The Only Six Toys You Will Ever Need

Toymakers are the world’s greatest fibbers.

All you have to do is go into the toy aisle, find a box that says “Hours of Endless Fun!” take it home, give it to your child and then start the timer.

It won’t be long before the toy breaks, runs out of battery power, or the child gets bored with it. In my eleven-year history of toy buying I have spent a lot of money on these kinds of toys.

Toy companies should understand that I only have four simple desires when it comes to toys:

1. It needs to be creative.

2. It needs to last. In other words, my kids need to be able to throw it, drop it, flush it, smash it, draw on it or leave it outside and still be able to play with it.

3. It needs to help them be self-sufficient, in other words, no mom required. Toys are for kids, not for moms. Moms do enough wonderful things with their kids all the time, so kids need toys that don’t need moms.

4. It needs to be able to grow with the child. You know a toy is a keeper when the child doesn’t toss it aside when they’ve grown older, but instead finds more sophisticated ways to play with it.

Here are the best toys in our house. They might not be the first thing that comes to your mind when you think “toy,” but these take the prize for being worthy of the label “Hours of Endless Fun!”

Numero Uno: Paper

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I’m afraid to say my children alone have probably contributed to the destruction of several forests. (But we recycle!) We go through reams of paper, using it from everything from drawing to writing to crafts to paper airplanes to origami.

Seven years ago someone told me that newspaper printers sometimes give away “end rolls.” I went to a newspaper printer who gave me THREE of these wonderful rolls, for FREE!

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photo by Danny Dyreng

This alone has been one of the best “toys” in our house. We use it for wrapping paper, car cities, big paper projects, banners, etc. We are now down to one roll, but I believe there is still enough to get Levi through childhood.

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2. Tape

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Duct tape: Good for making wallets, hair bows, fixing broken toys (the ones that require Hours of Endless Repairs), doll casts and neighborhood boat races. 

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Painters tape: Good for hanging up pictures, creating barriers, bounderies, and indoor hopscotch games.

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Scotch tape: Good for everything else.

3. Cars!IMG_6051

Oh, how I love cars! I cannot say enough good things about cars. A car fits perfectly in the palm of the hand. Comes in any color, any style. Can be quiet or loud, depending on the driver’s mood. Can play with friends or alone. Can play outside or inside in water, mud or sand. Can fit in a purse, leaves no mess, and is virtually indestructable.

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I’m not reallly sure what boys played with before cars.

 

4. Dolls

Dolls will never go out of style.

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Girls love them at any age. IMG_3810

And dolls don’t have to cost $100.00 to be an excellent confidant and friend. Naomi still won’t part with Olivia.IMG_6182

Olivia is a $19.00 American Girl copy-cat with ratty hair and a lazy eye, and Naomi will not give her away. IMG_6193

Believe me, I’ve tried.

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“Olivia will never go to the thrift store. Ever.”

 

5. Balls

Now, balls are a little bit of a mystery to me, since I have never really understood their appeal. Watching a boy with a ball is like watching a cat with a semi-dead mouse. They go a little berserk. This toy does break my “no mom required” requirement but ultimately he won’t need me anymore, in fact, he will be glad when he finally gets a real pitcher.IMG_6064

 

6. Books

This is what my kids revert to at the end of the day. It is their happy place, and mine.

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Hours, ladies and gentlemen of the toy-making industry, hours and hours of endless fun . . .

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. . . and quiet.

There are other “toys” that didn’t make this list like sand, water, sidewalk chalk, sticks and string, but you get the point. There are a lot of great toys out there. A couple of them come from the toy store.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Good Things to Come

Good things are coming this way! I can’t spill the news just yet, but suffice it to say that a small dream will soon become a reality in the next coming year. This will necessitate adding a new exciting page to my blog. (Probably more exciting for me than anyone else!)

It has been a long time coming, and now that it is finally happening I wonder if most of the fun is in ancipating events like these and not so much in the culmination. Well, we shall see.

But it has been a very exciting journey, one that has made a huge impression on my life and the lives of those in my home. I can’t wait to share it with you.

Agony!

For only for a few more days, I hope! It is a good thing I have plenty to do in the meantime . . .

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What is a “Strong Woman”?

I have three daughters, and like every mother, I would like to raise them to be “strong women.”

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But what does that mean?

I’m sure everyone has their own idea of what a “strong woman” is. But this phrase gets thrown around so much that I want to define it in my own terms for my daughters so they know the meaning that I give it, lest they think that being a “strong woman” means they should aspire to be Katy Perry.

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Often we hear the term “strong woman” describing women who are in charge. A woman who shakes things up. A woman who can win arguments and lead and wave flags around and protest against conformity, authority, superiority, and all the other -orities. A woman who personifies the bumper sticker: Well-behaved women seldom make history. 

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When I first saw that slogan I thought it was kind of clever. But the more I thought about it the more I decided that its message is not quite accurate.

Take my mother, for instance. My mother grew up in a poor family with a father who never believed she could go to college. She proved him wrong. She went to college. She became a scientist and studied at Harvard. She published papers, won awards and became world famous. Later on she won the Nobel Prize. Haven’t you ever heard of Dr. Patricia Q. Bagley?

No you haven’t. Because after my mom graduated from college she stayed home to raise seven children.

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She never ran for anything, she never made any money, she never had a job outside the home. But she was an exceptionally good mom. And she sacrificed a lot to put us at the center of her world.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I am not saying that the female presidents and doctors and CEOs and lawyers are not strong women. These women are amazing. They are what I call Obviously Strong Women.

But can a woman be strong if she would rather study dance instead of engineering?

Can a woman be a strong with no degree at all?

What about the NSOSW?

(the Not So Obviously Strong Women)

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Let’s have some fun. Let’s go back to the bumper sticker and dissect it.

The first part: Being well-behaved. That word is purposely condescending, suggesting that women who are well-behaved are much like a good dog.

But being “well-behaved” also means that you have self-control. It means you know when to open your mouth and when to keep it shut. It means you are considerate of the feelings of others. It means you are wise. Being well-behaved is something I’ve tried my whole life to be, and it is not easy!

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It would be much easier to yell when I feel like yelling. It would be easier to tell someone EXACTLY WHAT I THINK OF THEM than breathe, breathe, breathe . . . and forgive. It would be easier to FREAK OUT whenever I encounter something that makes me afraid, than to study it, understand it and see it for what it really is.

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Second part: Is “making history” really what a woman of true strength is aspiring for? Many Obviously Strong Women definitely gain fame in the process, but in my definition, Obviously Strong Women who become famous for being strong were not searching for fame at the beginning of their journey. They were trying to correct something, establish something, change something or stand for something. “Fame” was something other people created while these women had their shoulders to the wheel and their feet in the mud.


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Being a “strong woman” in the context of the Mormon church

Women in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints have always been given a lot of responsibility. We have callings, we lead, we teach, we administrate and we preach from the pulpit, in addition to the responsibility of caring for our children. Many women serve full-time missions. But women are not given the priesthood.  This bothers some women, but it has never bothered me and I’ll explain why.

When Scott and I were first married we went to an intramural basketball game early one Saturday morning, and one of the players, a friend of ours named Richard, was dribbling the ball across the court when something odd started happening. He slowed, he staggered, and then he crumpled to the ground. By the time we approached him to see what was the matter he was unconscious. Three seconds later he was not breathing. A couple of guys went to call an ambulance. I knelt down next to him and sealed my mouth on his and breathed into his lungs. It was easier than I thought it would be. But then he lost his pulse. I started doing chest compressions while another girl took over with the breaths.

(I’m not fibbing this time, by the way.)

The guys who were playing basketball a moment before watched. Soon some of them knelt down at Richard’s head and gave him a priesthood blessing. The paramedics arrived and took Richard away. He was in a coma for three days.

But he lived.

I’ve often thought of this experience in the years since. Did he live because he got CPR? Or did he live because the boys gave him a blessing? I have no idea, but I’m glad he got both. We were ALL using our own specialized talents to do everything in our power to keep our friend alive. We can’t all run around giving people priesthood blessings and calling for ambulances. Someone has to keep the blood pumping through the heart.

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Strong women support men, just as strong men support women. But is it possible for a strong man and a strong woman to coexist together? Or does one have to be pushed aside so the other can be “the leader”?  I believe they can. Especially when they value each other’s different and essential roles. Having different roles forces us to depend on each other. The perfect match for a strong woman is not a weak man, and a strong man does not have to settle for a weak woman. We marry our equal, but not our identical.

When I was 7 or 8 years old I remember standing at the top of my driveway and seeing something strange coming up the long dirt road. Two people were walking up the road, a taller one and a shorter one. The taller one was struggling, leaning against the shorter. I remember feeling alarmed when I realized it was my parents. My parents never walked so close to each other like that, and especially not in public. Then it dawned on me. My father had had a seizure. I knew that my dad sometimes had seizures, and even though I had never witnessed one myself, I knew that he must have had one at the filling station where he worked, and that my mom was helping him back to the house. I will never forget that intimate moment as my strong, capable, indestructible father leaned completely on the slender shoulders of my mother. It has since become a powerful and very symbolic reminder to me that taking a supporting role is not a sign of weakness.

Ultimately I believe a strong woman is someone who has not conquered the world or conquered other people but has conquered herself. She has recognized in herself a flaw, whether it be anger, self-pity, doubt, intolerance, impatience, or selfishness and she worked hard to overcome that weakness. Or perhaps she is still working on it. Every. Single. Day.

And, ironically, could that not also be the definition of a strong man?

Not all of us have the capacity, the ability or opportunity to become wives, mothers, engineers, doctors, gold medalists or presidents of the United States. And whether or not we are “strong” should not be measured by how much money we make or how many children we bear. For we all have the ability to be kind, selfless, honest, loving, forgiving.  We all can be on a constant quest for refinement and excellence. And that, my dear daughters, is my definition of strong.

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Eight

There is something magical about turning eight years old.

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You can think for yourself. You can ride a bike, swim, do math, read, make goals and most most importantly, have self-control. You are practically a grown up, except that you haven’t yet forgotten how to have fun.

In the scriptures the number 8 symbolizes new beginnings. Think about it . . . Jewish babies were circumcised at 8 days, there were 8 people on the ark, and there were 8 Jaredite barges that travelled a new land in the Americas. (If you are unfamiliar with that Bible story, don’t worry. There are a lot more where that one came from.)

So in the Mormon church we believe 8 is the age when a child can make decisions for herself. She has faith in Jesus Christ. She understands how to repent. With this knowledge she is ready to be baptized.

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We do not baptize infants because infants they are too young to be accountable for the things they do. Small children are innocent and guiltless, and there is no need for baptism, for their salvation has already been paid for by the Savior’s atonement.

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After she is baptized with water she will be baptized with fire. That is, she will be given the Gift of the Holy Ghost. If she keeps herself clean and worthy the Holy Ghost will be a constant companion and friend who will teach her the truth of all things. Did you catch that? I said: The Truth of All Things.

Baptisms are significant. They are a “saving” ordinance, meaning you cannot be saved without it.  Many people come to watch this great event in your life. Grandparents travel across continents and you get to invite your best friends.

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Even your little brother gets all dressed up . . .

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. . . for a little while, at least.

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(By the way, the tie has been found, and the reward will be given.)

Grown-ups get a little excited about baptisms and they do all kinds of nice things for you. Like your mom might ask all your aunts and uncles and cousins to send you their testimonies.

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So thanks for being born, Naomi. And thanks for turning 8. We are proud of you.

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Now you can stop growing up, okay?

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I Just Wanted You To Know

Today I woke up to the sound of a trumpet, a violin, a clarinet and a piano playing a version of Happy Birthday that also could have doubled as a Halloween movie theme song. It was all to celebrate my freshly-turned-five-year-old boy.

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There was a from-scratch breakfast to make, presents to open, a diaper to change, a puppy to let out in to the backyard, a cat to feed. Daddy is 2000 miles away, bringing home the bacon. But even though he’s gone we still read our scriptures and say our morning prayer (offered by Dan whom I promised could say all the prayers today because it is his birthday). We have our normal scoldings (“You are not done practicing the piano yet, young lady!”) and as usual it takes us fifteen minutes to get from the door to the car since the cat always finds a way to slink into the house and someone always forgets a lunch or a coat or an instrument. Once we are in the car everyone fights like tigers about who is getting in the back seat, even though we made a van seating chart called “The Great Van of Happiness” which doesn’t seem to be working.

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One of Levi’s favorite things to do. Sit at a little table reading a little book.

I take them to school, say I love yous and come home to find the dog piddled in his crate. Then I have breakfast to clean up, a shower to take (“Dan, make sure Levi doesn’t get into the knives, play with plastic bags, drink clorox, open the front door or put anything small in his mouth. I’ll be out in ten minutes”). Once I am clean I spend time with Dan, mounting his new license plate and discussing the other license plates he has on his wall. He asks me what it says on every one. When we get to the Idaho plate I tell him that it says “Famous Potatoes.” He gets a funny look on his face and starts laughing. He doesn’t stop laughing for five full minutes.

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We call Grammie to thank her for the gift she sent. Dan talks her ear off telling her about every second of his day so far. Then it is time for Levi to go down. We play peek-a-boo for a minute so we can leave him happy in his bed. Then Dan goes in front of the t.v. and it is MY TIME.

I write my nanowrimo novel.

It is a ghost story.

Before I know it Levi is awake. It is time for lunch with my boys. After lunch we wrestle. Actually Levi doesn’t wrestle, he just lays on you and rolls around like a walrus. This is pretty much the best part of the day.

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Then it is time to pick up the girls. I pack their piano bags (3 note books and 10 other music books) and dozen chocolate chunk bran refrigerator muffins that I baked during the wrestling match. I get to the threshold of the door and find out I need to change a diaper at the exact moment the cat slithers passed me and Dan is demanding that I bring him a snack for the road.

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The dog is whining in his crate so I take him out again just before we go. Fifteen minutes later we are in the car.

I want to listen to NPR but Danny wants to listen to an extremely annoying CD of scripture songs set to rock and roll music. We listen to that because, after all, it is his birthday. Tomorrow it will be back to NPR.

We pick up the girls at two different schools. This takes an hour, so in between we make a run to the library and check out a few books. Books about cars, of course.

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We pick up the girls. We ask them about their day. They munch on the muffins. Then we drop them off at piano.  (The girls, not the muffins.) We go to a park and play a game called “Don’t Touch Blue” which Danny thinks it is hilarious. We make up more rules to make it even more hilarious. We leave the park smiling.

We go to the grocery store. I let Dan get a book with mazes since it is his birthday and since he is aMAZEing. By the time we are done shopping it is dark outside and Levi is crying. He is ready for bed. We pick up the girls. We come home. The dog piddled in his crate again. Boo hoo.

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Naomi’s hair on her baptism day.

I make dinner. Pizza for me and Dan (a birthday promise) and mac and cheese for everyone else. No surprise there. Grandma calls. Daddy calls. Then it is homework and bed. There are arguments, as always. Naomi is mad at Dan who is mad at Sophie who is mad at the world. There are last minute stomach aches and headaches. Dan gets five extra kisses cause he’s five: one on his nose, one one his forehead two on his cheeks and one on his neck to make him laugh. Will you let me do this when you are sixteen? I ask. Yes, he says. Now it’s my turn to laugh. Syrena gets a reminder about practicing piano in the morning. Tears are wiped. More kisses given. Lights out.

Dog needs my attention. Curse you, dog. Where is your master?

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Against my will I play with the dog and teach it to fetch his toy.

I tidy the house. It is my turn for Joyschool in the morning. It will be another wild day.

I write this post. As I write I can hear the baby in the room above me. He is waking up for some reason. I cross my fingers that he will go back to sleep soon, but I will probably have to go up and change his diaper and give him another bottle.

I still have to take out the dog one last time. Is that rain I hear?

This is my day. No one took a photo of me. No one patted me on the back. No one gave me an A or a medal or handshake or money. I got paid in kisses and hugs, and I got lots–and I mean LOTS–of attention. And all throughout my day I thought about how much I love doing this. I LOVE it. I love being a mom. Motherhood is so hard and it is so not glamorous, but it is the greatest job in the world.

I just wanted you to know that.

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The Death of Cursive and Other Catastrophes of Minor Importance

I am entering unchartered waters.

Neither my mother nor my grandmother can help me with this, and my friends are all caught up in the same current.

We are the parents of the first generation of screen-taught children, and something about it makes me feel very uneasy.

All of my kids have Smart Boards in their classrooms. My second grader regularly gets on the computer at school. My sixth graders were given laptops this year to bring home. They use their laptops at school and then they come home and do 90% of their homework on them. For several hours.IMG_5293

They are learning.

I think.

Now, I will be the first to say that technology is amazing. It has enhanced and enriched my life in so many ways.  But at the same time, when I see my kids parked on the couch like this part of me screams inside. I feel this is all too early, and I think we will regret exposing them to so much when they are still so young. I know that schools feel pressure to be technologically savvy and everyone wants to be on the cutting edge of education, but I feel like the cutting edge of education is excellent teachers (which my kids have), and not screens.

While they were taught not give out personal info on their laptops, my 11-year-olds were not given any guidance concerning pornography; what it is, and what they should do if they see it. They were instructed to simply “not view pornographic images” and to “use your laptop in public areas of the house.” The school seems to have confidence that the students will explicitly obey these instructions. I guess none of us have to worry. Whew!

Then I find out that the kids are sometimes asked to gather images to post into their homework. It doesn’t take long for a child to learn that the fastest way to gather images is to search under Images on Google. If the schools think the children will not come across pornography that way, they are in fantasyland. (I looked up “cow” the other day under Images for an art project and stumbled upon a couple of surprises! Yikes!)

But I can see how the schools’ hands are tied. They are as mystified as parents are when it comes to the appropriate way to explain pornography to kids that young. And that very fact should clue us in. Should we be letting our children use any device if the warning label alone is too dangerous to be explained?

I think it is important for kids to learn with computers, and I think it is vital that they have laptops. I just can’t help wondering if this could all wait a few more years. There are things they need to know first, things they need to experience first, and self-discipline that they need to develop. As adults they will be on computers for the rest of their lives. Their childhood should be kept as pristine and protected as a National Park. I want them to be kids now. I want them to draw, imagine, run, scribble, play outside. Am I using enough italics to get my point across?

Not only that, but the year after my twins learned cursive the school stopped teaching it.  No more cursive. That means my younger children will never be able to read this:

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Pages of my journal. This particular entry is a poem I wrote in college about wishing I had my own washing machine. Boring, you say? Well, that is because the juicy stuff is on the next page. 🙂

My kids will also not be able to read this:

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A letter written by my mother

Cursive is going to be as readable as a foreign language.

Of course, I can’t let this happen to my children, so I will teach them the lost arts of Cursive and other outdated practices like Brainstorming and Coming Up With Original Ideas Not Found On Pinterest and Writing Thank-You Letters By Hand.

But all is not lost. Recently my daughter Naomi came up to me and said, “Mom I have one week left of my personal goal.”

Me: “What is your personal goal?”

Naomi: “To not play computer games for four weeks.”

My mouth dropped open. In my mind I quickly reviewed Naomi’s activities of the last three weeks and sure enough, Naomi had never asked to play on the computer (which I grudgingly allow after all homework and piano practicing is finished). Instead she had drawn stacks and stacks of beautiful pictures. She had read dozens of books. I was so proud of her I almost exploded. A week later, when she finally finished her “personal goal,” I let her play on the computer. She only asked for 20 min and she hasn’t asked since.

If we took all the time we spent on computers and used it to draw, think of what great artists we’d be. If we took that time and practiced an instrument, threw a ball back and forth, read books . . . think of what we could do. Well, there ARE kids out there that doing that. And I believe they will be the creative leaders in the future because they had a creative beginning.

We are riding a wave of technology that leads to Who-knows-where, and in the process we are tossing many treasured things overboard. In my mind I imagine me and my mother-friends being sucked into this swift, uncharted current of technology and shouting out to each other, “What should we do?”

The easy answer is, “Let’s just see where it takes us!”

To me that sounds like some famous last words.

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The Holiday No One Knows About

Today is Grandparents Day. Betcha didn’t know that. It is not a day people normally pull out the streamers for, but I think my kids have some pretty fantastic grandparents. Let me show you my brag book.

DSC02159This is Doug. He knows how to have fun. He owns four wheelers, go-carts, ping-pong tables and makes ice-skating rinks in the winter.

 

IMG_5269Here are Patsy and Valerie: leaders, mothers, missionaries, and birthday rememberers. They know just what to say at any given moment and can make any home smell delicious in under 30 minutes.  They make mothering seem simple. And they tell you so, too.

 

IMG_5038This is Terry, our honorary grandfather, keeper of horses,  healer of broken hearts, and family godsend. Tough and tender-hearted and generous to no end.

 

SONY DSCThis is Jerry, fireworks salesman, world traveller, problem solver and celebrated slayer of nightmares.  He has shared a pillow with my daughter for years, even though they have never met.

 

Our kids have always lived over a thousand miles away from their grandparents, but that hasn’t stopped them from creating great relationships together. No one can leave an imprint on a child’s mind the way a grandparent can.  We are grateful for ours.

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Friends for Life

Sometimes I think that the friendships my children have right now are fleeting and won’t add up to much later on. But then I remember this:

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Nicki and I, all dressed up for the 5th grade Thanksgiving play

 

This is Nicki Hunter, my best friend in middle school. I moved away from Jackson when I was 12 and we never saw each other again . . . . until last week.

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Nicki and I, twenty-five years later

We knew of each other’s whereabouts, but we didn’t contact each other until the miracle of Facebook. As luck would have it, she and my mom now live in the same mountain town in Wyoming. So last week I stopped by to see her. All of our kids are about the same ages, including these two, who are just a few weeks apart.

When one makes a friend in childhood those ties can last a lifetime.  Thanks, Nicki, for being my friend for so long!

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Strange Mormon Customs: The Bishop & Me

Here is a crazy scenario for you: What would you do if your husband, just an ordinary guy with an ordinary job, was suddenly asked to be the minister of your church? How would you feel about that? How would it affect the relationship with your neighbors and friends? Would they treat you differently? Would people start to expect more of your family?  How would you feel, being married to the minister?

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Me and the bishop in a meadow filled with flowers. This is going to take some getting used to.

Most people don’t have to worry about this scenario. But Mormons do.

What is a bishop?

A bishop is the Mormon version of a pastor or a minister. He is called to serve and preside over a congregation (ward) of about 300-400 people.   I asked my husband what the official duties of a bishop are and he said, “There’s like . . . a thousand of them.”  So I looked it up and the bishop’s duties are mainly six:

1. He is the spiritual leader of the congregation

2. He presides over the Sunday services in the church

3. He leads the youth and teaches them about their priesthood responsibilities

4. He helps people who have committed serious sins and encourages them to repent

5. He manages tithes and organizes financial assistance to members of the ward who are in need

6. Organizes and manages other organizations in the ward (Relief Society, Young Men and Young Women, and Primary)

See, Scotty? The bishop doesn’t do that much.

How is a bishop selected?

In our church you don’t “run” for bishop. You don’t campaign for it, you don’t petition for it, you don’t apply for it, and you don’t ask for it.  Because “aspiring to the honors of men” is the opposite of what the priesthood is about.

All assignments in our church, including the bishop are given by revelation. Although a bishop is selected by the stake president, the calling must be confirmed in the stake president’s mind by the still small voice. There are many qualified people who could serve as the bishop of a ward, but it all comes down to the Spirit. We believe that in the end, it is God who selects the bishop.

How is a new bishop trained?

The new bishop usually has very little warning that he is going to be bishop– no time to go to a divinity school or seminary. There is no training period. Everything is learned on the job. One day he is sitting with his family in the congregation, the next day he is whisked up to the stand, leaving his wife and children on the bench to weep like orphans.  Then he stays behind the podium for five to six YEARS until it is time for someone else to have a turn. Sometimes a man will serve as one of the two bishop’s counselors for a while before becoming a bishop (as in Scott’s case; has been a counselor for the past 3 years) and that is helpful, but it is not a prerequisite.

How much does he get paid?

Zero. Every calling in Mormondom is pro bono. And that is why it works so well.

All of my past bishops worked in other professions. For example, I had one bishop who was a painter of fine art. One owned a golf course. One sold motorcycles and atvs. One was a computer programmer, one sold real estate, one was a plant manager, one was a biostatistician.

Now our ward will have a tax professor.

When you consider that Mormon bishops are not trained clergymen, and are unpaid for all of their time, you should also come to the conclusion that Mormon bishops have a learning curve. The bishop (like the rest of us) deserves forgiveness. In advance. His over-supportive, enthusiastic, blogger wife? Even more forgiveness. Which leads me to my next topic:

The bishop’s wife

I found it interesting that when the stake president called Scott to serve as bishop he met with us both. He spoke to both him and me. He told us it was our calling (plural) not his calling. There will be much of Scott’s calling that I will not know about because he will be helping people work through the process of repentance and he will be helping people with welfare needs–both are confidential matters not to be discussed with anyone, even (and probably especially) a wife. But there will be many ways I can help him. Also, I will have to do more at home without him since I will have to share his free time with the rest of the ward. And, when he is overwhelmed with responsibilities and concerns it will be my job to make him laugh and recuperate. But if Scott has a burden to carry, I will not let him carry it by himself. I mean really, look how strong my arms are. That man needs me.

There is a quote by C.S. Lewis, the most famous non-Mormon to be quoted constantly by Mormons, that says,

The homemaker has the ultimate career. All other careers exist for one purpose only–and that is to support the ultimate career.

Scott’s main job as bishop is going to be to strengthen families by bringing them to Christ. But that is what I do for our family every day. minute. second. Some people might say that I will be supporting my husband in this calling. That I am his sidekick. That I am his cornerman. But you could also look at it the other way around, that his calling is supporting me, and that, by being a bishop, he is my sidekick and my cornerman.

We are partners with the same vision that, if everything goes as planned, will result in the same destiny. We are two parts of a whole. His contribution is like the bones of the body, giving it structure and definition. My contribution is like the muscles of the body, keeping things moving and strong. A body cannot  function without both.

One of my good friends is married to a bishop in another ward. One day I emailed her to ask her how she was doing. This was her reply. I found it very beautiful and insightful, and her words stayed with me for many months.

We are doing well, thanks for asking. We do our best to help our ward. Of course, there is only so much I can do but I do try to support my husband. There is so much we cannot talk about but there are some things I can help him with or at least give my opinion. I truly believe that this is not a male-dominated church. My testimony of that has grown so much. You may not see the faces of the women as much but they are there and their influence is among us whether we know it or not. I think it must work like that with Heavenly Father too.

What it means to be a leader

Some people get the idea that the bishop (and his family) are selected because they are better at keeping the commandments, or they “have it all together” or they have less problems than everyone else.

Excuse me while I laugh and wipe the tears out of my eyes.

Just because you have been called as bishop does not mean you are extra special or that you have “arrived.” Being the bishop does not mean you are most likable or popular person in the ward. It doesn’t even mean that you are the most righteous person in the ward. (Although sometimes, as in Scott’s case, it might mean that you are the best-looking.) It means that you are the person that God wants to be the leader for a while.

And what is God’s definition of a leader?

It is this:


I am honored to have a husband who is worthy and willing to be called to serve the wonderful people in our ward. I realize I am probably naive, and that this will be much harder and more of a sacrifice than I am expecting. I’m sure the “coolness” factor will wear off pretty fast.  But I know from experience that in our family we would much rather serve than be served.

So let the work begin.  Wish us luck. And a prayer or two wouldn’t hurt, either.

 

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Filed under Strange Mormon Customs

Teaching Children To Work

Long ago, back before the button was invented (and I’m not talking about the kind of button that keeps your pants up), eight-year-old children would wake up before the sun and go out to milk cows. Ten-year-old children would make bread from scratch. Twelve-year-old children would saddle their horse and bring home lost sheep.

Now there is very little for an American child to do besides enjoy one leisure activity after another.

But just because we don’t live on farms anymore doesn’t mean we can’t still teach our children how to work. Scott and I encourage our children to work from a very young age. So far all of my daughters can wash dishes by hand, unload the dishwasher, make cookies from scratch, put sheets on their own bed, make simple dinners on the stove, fold and put away all their own laundry and wield a paintbrush.  My four-year-old son can water plants, wash windows, bring groceries in from the car and open the door for me when I am pushing the stroller.

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Ironically with all of this working my house still seems to be mess. But that is because we are a project family.

I was told once that the key to building confidence in children is not with compliments but with accomplishments.  We are not perfect at this, but here are some things we have learned so far:

1. Complaining is Wonderful

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. . . because that means they are doing something hard. We are not afraid of complaining. We tell them we love to hear them complain because that means they are growing. Any time a routine is changed there will be complaining, every time a tradition is changed there will be complaining. But once they get into the new routine (and if we are consistent), that will become the new tradition. Over time, every family develops a unique culture based on their traditions. In our family we are trying to build a culture of work and industry.

There are ways you can minimize the complaining, though, like this:

2. A Prepared Mind is A More Agreeable Mind

A child who knows they have to work at a certain time does better than a child who is told, all of the sudden with no warning that they must go out and weed the garden. Even though kids aren’t “busy” the way we define busy, they feel like they are busy and we still need to respect that. We’ve learned that asking them to do a job when they are in the middle of a fun game or book results in a lot of foot dragging and eye rolling. Let their minds get used to the idea first. For instance, on the way home from the grocery store tell them: “When we get home everyone needs to help unload the car.” If you wait to tell them when you’ve parked in the garage and they are walking inside the house you might be too late.

Also, this helps a ton:  IMG_3690

Every Saturday this chalkboard is filled with jobs, and in the summertime, every DAY it is filled with jobs. Sometimes they are assigned to specific people, sometimes kids can sign up for what they want. But this way they are prepared and they know there is an expectation (and sometimes a time limit!) They also know that if they finish their jobs first, mom won’t interrupt them later when they are trying having fun.

3. Meaningful Jobs

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Part of learning to work is realizing that hard work can make great things happen. Find jobs for them where there is a meaningful ending, not just moving rocks from one side of the yard to the other. Teach them the Law of the Harvest. Tackle big jobs a little bit at a time. If it is too easy they won’t feel like they’ve done something important and meaningful. If it is too hard they will get discouraged. Making the jobs an age-appropriate job is important. However, I do think children can do more than we think they can.

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Naomi’s green hair

 

4. Working Together

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My kids complained for YEARS about folding clothes. I would sequester them in a room  with a huge pile of clothes and not let them do anything until they were done. This always resulted in much fighting, and clothes folding became a detestable, unpleasant and excruciatingly long and inefficient task. Then one day I sat on the top of the gigantic pile of laundry and made them all sit in an area, far apart from each other. Then I sorted the clothes by pulling an article of clothing out  of the pile and throwing it at the owner. If I threw them the wrong thing then they could throw it at the real owner. It became quite hilarious to throw training bras at my four-year-old son who then got to throw them at his older sisters. There were clothes flying everywhere, faces were happy and we were done in twenty minutes.

I have learned that I can’t just expect my kids to work if I am lying in my hammock and pointing my finger. I have to show them how to work. In fact, teaching kids to work  means a lot of work for you. Unfortunately there is no way around this. 🙂

5. Learn To Live With This:

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Paint on carpet.

and this:

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Paint on ceiling

 

One friend of mine, whose children are all grown now, told me that children can’t do meaningful work until they are 12. I believe this is true. Kids younger than twelve are still developing their hand/eye coordination, their stamina, and their fine motor skills, and mentally they are still in a magical la-la land where standards of perfection are measured by how much pink paint can be used, not how it is used.  Rarely does their work turn out to be satisfactory. But that is not the point. They are children, not professionals. When the eggs drop on the ground remind yourself that you are not baking cookies, you are raising daughters. When paint gets on the carpet remind yourself that you are not painting a room, you are raising sons. Keep training them, keep the opportunities plentiful and don’t expect perfection. There will come a time when you won’t have to keep re-doing their work. But they won’t get to that point unless they’ve made a lot of mistakes first.

6. Turn Up The Volume

When possible, play their favorite music or book on CD while they are doing the task. We did this while we painted these bookshelves.

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Danny was too young to paint so he got put in charge as the DJ and he was more than happy to hold the iphone and pick songs for the girls to listen to while they worked. They spent an hour joyfully painting and singing without one argument.

7. Take Photos

Take photos of great accomplishments.

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Telling them “We have to take a photo of this!” tells them they are doing something that your family values.

Also, before-and-after photos can be a very powerful way to show children that even something that seems impossible is possible!

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Before

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After

This blog post is just another method I am using to get my kids to work. I want them to see that I value what they do so much that I want to tell the world. I want them to see that other people will value their hard work as well. And you thought this post was for Facebook. 🙂

8. Help Them See The Real Reward

People bribe their kids all the time. I do it too. Babysit your brother and I’ll give you a cookie. Wash the car and I’ll give you a dollar. Practice the piano every day for the next 10 years and I’ll buy you a ferrari.

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Clean out the grout in my bathroom and you get whatever your heart desires

But you know when your child has learned the value of work when the product of their work becomes the reward. They will see that if they paint their room their reward is that they have a brand new room that they can decorate and feel happy about. I try to make sure my children realize what they’ve accomplished by having them take a moment to sit down and really appreciate what they’ve done. (My dad would literally take a chair and sit down opposite his finished project and gaze at it for hours.) I explain to them that now something exists that didn’t exist before, and that they are not just painters or organizers–they are creators, and that is a divine quality. I remind them what the project was/looked like before their hands touched it, molded it, painted it; that before they came a long this was just a pile of sticks, or a marked up dirty wall or a messy room. This takes a while for children to learn, but I believe that eventually they will learn that hard work can make their dreams come true.

9. Work = Happiness 

When I was 21 years old I came home from college for Christmas break. I had just broken off an engagement and I was sad, depressed and at rock bottom. What did my dad do? He put me to work. I spent many hours that Christmas in his shed, painting little benches for nursery children. I learned for myself that work can be a great medicine. My children don’t understand that yet, but someday, when they hit rock bottom, they will come home, I will hand them a paintbrush, and we still start working together. And then they will understand what I am talking about, and all my hard work will pay off.

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I would love to hear how you help your kids work and what projects they have done. Then I will share it with my kids. We can always use more inspiration. 🙂

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