Category Archives: Challenges

A poem for the IRS

How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.
I hate thee for the withheld taxes I want to spend
And for the forms that never end,
And for all the complications — I am dazed.
I hate thee for the time you take. For days
I agonize as I calculate, and the numbers blend:
I hate thee from the first line until the end.
I hate thee presently, as I long for May.
I hate thee sluggishly, for the work is so slow.
Finding an error-filled column again, I groan.
I hate thee with my mind, heart, and soul.
With my hard-earned money, I hate thee with a moan,
Tears, agony, the same each year! — and, yet I know,
I shall but hate thee less a refund sent.

Note: Unless your tax situation deals with capital gains, itemization, two workers, multiple states, multiple countries, new children, and the previous five years, I don’t want to hear about it!

P.S. My husband wonders if I have anything better to do than write pretty bad amateur poetry. Silly question!

Reid Family Picture

At Christmas time, we decided to have a family portrait taken. Our son was just two months old. I found a morning session (10:30, when he’s usually happy!) at a photograph studio at the mall. That morning, I agonized over what to wear and what he should wear. He looked nice and he was happy. Even my husband, who hates having his picture taken, was happy to have his picture taken that day. We left at 9:50 or so. The mall was only about 10 minutes away, so that left plenty of time.

An hour later, we were still circling the parking lot. Every isle in the parking lot at the mall was full of dozens of cars: we were all driving down each isle, looking for an empty spot. I was pulling out my hair. My husband was clenching his teeth. Only Paul was oblivious to the situation: he was asleep.

We went home.

After Christmas, I called the same photography studio and scheduled another session a few weeks away. Paul would be three months old. It would be a nice picture.

It turned out I had surgery the day before. I wasn’t feeling very smiley, so we canceled that session.

Still no family picture.

You could say, “why don’t you set up the tripod and just take it yourself?” We’ve tried that. It takes a minute per shot and you have to take dozens and dozens of shots to get a good one. They just never look right. Besides, the lighting is off in a room; a studio would look better.

We were planning on coming to the States. In my research, I found that it is half as much for a photography session at a similar mall photography studio in the US. I started making calls. But we ended up running errands just about every day in Chicago. We didn’t have time to go to a studio. We went on to Utah: we couldn’t find a recommended studio and again we didn’t have time.

What did we do? We asked my husband’s brother, Alex, to take our family portrait. And they turned out great. Thank you so much!

Without further ado, here’s the final product (with a 4-month-old Paul), courtesy Alex.

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The Power of Testimony

I forgot about this experience until I was preparing my Sunday School lesson, and I decided I’d write about it.

First, here is the background: My Sunday school class last year contained four very quiet 13-year-old girls and one very quiet 13-year-old boy. They were a great class — they knew the answers or at least tried to participate, quietly and submissively. They all turned 14 and so went to a new teacher at the beginning of the year.

This year, I have three very talkative 12-year-old girls and one quiet 12-year-old boy. Actually, only one of the girls is very talkative (I’ll call her Sarah) — the others just feed off of her. The girls tend to whisper to each other and distract the others from the lesson. Sarah tries to think of off-the-wall questions to stump me as I try to teach. Sometimes the questions are very good — but often they seem so off subject it’s hard to get momentum back for the lesson I’ve prepared.

Four weeks ago, during my lesson about the Atonement, I was feeling particularly overwhelmed by the distracted class and the super-important subject matter. (I mentioned I felt overwhelmed trying to teach the Atonement in 30 minutes to begin with.) Sarah kept whispering and giggling with another girl, whom I’ll call Mary. (They were sniffing their marking pencils which apparently had scents: “They’re Smencils,” I was told.)

Anyway, I was trying to talk above their whispers so the other two class members could learn something. I mean, I was talking about the Atonement; the least the girls could do was listen. But I was not having any luck. I was distracted and the other girl and boy kept glancing at Sarah and Mary.

“OK, listen,” I finally said, stopping mid-sentence. “I’m giving the most important lesson in the book right now. Can I tell you why this is the most important lesson?”

The two girls stopped giggling and looked up. I had the attention of the whole room.

“I’m talking about our Savior Jesus Christ today. The only way we can return to our Heavenly Father is through Jesus Christ and His Atonement. The purpose of our Heavenly Father, His entire work and glory, is to “bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” That includes you. You are His work and His glory! Every other lesson in this manual and every lesson you will ever receive in the church goes back to the Savior. I’m talking about Him today. I need you to listen, because I know this is true and I know this is very important.”

The room was silent and the spirit was so strong I felt like crying (and I don’t usually cry when I feel the spirit). The room stayed quiet as I continued the lesson. The class participated. We watched the movie “The Mediator” and by the end the two girls were whispering again, but this time they were whispering about the video. (“No, I think the friend represents Jesus.”)

They were back to whispering a little by the end of the class, and the cloud of spirit had subsided a little by then, but I was amazed by the power bearing my testimony had in that moment. I know it made a difference to the class.

After the warning bell rang, I still had more than 10 minutes of material left — I know we wouldn’t get to it.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. We won’t get to the whole lesson today,” I said as I bore my testimony at the end of class.

“Well, will you finish this lesson next week?” Sarah asked.

I was flabbergasted. Most weeks, I’m not sure she’s listening at all.

I explained that I was going out of town, but I’d make sure we talk about what’s most important again. For this reason alone, I intend to go back and reemphasize some of the material from that lesson. Sarah, the talkative one, wants me to finish the most important lesson in the book. She was listening!

Healing

The surgeon cut me open four times. Three cuts were half an inch. The last was one inch. He removed one of my organs (my gallbladder) through one of them.

For one week, I left the waterproof bandages on. I had bled, and the bandages were weary. My muscles were sore, like someone had punched me in the gut. I rested. But then I stood up. I swept the floor. I picked up my baby, and I went to the grocery store. I lived.

After one week, a nurse removed the bandages and the stitches.

Now, four bright red lines mark the spots. The skin has come together. There is no more blood oozing, there is no more pain. My body has healed itself.

As I look at my week-old wounds, I think one word: Miracle. My body is a miracle.

Your body, whatever its natural gifts, is a magnificent creation of God. It is a tabernacle of flesh–a temple for your spirit. A study of your body attests to its divine design.

Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend.

Mosiah 4:9

Watching my body heal has strengthened my testimony of God’s majesty.

Lesson 3: The Fall of Adam and Eve

Sometimes I think it would be nice to live in a world with no sickness, no sorrow, and no pain. What would such a world be like?

I’ll begin with the trivial: I wouldn’t be uncomfortably hot during the summer. Now, on hot days, I hope for a short summer and early autumn. Of course, I wouldn’t have any uncomfortably cold wintery days either. But, without the extreme weather, I wouldn’t appreciate spring and autumn weather. By eliminating unpleasant weather, pleasant weather gets very boring.

Then I think about a world void of sicknesses and pain. I’ve always been healthy and lacked major health problems. That has changed in the past four months. (Having a baby helps your body fall apart, I guess.) I would love to eliminate pain and sickness from my life! Ironically, though, it is only now that I’ve regularly experienced ill health that I recognize what a blessing it was to have had good health. Every day that I am not ill is a very good day (there still are plenty of those), and some days I feel great! By being ill, I appreciate so much more being well. (However, I really do look forward to not being ill on a regular basis.)

It might sound nice initially, but a world without sickness, sorrow, pain, and sin would lack all enjoyment as well.

In the beginning, Adam and Eve lived in such a world.

When they were first placed there, they were given two commandments:

  1. Multiply and replenish the earth (Genesis 1:28)
  2. Don’t partake of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil (Genesis 2:16-17)

And here lies the most complex irony: because the garden was a place of innocence, Adam and Eve couldn’t fulfill the first commandment without breaking the second.

When Adam and Eve did choose to partake of the fruit, they committed a transgression, not a sin. Because there was nothing inherently wrong with partaking of the fruit, it was not a sin to partake of it, even though it was a commandment not to.

I like this comparison: A parent tells a child to never cross the street. Does the parent have a reason for the rule? Yes. But is it inherently wrong to cross the street? No. At some point in his life, the child needs to cross the street.

Eve had a dilemma. She had to choose to sacrifice her painless world of innocence in order to gain experience and to bear children. She did not know what the experience would be because she’d never before experienced it. No human had experienced it. It’s hard to choose to experience the unknown. And yet, she wanted to gain experience and she wanted to raise children.

I feel close to her dilemma. A little more than three months ago, I went through incredible pains to bring a child into the world. It was horrible. I thought I was going to die. I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted to give up. Why can’t we have children without the pain?

Well, that’s not the plan, and I’m not talking about the lack of drugs. (I imagine childbirth is still quite painful with drugs.) There is much pain in raising a child, beyond childbirth. The plan of our Heavenly Father is to learn from experience. Experience sometimes entails fear and pain, but it also includes incredible happiness. There is supposed to be opposition as we experience the good.

Eve could only bear children by giving up innocence. I can’t speak for Eve, but because I went through that painful experience of childbirth:

  • I have the most beautiful, perfect little boy to raise.
  • I learned a lot about my abilities to do what I have to do.
  • I gained an incredible spiritual closeness to my Heavenly Father.
  • I am learning every day from my child.

I think childbirth is an incredible miracle. But it required going through a very challenging experience. It required that I not live in a perfect world, void of pain and sorrow.

Adam [and Eve] fell that man [and woman] might be, and men [and women] are that they might have joy. 2 Nephi 2:25

I’m grateful for the Fall of Adam and Eve. It meant I could come to earth. It meant I can bear children. It meant that I can have my joy multiplied as I Experience. And truly, my family is my greatest joy.

Lesson 3 of 45

The Need to be an Optimist

I have recently observed that I am very pessimistic. I worry about my son dying of SIDS (chance: 50 of 100,000). I worry about the car falling off the edge of the mountain as we drive around sharp corners. I worry about a rock piercing the car tire and leaving us stranded in the middle of nowhere. (Can a rock even do that?)

And yet, as Boyd K. Packer said (Ensign, November 1977),

Somewhere there is a message in the protest of a man who said: “You can’t tell me worry doesn’t help. The things I worry about never happen.”

By extension, then, the things I do not worry about do happen.

This is our garage ceiling the day before we left town for our Christmas vacation:

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Apparently, three days of spring rain flowed through a leak in our roof. The buildup of water subsequently leaked through the ceiling and collapsed through the dry wall in a big gush of water.

There has been another Disaster recently, this one involving a litre of vegetable oil in the trunk of the car. I don’t want to talk about it.

Whatever is going to happen will happen, whether or not I agonize about it first. I really ought to let go. Life will be more pleasant. And then I wont be afraid to live and take chances. (My “chances” will be within reason, of course. I am still me, after all; I am conservative in the risks I take.) I need to be realistic in the things I think about and concern myself with what is important.

Therefore, my first New Years goal is to not worry. I promise I won’t post pessimistic things on this webpage. And I’m going to let go of my worries. It’s time I embrace optimism or, at the very least, realism.

Some Turkey

Everybody knows some turkey and some mistletoe/ Will help to make the season bright. –The Christmas Song

I was feeling a bit left out of the Turkey Day celebrations (since, of course, there was no holiday here). I decided that it was time to do my own Thanksgiving dinner. I invited my friend Michelle and her family for a Saturday, 1 December, Thanksgiving dinner. There were 7 people total. A small gathering, but the largest number I’ve entertained.

I went to order a turkey from the Christmas Made Easy counter on Monday so I can prepare a lovely Turkey Dinner. They won’t provide ordered turkeys until 21 December. They don’t carry turkeys other times of the year.

I finally found a 3.2 kg (7 lb) frozen turkey breast at a supermarket. They seem few and far between. You’d think they’d have big signs advertising them. Is that how it is in the States? Aren’t turkeys just flying off the shelves already?

For those of you preparing to do your own Turkey Dinner this holiday season, here is what an amateur learned her first time around.

  • A turkey breast is a lot smaller and looks a lot easier to manage than an entire turkey. (And, while I never have done an entire turkey, it really was easy to do the turkey breast!)
  • When defrosting turkey in the fridge, don’t put the turkey on the top shelf.
  • When defrosting turkey in the fridge, make sure you put a pan underneath it.
  • If you don’t do the two preceding things, you’ll have to scrub the entire fridge and throw out the fresh fruit that is sitting on the bottom shelf.
  • Brining the turkey breast really isn’t hard.
  • When cooking a turkey in a small oven, make sure the oven shelf is as low as possible. Otherwise, the turkey will be just millimetres from the top broiler and will get all crusty on top.
  • When purchased, the turkey is wrapped with a foam pad. Throw out the foam pad before putting the turkey in the oven. Otherwise, at the end you won’t be able to separate the foam from the turkey drippings and it will be kind of nasty.
  • Make your husband carve the turkey.
  • Don’t have too many dishes: turkey, cranberry sauce and gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and salad is plenty of food. There will be leftovers! (Hmmm, maybe it just wasn’t very good and that’s why it’s left over…)
  • When hurrying to put things away five minutes before company arrives, be careful not to bump the Pyrex liquid measuring cup from the top shelf of the cupboard. Otherwise, it will shatter and glass fragments will end up everywhere and you’ll be in even more of a panic. And you’ll get cuts on your hands.
  • If the pecan pie cooks too long, the crust will fly across the room when you try to cut into it.
  • If the pies don’t taste very good, just put more whipped cream on top. (Note to my family members who will be amazed at that comment: this is not Cool Whip or cream from the can, which I never have liked. This is real whipped cream, which is actually very tasty.)
  • If the pies don’t taste very good, everyone will still eat them because they have lots of sugar in them. Plus, there’s the whipped cream.

That’s what I learned. And, just to clarify, my husband (who is the true cook) had to work all day and didn’t get home until 5 p.m., when I was about to take the turkey out of the oven. (Company came at 6 p.m.) I did it all, except make the gravy and carve the turkey. Yes, I can cook a turkey dinner! Maybe I’m a cook too…

And now I feel like it’s the holidays! Happy Turkey Days to all of you!

Cleaning as Nurturing

I’ve been thinking a lot about the talk by Sister Beck in conference about motherhood. Here’s the part I’ve been dwelling on the last few days:

Another word for nurturing is homemaking. Homemaking includes cooking, washing clothes and dishes, and keeping an orderly home. Home is where women have the most power and influence; therefore, Latter-day Saint women should be the best homemakers in the world. … Nurturing mothers are knowledgeable, but all the education women attain will avail them nothing if they do not have the skill to make a home that creates a climate for spiritual growth. Growth happens best in a “house of order,” and women should pattern their homes after the Lord’s house (see D&C 109). Nurturing requires organization, patience, love, and work.

To nurture, I need to cook, wash clothes and dishes, and keep an orderly home.

Firstly, cooking. As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve recently discovered I love to cook! Cooking no longer feels like a chore, but a delight. I can see how cooking a meal for my family is nurturing them.

Next, washing clothes and dishes. I don’t mind doing laundry and dishes. Once the clothes are clean, then the hampers are empty, and that feels satisfying. I get to do twice as much laundry now with an infant. I really don’t mind doing it. True, I dyed a few of Pauls’ white onesies pink the first week of his life, but since then, there have been no “disasters” and we’ve been clothed well.

As for dishes, one of my first jobs at BYU was a dishwasher in the CougarEat kitchens. It was relaxing. My husband does dishes each night after dinner now anyway because Paul is usually hungry at just the right moment…but really, I don’t mind dishes at all.

Finally, keeping an orderly home. I take this to mean cleaning and not just keeping things organized. I can put things away and avoid piles of “stuff” and wipe down kitchen counters. I can follow a grocery budget and keep my pantry stocked and in order. But my problem right now is cleaning. I find sweeping, mopping, cleaning toilets, scrubbing down showers, vacuuming, and dusting absolutely tedious. Mom suggested I like cooking because it’s a symbol of my love. For some reason, I just can’t think of cleaning in the same way. It just feels tedious.

My dislike of cleaning is not a new problem. As a kid, when Mom gave me my chores on Saturday mornings, I’d sing “It’s a Hard-Knock Life” and grumble about how unfair it was to have to clean. As an adult, my philosophy has always been: if I can see the dust, it’s too late. But after Paul was born, I went a month without touching a broom. As I mentioned before, that was much too long.

The problem is that we have a two-story, three-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath town home with hardwood floors the size of Kentucky. And as I got around to mopping the other day, I saw little ants and a spider’s cobweb.

As Sister Beck said, I need the “skill to make a home that creates a climate for spiritual growth.” Dust and ants hinder that spiritual growth. How can I delight in cleaning as nurturing rather than as a chore? How can I develop the same sense of satisfaction with cleaning that I recently have found with cooking?

Hemming Paul’s First Suit

This morning as my husband was leaving for work, I told him that I planned on hemming the pants of Paul’s new suit today.

“Uh oh,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, do you know how to hem pants?” he asked.

I told him I could figure it out. I mean, these are infant-sized cuffs! How hard could it be?

It took me an hour and a half. And I don’t think it looks very good. I’m just not very good. I guess that’s why kids start small–I learn on an infant-sized cuff. By the time I get to a toddler-sized cuff, I’m better. That’s a nice thought, but the problem is, I’m not sure I improved. That’s because, to be honest, I really didn’t know what I was doing. My husband was right. I really don’t know how to hem pants. Oh well.

Next time I really should just go to the kiosk at the mall–they hem pants while you wait for just $12. And then I wouldn’t have “ruined” Paul’s nice new suit. I just couldn’t bring myself to ask them to hem such small pants. How silly would I look?

I hope no one thinks Paul looks silly for having a hem that looks amateur.

Does it really matter when he’ll probably outgrow it in two months?

By the way, do you have any idea how hard it is to find a suit or even plain black pants for an infant? They’re very hard to find. But we really wanted him to look sharp. And it is such a cute suit! The pants even have pockets. Does an infant really need two pockets?

Here’s his suit. I still need to take in the vest at the shoulder (it’s too big as well) but I’m scared to mess with it. Especially after my hemming job.

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We’ll try to get pictures with the kid in the suit tomorrow. He’s asleep now. I’m just afraid he’s going to spit up over it before the blessing time on Sunday! I wanted it new for the blessing!

Cleaning Up

I swept and mopped the floor today.

Lest someone think that I have my priorities wrong and remind me that new moms should sleep when baby sleeps, I should clarify that I did take a two-hour nap this morning. And lest someone say being fed and clothed is more important, I should mention that I cooked dinner (leftovers!) and did five loads of laundry yesterday. And lest the grandmas complain, I posted a picture of Paul on the website first. Then I swept the floor.

Don’t be impressed. It has been swept twice since I came home from the hospital. And the first time I cut corners.

The things I learned:

  • A hardwood floor the size of Kentucky needs to swept every day.
  • When I have another child (I suppose I should say “if”, but who am I kidding?), I’m hiring a maid service for a month.

In defense of my husband: He is much cleaner than I am and is very good about chipping in and keeping things clean. However, he took off a week of work when Paul was born. It was just before a major project went live. Now he’s working long hours to make up for taking time off. Besides, I want him to hold his son once he comes home! And he doesn’t get a nap during the day like I do.

In defense of my friends: They offered to clean, but I am not yet willing to ask a friend to clean up my dust. And I wasn’t yet willing to give up my newborn to them so I could clean. I cherished week 2: I held my newborn just about every minute during the day and didn’t have to share him with anyone. I’m very sad that I’ll probably never get to do that again with a newborn bundle of joy.

The bottom line is, I’m starting to feel like I have control of this Being a Mother Thing, so it’s time I take care of the house too. I suppose tomorrow may feel like chaos again. But the messy house is very out of control, and today I’m feeling ready to take charge.

On to vacuuming! Oh wait, Paul’s crying. Maybe later….