance showcase of sorts, parents invited.  Per-fect:).

Oh my, it did not disappoint.

I could not contain my giggling.

It was the cutest display of awkwardness I think I have ever been privileged to witness.

However, as I sat back and enjoyed the scene before me, something else began to come to mind.  Something a little less amusing than a gym full of pre-to-moderately pubescent thirteen-year-olds uncomfortably asking one another to dance.  As I combed through the pictures a few days later, these sobering thoughts became even more prominent and I have been anxious to express them ever since.

Look at the faces of these girls.

Look at the light.

Look at their vulnerability, their hope.

Look at how utterly darling.

Do they know how precious they are?

I have a friend who just had her 5th girl a few days before I had my 5th boy.  (She also has two boys, by the way.  Some people are just amazing like that.)  Every time she pulls that little girl out of her carrier at church, I swear there is a pouf of pink, glittery, sparkle dust that billows up around her.  It's like a thousand tiny fairies have taken up residence in the aura of this miniature princess.  And it makes my heart flutter.  Let me be clear.  I love and adore my boys.  I wouldn't trade any one of them for the most perfect girl in the world.  However, I always, always wanted to have a daughter.  And not just because I have a deep longing for sparkle and satin and puffy pinkness in my life.  But one of the biggest reasons I have always wanted a girl was so that I could have a re-do of sorts.

You see, I don't exactly look back on my girlhood with pride and satisfaction.  When I look at pictures of myself from between the ages of about ten and up, I remember a girl who very often felt inadequate, incapable, unlovely, and unsure.  There were many different reasons for this that I won't expound upon right now, but included in these was the tentacled reach of a pervasive and inescapable expectation of beauty encouraged by a media driven society. Yes, it was bad then just as it is now.  I so frequently wish I could have understood my worth and value in a more truthful light.  Instead, rather than being the light and influence for good that I could have been with a better comprehension of my intrinsic value, I spent so much of my time in years to come combating the bombardment of lies and deceptions that had permeated my psyche for so long.

Over the years as I have discovered the truth about my worth as a woman, I have thought considerably about what I would teach my own daughter, if I was ever so blessed.  I wanted so badly to raise a daughter who has confidence and belief in herself and knows from Whom her value comes.  I wanted to teach just one girl that so little of our beauty comes from our physical traits and so much more from the way we treat the people around us.  Real beauty is kindness.  It is thoughtfulness and selflessness.  It is intelligence and humor and graciousness.  Beauty is a feeling more than a face, a consciousness more than an exhibition.

How I wished I had a daughter to whom I could teach these truths, that she could be so much more of a force for good than I ever was.

I came to a realization a little while ago that helped change my perspective from wishing for something that wasn't going to be to actually doing something with similar impact.  It occurred to me during a late night conversation with my oldest child over his use of the word "hot" in a text directed to a girl he likes, that though I don't have a daughter, I do have a lot of sons.  Boys who will one day be men!  These boys will have tremendous influence on every girl they come across.  I have to make absolutely certain that they understand the worth and value of each and every girl they meet.  And so, after discovering the offending text, I spent a little extra time saying good night to Talmage that evening.

We discussed at length the reason that, until he is basically married, I did not want him to use the word "hot" to compliment a girl.  Ever. I explained my disdain for that particular descriptor by painting a picture for him of what young girls have to face every single day regarding societal pressure to look a certain way.  After taking some time to describe what it is like for girls, it was clear that to him everything I had just said was completely absurd.  He just couldn't understand it.  Why would a girl think she has to look a certain way to be worth something?  That's silly!  Well, yes, it is.  It is also very real, and perpetuated significantly, however innocently, by the way boys look at, talk to, and think about girls.  Talmage had no idea his little flirtation was contributing so heavily to his crush's sense of self-worth.  And honestly, it probably was fairly harmless, in its singularity.  But think for a moment what that "compliment" was really communicating.  This young girl was finally getting some attention from the cute guy in Spanish class, and it revolved around the way she looked.  More specifically, she just received validation that her efforts to conform to the world's standard of beauty that day just paid off.  "See," her subconscious affirms, "when I wear certain things and do my hair a certain way and put make up on my face (even though I'm still twelve years old) I get attention from the boys I want attention from."  Combine Talmage's unseasoned attempt at saying "I think you're cute and I kind of like you" in a way the world has educated him to do, with all the rest of the messages that girl has had thrown at her in just one day's time, and suddenly "you're hot" becomes a much more destructive one liner.

Poor Talmage.  He had no idea one little text could elicit such an impassioned "good night" talk from his mother.  But, it was a good conversation, an important one, so I didn't feel too mean.  Also, Talmage is of the age right now when it is fascinating to talk about girls, even if in a quasi-reprimanding form.  So I spent a little more time encouraging him to compliment other attractive qualities about girls.  We talked about what it is that really makes him start to like a girl.  He was open with me and confirmed what I already knew.  Sure, it helps when he thinks a girl is pretty.  But, he doesn't care about a made up face and fancy hair.  In fact, girls with lots of make-up on are slightly frightening.  We came up with alternative "one liners" he could use instead of "you're hot":  

"You're eyes look really pretty with that shirt."  

"Wow, you gave a really smart answer."  

"I noticed the other day that you sat by the new girl at lunch.  That was really nice of you."  

"You're fun to be around."  

Okay, so maybe these are a little contrived, perhaps a tiny bit cheesy.  But imagine the impact this would have on girls today if these were the kind of compliments, given sincerely, they were receiving.  I know I would have been a completely different person!

As alluded to, in the process of this conversation I realized that even though I don't have my own daughters, if I teach my boys correctly, they can be a wonderful influence for good in the lives of these precious daughters of God!  Because here's the thing.  As much as we'd like to hope that girls should not gain their sense of worth from the boys around them and that boys should not depend on the attire and attitudes of their female counterparts to control their hormonal instincts--this is not reality.  The fact of the matter is what a girl wears does contribute to even the most disciplined adolescent boy's thoughts.  And, the careless remarks from a boy does impact even the most confident young woman's self worth.  Yes, each individual must be accountable for and in control of their own actions and thoughts.  But we are fooling ourselves if we think that one side does not influence the other.  The happy thing about this verity is that there is power in this sort of influence.  Instead of eschewing it, I feel a great sense of obligation to teach my boys how to make a positive difference for the girls around them.

Because look at them.

They are beautiful.

And they need to know it.

Can we just pause for a second?

You know how when you're a kid and the time between September and December seems to pass at snails pace and you wonder if Christmastime will ever come?  Yeah, time doesn't move slowly like that for me anymore.  Nowadays, I feel a little more like I do in line at Costa Vida, having exactly 45.2 seconds to communicate my very precise and annoying food aversions to the worker behind the food guard whom I can barely understand, not just because of the natural language gap, but also because there are fifteen people within five feet of me either shouting their own requests or loudly making conversation with their dates, hoping with elevated anxiety that when I make it to the register my grilled chicken salad has come through in an edible and somewhat healthy state.  But instead of getting lunch, of course, I am being mom to five rapidly growing boys.  And it is passing far too quickly.  When I finally get a chance to pause for a second and look back on this elusive trick we call time, I see flashes of fun and moments of meaning that I wish I could travel back to and savor for just a bit more.  There is so much happening, so many milestones occurring, so many memories being tucked away (good and bad ones I'm sure), I just pray that in the end I will have chosen the best parts and that my family has been properly nourished.


The other day, I realized that my little Spencer is now the latest casualty in this time eroding phenomenon of life.  It sounds so grim when I put it that way! But I guess I am feeling pretty grumpy about the days passing by so quickly, because on July 5th,  as I was putting him down for the night, it suddenly hit me that in virtually the blink of an eye three months had completely evaporated.  My little angel boy was no longer a "newborn", but a for-real, genuine, bona fide baby.  A squooshy, giggly, rolls in the thighs, sleeping through the night chubster.


And so, if only to assuage this mama's pining heart, here is a quick look back on those precious three months:

His first "bath".  He does like them now.

My amazing, invaluable, beautiful mother.  There truly is no more selfless work than what a grandmother does the first week of a grandbaby's life.

Tummy time.  Never a favorite for my babies, but I just love the inch worm, itty-bittyness!

 A kind friend's newborn photography talents at work.

The sweetest face <3.

Sometimes it's hard for me to wake this cuteness.  His feeding can wait for a moment or two so I can soak this in, right?

Blessing day.  How grateful we are for loving and supportive family.

This proud daddy has killer handsomeness.  Lucky girl, I am:).

We are pretty simple when it comes to Blessing outfits. 

No silk vest and bow tie for this guy.  

A white Polo romper and some awesome hair did just fine:).

 Just chillin' at home.

Graduating to the large bottle.

Sometimes I have to just put him down and take a picture.  I love the decade we live in and the instant availability of archiving images like this that it offers.

Having this face as a "thank you" sure makes changing time not so very bad:).

He is even happily willing to let me pose him in cheesy positions.

As sad as it is to have these weeks entirely gone from existence, never to happen again, it is also pretty fun to see my sweet Spencer grow with each new stage of babyhood.  He is cuddly, loving, fun, adorable, patient (comes with the territory when you're number five, I guess)...nothing less than purely delightful.  And I'm completely in love<3.


Oh, and today this little dude decided to roll over for the first time.  No big deal.

:)

A Few Thoughts on Faith

I just can't take it anymore.  I have got to say something.  I have been passively standing back, reading and agonizing over article after article, feeling increasingly saddened and, to be perfectly frank, hurt by so much of what is being discussed regarding Kate Kelly.  Up until now I have resisted the impulse to speak up because I do not want to throw another thought piece into the proverbial den of lions that seems to characterize the current arena of dialogue, just to see it devoured by bitterness and negativity.  But I am relenting.

What I have to say actually has very little to do with the details of the Ordain Women leader's excommunication from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and more to do with the overall shadow of pessimism and doubt I see lurking in all corners of the social network world in response to it. This is not the first time a person of such influence among members of the church has been formally disciplined by Church leadership, nor is it even the first time a high profile individual has made their separation from the Church so public.  Why then are so many members suddenly questioning their own faith and standing in the aftermath of all of this?

One reason might be the communication age that we live in.  Before when a difficult event might have resulted in significant self-reflection of members' loyalty and testimony, those thoughts and feelings were stewed over in the privacy of their own minds and perhaps discussed within the circle of trusted friends and family members.  With today's technological landscape however, these same sort of feelings are discussed in such a public and sensational way that if a reader wasn't already inclined to second guess his testimony, suddenly it would appear that maybe he should be!  It reminds me of a talk given by President Spencer W. Kimball in 1971 in which he cites the Apostle Paul's prophecies of the latter days:

" 'There are … so many kinds of voices in the world, and none of them is without signification.” (1 Cor. 14:8–10.)  

Paul’s was an impressive voice, powerful and strong, never silenced in all the interim centuries.  There are voices all about us. Some are harsh and raucous, others sweet and penetrating.  Paul’s revelations included visions of these latter days. His voice is saying:  “… in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and doctrines of devils; Speaking lies in hypocrisy; having their conscience seared with a hot iron;' "

So is that it?  Is it simply a matter of deception?  As interesting to consider as this theory might be, it still doesn't approach the crux of the issue for me.  In fact, it simply begs the question in a new light.  Why are some members of the Church so easily swayed by the voices and opinions and intellectual extrapolations of others?  What is it about someone else's spiritual descent that causes some to question their own path?

The answer for me is a tough one, because it is completely inconclusive.

I. Just. Don't. Know.

I can guess, I can theorize, but when it comes down to it I just do not know why certain people hold on and others let go.  All I know is what makes me remain.  That is what I want to share.

I am a devout, "card carrying" Mormon.  In fact, I have often been labeled what is referred to in Mormon culture, a "Molly Mormon".  I don't drink caffeine of any kind, I still kind of cringe when I hear the word "butt" (I struggled to even type out the letters, you guys), I cheer for BYU, and I keep a blog about my family life.  Pretty much, I make a lot of people in my home town of Logan, Utah crazy (I love you all dearly).  I have always been bothered by the tag Molly Mormon. It seems to imply either an air of selfrighteous superiority or of blind compliance to the finest details of gospel living, as though the bearer of the moniker is somehow incapable of or unwilling to think for herself.  I'm not sure which application is more insulting, but I reject both whole heartedly.  The choices I make are very personal and have absolutely nothing to do with anyone else around me and have everything to do with my relationship with Heavenly Father only.  Also, I realize I don't have a brilliant mind, but I do consider myself a proficient thinker.  To suggest that following the tenants of my religion with rigidity infers a level of blind obedience is to overlook the entire concept of faith.

Must we always understand something completely before being willing to obey?  To me, part of demonstrating faith is seeking first to obey, then to understand. Isn't this the pattern of faith that is found again and again in the scriptures?  Namaan must have thought washing in the filthy muck of the Jordan River was the last thing that could possibly cleanse him from his leprosy.  But he obeyed.  And was healed.  The children of Israel must have wondered how on earth staring at a serpent on a stick could ever save a person from death.  But those who complied lived.  

People of faith are often accused of following blindly.  But anyone who lays such an accusation on me and concludes that I must remain in the Church because I have never taken the time or had the courage to examine tough issues is simply wrong.  Do you think I don't know the feeling of lying awake in bed unable to sleep at 2:00 in the morning because my brain is wresting on the concept of Eternity and the actual existence of  God?  Or because my heart is breaking over the principle of polygamy or the historically exclusive nature of the priesthood?  Or because I'm angry that I was never taught about certain parts of our church history?  Or maybe you think I haven't noticed and been upset by the many examples of hypocrisy that can seem so rampant in a church filled by imperfect humans and hierarchal authority.

I am a gospel reader. When I was about sixteen years old I caught the wave of spiritual curiosity and began reading everything I could to learn more.  At first this habit was driven primarily by inquisitiveness.  But I soon observed that the more I learned, the more my desire to improve the way I lived increased as well.  I soon became especially interested in Church History, so when a number of years later I heard about a new book called "A Rough Stone Rolling," by Richard Bushman, I couldn't wait to get my hands on it.  It was a comprehensive biography of the Prophet Joseph Smith and perfect for my current leanings.  Sadly, I had also heard things about this book that for the first time in my gospel study quest caused me pause.  It apparently was creating some level of disturbance in faith among many members of the church because of its unbiased honesty.  For a while, I wondered if I should not read it for fear that it might shake my own faith.  But I couldn't resist it.  My desire is for truth, and if that truth is to be found in difficult things, I will take on the challenge.  And so I did.

I approached the book differently than I had with any other book, with the exception of the Book of Mormon.  I began each reading with a prayer, pleading for the Holy Ghost to be with me to offer understanding and assurance.  When I came to something that was challenging, difficult or uncomfortable, I took time to ponder and pray over it.  There were many questions, many long nights, and many, many prayers.  When the end of the book finally came, I wept.  I wept for Joseph Smith, I wept for the people who killed him, I wept for Emma and the broken hearts of the Saints.  But mostly, I wept over the experience I had just had.  I felt the Holy Ghost so strongly throughout my reading of that book that it became one of the most tangible and emotional experiences of my spiritual life up to that point.  This book that had begun as almost a burden to my soul to read, had become a catalyst for my personal testimony of the prophet Joseph Smith and of the gospel he restored.  It certainly wasn't because all my questions in the process of reading had been answered.  In fact, I probably had fewer questions satisfied than I had left unanswered.  What made my experience such a powerful pinnacle in my spiritual journey were the moments when instead of understanding, comfort was what I received.  Comfort in the conclusion of "I don't know."  Comfort in relying on faith.  The kind of comfort that the Holy Ghost gives when testifying of truth.

This experience was the genesis for all subsequent questioning and lack of understanding I would have as I have chosen to remain faithful to my religion.

There are some things that I. Just. Don't. Know.

For so many, that is difficult to swallow because as finite beings we so desperately want definitive resolutions.  To leave questions hanging in the air creates a bogging uncertainty that goes against the very grain of our being.

But for me now, it is okay to not know some things.  Because based on moments with the Holy Spirit that cannot be denied or suppressed, there are plenty of things that I do know.

I know that there is a God.  I know that Heavenly Father is loving, all knowing, all powerful, kind, forgiving, perfect, just, and that he knows me personally, more than I know myself.

I know that Jesus Christ is His only begotten Son and the Savior of the world.  Without Him, I am nothing.

I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God.  He saw God the Father and Jesus Christ in the Sacred Grove and restored Christ's original church, with all the keys of the Holy Priesthood, upon the earth again.

I know that the Book of Mormon that was translated from gold plates, written by ancient prophets on this American continent, is true.

I know that Jesus Christ is at the head of this church.  I know that He speaks to a living prophet today, President Thomas S. Monson, who holds those same priesthood keys and leads this church through direct revelation from God.

Because of the things that I do know, I choose to have faith in all the rest.  It is because of this that I remain.  And always will.

 

Mother's Day

I have to say,  boys are pretty special.  They are so weird, and gross… but amazing.  Even their weaknesses are strengths in disguise.  Like when they fight over who gets to sit by me on the bench in Sacrament meeting because they have an uncanny ability to create competition out of any circumstance-- it is this same spirit that will ultimately, when my prayers are finally answered, help them succeed in sports, academics, and eventually providing for their families.  And when one child inappropriately reprimands another for not immediately complying with a request from mom… it’s just those protective instincts kicking in.  Like when Ashton and I were on the running/biking trail the other day.  I was running and he was on his rip stick.  Now, typically when the kids come with me in situations like that I will make sure they are on the inside of me, to the right, so that I can protect them should the need arise.  But there comes a point, first with Talmage and now with Ashton, that they just instinctively reverse that, making sure that I am on the inside in case something happens.  So the other day on the trail, without any kind of prompting from me, I noticed Ashton riding to my left.  As I opened my mouth to ask him to ride to my right out of the way of potential hazards, I noticed him motion to me with his hand to move more to the right just as a biker passed by us.  It was then that I noticed that he was surveying our surroundings, in bodyguard-like fashion, purposefully glancing back at me and in every direction as he rode.  He was now protecting me.  


They are really quite remarkable, these men in my life.


Every Mother's Day, I get to enjoy their sweetness on a higher level than usual.  It's really the best:).

My absolute favorite part of Mother's day is receiving their little love offerings.  

Seth was worried that this year's mother's day was going to be a bust because Talmage was the only one who bought me something.  I had to remind him that moms don't care about that.  Yes, a lemon zester or a new spatula or a pretty necklace...we love all these sorts of things.

But if all they ever gave me for the rest of their lives was a homemade creation and thoughtful card, I would be perfectly, 100% satisfied. 

And it sure helps to have this incredible man as a husband.  He made the day so perfect: taking over all kitchen tasks, preparing me a delicious dinner and dessert, making sure the boys had their gifts ready, and helping me feel so loved and appreciated on a day that he knows can be a difficult one for me.  (Too bad he cut himself off in our Mother's Day selfie!)  

I clearly didn't know this was a silly shot.  

For the typical mom, Mother's Day can so easily be a day a of guilt and regret.  I know I have had my fair share of not-so-happy ones, gazing upon other obviously successful and much more capable, talented mothers at church, feeling ever so below par in comparison, wishing the talks would just end already because I'm not sure I can take another minute of perfection on parade.  But I am noticing that over the years, particularly these last three that I have been married to basically the best man on earth, I'm not beating myself up nearly as much as I used to.  I think one major reason is because I have such a solid sense of support and love from a true helpmate and companion who reminds me often that I am more than adequate.  But I also feel as though part of my growth as a mom is occurring as I realize that I am indeed enough.  I am beginning to accept that I make mistakes, regularly, and that is okay.  Because we have a Savior.  He makes up the difference every day, and it's all going to be okay.  It's quite liberating as a parent to come to that place where you finally acknowledge that it's not your job to be perfect.  And it is actually not up to us to save our families.  That is Christ's role!  That bit of recognition brings tremendous relief. Our responsibility is to teach, to nurture, to protect, to provide, to love, and to do our best in the process.  And everybody is capable of doing their best.  I feel like I am growing more and more in this understanding, and because of this growth Mother's Day is becoming a much happier and more fulfilling day.  The guilt is fading away and joy is taking it's place.

I am literally surrounded by testosterone.  All the time. (And it is sometimes worse, because they have friends who like to occasionally drop by.)  But what girl is going to complain about this picture?  This mother's day was joyful because of these guys. It's a blessed life.