Are you allowed to give yourself a haircut?

A burning question. Why do we think a service is somehow superior when we've paid someone to do it?

For instance, what is it about pedicures?
Doing it myself - Ok.
Paying someone - Fabulous! Money well spent. I'm definitely doing this again!

or Mowing the lawn:
Doing it myself - Sweaty, tiring.
Paying someone - Well worth it. Necessary budget item.

Reality check: The polish will wear off just as fast. The grass will grow just the same. So why do we pay? Is our time so extraordinarily valuable that we can't do simple tasks anymore? What oh so important things are we doing instead?

Big admission here. I often cut my own hair. In fact, I am the haircutter for my whole family. I cut my husband's hair. I cut my daughters' hair. I cut my sons' hair. Paid for maybe 20 haircuts in the 28 years we've been a family.

And the list goes on. Repair our own appliances. Paint our own rooms. Clean our own carpets. We do do do for ourselves everything we can. Gasp - how archaic.

So why don't I pay? Sometimes it just takes less time to do it myself. And at first we couldn't afford to pay for things like haircuts. But now, mostly, it's because I like the feeling of accomplishment. I like knowing that I'm capable, that I know how to do things. I like the sore muscles of a job well done. I like stepping back from a project and knowing that I did that great thing!! Talk about empowering! I'm dizzy thinking about it. Which is not good because -

I'm due for a haircut.

Inner Bohemia

Recently a friend from Church expressed his outrage over some decisions that local and general Church leaders have made of late. He's so mad about that and other things that he's decided not to come to church anymore.

I liken this to a patient, furious with his doctor, who exclaims, "Well, then. Remember those pills you told me to take? The ones that help save my life? Ha. I'll show you. I WON'T TAKE THEM ANYMORE. So. There."

What is my friend thinking? Has he forgotten that our obedience to God and God's law protects us? Blesses us? Molds us into a better version of ourselves? Indeed, saves our spiritual lives?

And the question of the day is this: How do I protect myself from getting to that strange place of disobedience to God just because a Church leader or member has disappointed me, offended me, or made me angry?

What I have found to be helpful is to measure my "inner Bohemia." A little phrase that Steve and I used for years regarding that deep in the heart peace that we expect to have when we're living right.

So then, "How's my inner Bohemia?" Is it at peace? Do I feel that God's pleased with me? Am I humble? or Am I proud? These are the hard questions I have to ask myself frequently because I often find myself not quite at peace, not quite feeling right inside. Then, the even harder question - what do I do about it? Do I turn away from God and complain (yes, sometimes I do. sigh.) But that never brings the peace that I seek. Only, only, only when I strive to acquire the virtue of submissiveness that the Savior exemplified is my "inner Bohemia" restful. Serene. At peace. Every single time.

To my friend: Guess what? Complaining, criticizing, and ranting about the Church will never hurt the Church. It will keep growing and improving all those who pattern their lives after it's teachings. No. The only one hurt by your anger is you. And your wife. And your children. And those who have been your friends. Please take a moment to check your inner Bohemia today. It just might save your life.

Manure Pile

My Grandpa Hyde turned 101 last May. He's amazing! He and Norma (married now for 37 years) still live at home, make their own meals, and keep up with the political and financial scene. Even more importantly, they keep track of all the kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids with great interest and near-perfect memory. If you want to know who's where and what's happening, you can just ask Grandpa.

Since moving to Maryland almost 4 years ago I've tried to get up there to see him every few months. These moments have been a treasure. Every time I go up, Grandpa has another story, memory, experience, or family fact to share with me. I am learning what an incredible man he is.

And so, why "manure pile"? Because it is my favorite of his childhood stories.

Grandpa and his sister lived with their aunt and uncle. They had horses, cows, lots and lots of dogs, cats, chickens, and other animals. Their next door neighbor had children the same ages and all the kids would often play together.

One day, they were in the midst of a rousing game of tag. The corner of the barn was "home." It was also where the manure pile was located. As his older sister, Cee, came running around the side of the barn yelling "home freeeee", she tripped and fell, face first, mouth wide open, into the manure pile!

I still laugh out loud at this story. Not just because it's so funny. I laugh because every time Grandpa tells me about this little moment in his childhood, he doubles over with belly laughs and loud guffaws as if it just happened. I love that, just for a moment, a 101 year old man can feel like a kid again.

Ideal Me

Feeling dissatisfied with myself, I recently decided to create an "ideal me" list. All the things I should do, in a neat, orderly column. The perfect life I should be living. A well-thought out description of who I should be. So, I contemplated. I pondered. I deliberated, I mulled, I reflected. For weeks I went over and over in my mind the things that I should be doing, saying, feeling, spending time on - you name it, I covered it. What a list I had going. "Prepare Seminary lessons before noon every day." "Ironing done once a week." "From now on my garden will be weed-free." It was a masterpiece of detail and design, my list.

When the day came to write it all down, I was prepared. I was ready to commit. Ready for a better, more refined, more organized, more spiritual, more self-controlled me.

Then I prayed. I asked Heavenly Father for specific direction in composing my list. I asked for His will, His insight, His divine help.

He answered me. To my mind came this list:

* studies scriptures daily.
* fulfills Church callings faithfully.
* keeps an orderly home.
* is a blessing to my husband.
* carefully nurtures all my children.
* mindful of needs of extended family.
* industrious.
* fills mind with useful knowledge.
* cheerful and pleasant.
* kind and loving.
* has meaningful prayer.
* cares for my body.
* is progressing.

Reminding me again that what He thinks and sees and knows about me is much greater than what I think, what I see, what I know.

My list was limited and limiting. My list was daunting and full of potential failure opportunities, I see that now. His list allows for daily life. His list uplifts and encourages. His list holds the promise of true growth. His list is, in fact, ideal.

Tender mercies

One of my favorite scripture verses is in the 1st chapter of the Book of Mormon. I love it because it gives a name to those moments when I've felt the touch of a loving Heavenly Father. It reads:

... I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even to the power of deliverance. (1 Nephi 1: 20 )

One of many in the Old Testament:

The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works. (Psalms 145:9)

Tender mercies. Extensions of divine help, divine intervention, divine watchcare. Sometimes so tender and gentle that we fail to recognize them.

I heard a talk one Sunday on this very subject and that night I set out to compile a list of the tender mercies I had already seen in my life. I was amazed at the number of moments that easily came to mind.

The time I glanced down (just for a moment, I promise) and when I looked back up the car in front of me had stopped dead in the lane. No time to react. Immediately, the steering wheel wrenched from my grasp, literally taken over by an unseen power. We swerved around that car, just inches away.

Another time, feeling beyond lonely. Words to a forlorn spiritual I learned in school repeating in my mind - sometimes I feel like a motherless child, a long way from home. Out of place in Texas, no home in New Jersey, truly "home"-less. And then, a clear thought permeated my mind. A simple phrase. A tender reassurance. "You have a home." A heavenly reminder that there is more for me than this earth life.

And more, so many more moments. Others may attribute such experiences to coincidence, karma, whatever. But I know these sweet moments are just what the scriptures say they are. Tender mercies. From a benevolent God extended to me, His daughter. Just when I need them.

Shenandoah National Park

The camping trip sounded at once fun and ominous. Three families, three days/two nights with thunderstorms predicted for most of the time. What were we thinking?

I'll tell ya...

We thought that time away from TV, Wii, soccer, and home work would refresh us.
We thought that time with friends would strengthen our kids' relationships with their pals.
We thought that a little rain never hurt anyone.
We thought that a 13-yr old young man ought to be able to construct a rope hammock and sleep in it for 2 nights.
We thought it would be worthwhile to watch a presentation on birds of prey.
We thought it would be sacred to read the Easter story around a campfire.
We thought it would be invigorating to hike to the top of a mountain, sit upon the boulders and watch the buzzards, from above.
We thought that shared meals with friends and loved ones would bind our hearts together.
We thought that watching at least 50 whitetail deer do deer things would inspire us.
We thought that staring into campfire flames would be restful.

And we were right.

Anger in the Night

A true story

Once upon a splendid morning, this conversation took place:

Concerned young father: "Are you OK?"

Perplexed young wife: "I'm fine. Why'd you ask?"

"Because," he slowly responded, "during the night when I put my arm around you, you threw it off and yelled, 'Get your hands off me!!!'"

WHAT?? What kind of wife would be so cruel? What loving wife would ever say such a thing?

Me, that's who.

As I write this I still can't believe it's true, but it is. I know it happened. Because my husband wouldn't lie. Disbelief, followed by "are you sure?", followed by chagrin. How could I have been so mean?, I wondered. I still remember the hurt in his eyes, 20something years later.

And yet...

Those 20something years have given me a little perspective. And so to my sons, when you are the young fathers married to young mothers, I give this simple observation, borne of experience.

Remember, the burdens of young mothers are heavy. If young mothers don't do their jobs well, little people die. Literally. Or become ax murderers (a nod to Kim for the concept). Or worse, hate the very mothers who give their very lives to those children. And because the stakes are so high and the outcome is absolutely unknown, young mothers worry and fret and try to control, at least, the known. And so they make sure the pj tops and bottoms match, and that the kids brush their teeth. They agonize over which brand of baby cereal to buy and whether baby is warm or cold. A myriad of worries and decisions, few of which really matter in the long run, but important when you are that young mother. (side note: baby cereal brands don't matter, warm/cold does.) (And, to some of us, it is important for the tops and bottoms to match. And they absolutely must brush!)

So, sons, future young fathers, don't take it personally when the burdens of mothering spill over into the night. Let her know you appreciate her and all she does. Help her all you can. And then some. Ensure that she has time to herself to do her own things, aside and apart from you and the children. Change diapers, make dinner, vacuum, and most importantly, do it with love and kindness. Because if you do, then 20something years later she will still regret being unkind. She will love you with a love that is at once most tender and most fierce. And her eyes will fill when, in her quiet moments, she reflects on what a privilege it has been to be your wife.

Cheering on the sidelines

My children play soccer. I don't. After many years of watching many games, however, I do get it. I understand the rules - they make sense to me. Kick the ball down the field into the opponents' goal and keep it away from your goal. Be aggresive. Get the ball. Run fast. Kick hard. Block shots. And on the sidelines, we cheer like crazy when they perform well. We yell, "Nice shot!" or "Great teamwork!" or"Good try!" And we mean it and we're proud and we feel a little glow when it's our child who just made that fabulous pass.

Sometimes, though, I have my own private little cheers. These I don't yell out. I keep these to myself. Others wouldn't understand. But I cheer inside when my son hesitates because he really doesn't want to take the ball away from someone who had it first. I cheer when my daughter glances back to make sure the girl who fell down is alright. I cheer when I see any kid go over to the guy who just missed the goal and give a pat or a hug. I cheer when, even for just a moment, the game is set aside for humanity's sake.

So you may see me cheering along with everyone else at the appropriate moments. But inside, I'll be watching a very different game.

Birthday Boy

My 9th child turned 9 today. When it looked like I wouldn't have time to make the cookies he wanted to bring to school, I pleaded, "Can I please just buy them? I'll get the frosted kind." Ever the obedient boy, he consented. As I was leaving the room, however, I glanced back and noticed a tiny tear in his eye. "Do you really want me to make the cookies?" "Uh-huh." And that is why, at 7:45 am, I was at Safeway buying Hershey kisses and Crisco. It's why his brothers made their own sandwiches for lunch. It's why he got to bring snickerdoodle cookies with Hershey kisses planted on top to share with his friends.

All because of a little tear.

Happy Birthday, Nathan!

Who me?

Blogging is for young people. Young mothers with adorable children who do adorable things. Young adults with fun and full lives. Young persons who are finding themselves and reveling in the power of I-make-my-own-decisions-now living. I'm 50 years old. Why am I doing this? Because. Because I woke up one morning at 3 am, couldn't go back to sleep, and, over the next 2 1/2 hours, thought of all the things I've learned over the years. Things that I want my children to know. Things that I might forget. Things that have been wow moments for me. Things that have changed me. So here I am, blogging as if I'm 24. And, really, deep down inside, part of me is still very young.