So... ever since I discovered there are people I can't trust in my ward, who are cyber-stalking my every move I've been in a funk about socializing with people from Church. And since no one will 'fess up to who they are...I have been emotionally checked out of my ward, my callings, anything that will put me in any kind of contact with people who would be such a bunch of ______.
I have a friend in primary who mentioned that they hadn't gotten around to celebrating my daughter's birthdays in primary. Their birthdays were the last two weeks of September. It's November now.
I don't even know if I should bother bringing it up. It's clear as day that there is a vendetta against my family because I refuse to conform to faking my way around the ward. Which is kind of useful as a whole bucket-load of people are actively avoiding me and my family because I officially have a Scarlett letter on my chest. It is also really helpful in identifying those that are loyal, worthy friends. It's clear that in my ward anyone who is willing to speak their mind will immediately be reprimanded and not only that, they'll take it out on your kids.
So... question - do I even bother with these kind of people, or just chalk it up to... the Church would be great without all the people. OR - gospel is true - it's the people who aren't.
I am only going to my ward now, because primary could be good for my girls... although, even this theory is currently up for debate.
Trust is big for me... and when it is shattered... there's no gaining it back.
ps. I'm also writing on a gloomy, rainy day...and if you know me... I am solar powered. Today is just depressing.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
waste of time
One of my daughters attends a dual-immersion program for school, English & Mandarin. Last week I attended a parent informational meeting, which meetings are held periodically to make sure that there is no confusion with the program, that teachers and parents are on the same page, etc., and which I find to be a helpful touch to assisting the kids in this new world of language.
The meeting began with the typical announcement that any questions about individual concerns should be held until the group presentation was finished. This is something I appreciate, as I am not keen on sitting in meetings where things are being discussed which don't pertain to me (snob? sure, I'll take that).
The first 45 or so minutes of the scheduled 60-minute meeting went very well and were executed efficiently. And then the questions began. "Excuse me, um, my son..." I stopped listening, except to search out an appropriate time to stand up from my front row seat and exit. That is when I heard the following:
"I have a question. Each night my child has to work on writing characters. I mean, do we have to do this? It takes such a long time, and it doesn't even make any sense. It's not like they're actually letters. It just seems like a huge waste of time to me."
Right.
The meeting began with the typical announcement that any questions about individual concerns should be held until the group presentation was finished. This is something I appreciate, as I am not keen on sitting in meetings where things are being discussed which don't pertain to me (snob? sure, I'll take that).
The first 45 or so minutes of the scheduled 60-minute meeting went very well and were executed efficiently. And then the questions began. "Excuse me, um, my son..." I stopped listening, except to search out an appropriate time to stand up from my front row seat and exit. That is when I heard the following:
"I have a question. Each night my child has to work on writing characters. I mean, do we have to do this? It takes such a long time, and it doesn't even make any sense. It's not like they're actually letters. It just seems like a huge waste of time to me."
Right.
Friday, October 15, 2010
just something i've been thinking about
When I was a teenager, my mom bought a brand new Jeep. Having only had it for a few weeks, I was driving the jeep to a ski resort with my boyfriend when I, going down a steep hill and around a corner, hit a patch of black ice. I overcorrected, but it didn't matter (because it was ice). I am so, so grateful that there weren't any cars on that road at that time. We ended up on the opposite side of the road, facing the direction from which we'd come, and the jeep was on its side -- the passenger side. Fortunately, we landed in a thick snow bank which seemed to sort of cushion the blow. We had to climb up and out the driver's side door to get out. I was dizzy.
We walked to the nearest house and explained what happened, I asked the woman if I could use her phone. I remember her house being warm and smelling good -- she was cooking something. This sweet woman welcomed us in, and as I was talking with Eric about how mad my mom would be, this woman said, "Oh, Honey, I'm sure she'll just be glad that you're alright!"
"Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"We haven't made it out of town yet. I hit some ice."
"Where's the jeep?"
"It's on the side of the road."
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE JEEP?!?!!"
"Um...we're fine. We didn't get hurt."
I gave her the address and she hung up on me.
She arrived with the tow truck, and she didn't say a word to me with her mouth; her eyes, however, were piercing, her lips pursed into a straight line.
"Mom, I'm sorry."
"You had better pray that there isn't anything wrong with the jeep," is all she said.
The tow truck cables set, the beloved jeep was pulled from the snow bank and the result was revealed: not a scratch.
My mom didn't talk to me for a while after that. When she did, I got plenty of reminders of . . . well, frankly, of what didn't (but could have!) happen with her Brand New Jeep.
****************
When my oldest daughter was four years old, we were at our neighbor's house for a party. Li'l ~j. was excited to have some red punch, but also loved to sit on the neighbor's Love Sac, which is an oversized bean bag used as a piece of furniture. I think that bean bag was one of my daughter's favorite places on the planet, it was so comfortable. At this party, however, I reminded her that she was not, under any circumstances, to sit on the bean bag with a drink.
Our neighbor even reminded her, "Sweetie, please listen to your mommy. You can have the drink in the kitchen and then sit on the bean bag."
You know what happened next.
Embarrassed and mentally calculating how I could afford to buy our neighbors a new bean bag, I began cleaning it up as best I could. It was a small stain, but it was still there.
It was clear that my daughter, now seeing why we had given her the direction about her drink, felt bad. She, too, was embarrassed. She apologized to my neighbor.
It was at this point that my neighbor did something I don't think I'll ever forget.
She walked up to my daughter, kneeled down in front of her so as to be at eye-level, and took both of my daughter's hands into her own. She looked into her eyes and asked, "What do you think I love more, you or that bean bag? Hm?"
Sheepishly, my daughter answered, "Me?"
"That's right," came the answer, "You are more important to me than a bean bag. I love you more than a bean bag."
And for years following, at random times my daughter would look at me and with a smile say, "Hey, Mom? La Yen loves me more than a bean bag."
We walked to the nearest house and explained what happened, I asked the woman if I could use her phone. I remember her house being warm and smelling good -- she was cooking something. This sweet woman welcomed us in, and as I was talking with Eric about how mad my mom would be, this woman said, "Oh, Honey, I'm sure she'll just be glad that you're alright!"
"Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"We haven't made it out of town yet. I hit some ice."
"Where's the jeep?"
"It's on the side of the road."
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE JEEP?!?!!"
"Um...we're fine. We didn't get hurt."
I gave her the address and she hung up on me.
She arrived with the tow truck, and she didn't say a word to me with her mouth; her eyes, however, were piercing, her lips pursed into a straight line.
"Mom, I'm sorry."
"You had better pray that there isn't anything wrong with the jeep," is all she said.
The tow truck cables set, the beloved jeep was pulled from the snow bank and the result was revealed: not a scratch.
My mom didn't talk to me for a while after that. When she did, I got plenty of reminders of . . . well, frankly, of what didn't (but could have!) happen with her Brand New Jeep.
****************
When my oldest daughter was four years old, we were at our neighbor's house for a party. Li'l ~j. was excited to have some red punch, but also loved to sit on the neighbor's Love Sac, which is an oversized bean bag used as a piece of furniture. I think that bean bag was one of my daughter's favorite places on the planet, it was so comfortable. At this party, however, I reminded her that she was not, under any circumstances, to sit on the bean bag with a drink.
Our neighbor even reminded her, "Sweetie, please listen to your mommy. You can have the drink in the kitchen and then sit on the bean bag."
You know what happened next.
Embarrassed and mentally calculating how I could afford to buy our neighbors a new bean bag, I began cleaning it up as best I could. It was a small stain, but it was still there.
It was clear that my daughter, now seeing why we had given her the direction about her drink, felt bad. She, too, was embarrassed. She apologized to my neighbor.
It was at this point that my neighbor did something I don't think I'll ever forget.
She walked up to my daughter, kneeled down in front of her so as to be at eye-level, and took both of my daughter's hands into her own. She looked into her eyes and asked, "What do you think I love more, you or that bean bag? Hm?"
Sheepishly, my daughter answered, "Me?"
"That's right," came the answer, "You are more important to me than a bean bag. I love you more than a bean bag."
And for years following, at random times my daughter would look at me and with a smile say, "Hey, Mom? La Yen loves me more than a bean bag."
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Exactly.
I was trying, as I often do, to put tell my daughter that her father and I will always love each other, and that she never needs to worry about us loving her.
Me to Jooj: "You never ever ever have to think about..."
Jooj (interupting): "Clowns."
Me to Jooj: "You never ever ever have to think about..."
Jooj (interupting): "Clowns."
Monday, June 7, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
I forgot that three year olds are evil.
I haven't posted here before, but I am going to start. It is a way to start to log some of the parenting stuff that I can't really go into on my blog (because my kids read my blog but don't know about this one yet...).
Can someone remind me where the magic button is on my three year old to make her stop being so sullen, stubborn and defiant? I can't seem to find it. On the one hand I am thrilled for her to hit a developmental milestone on time after being behind for so many years, but the reality is that she is a STINKER--my hardest kid yet.
Time outs don't work. She could care less about getting vinegar on her tongue (always worked with the others), we do 1, 2, 3, etc. I feel like my tried and true things are not working. Any suggestions? What worked for you? I think I just need a refresher course before I duct tape her to her bed and not let her out until she is 9.
Can someone remind me where the magic button is on my three year old to make her stop being so sullen, stubborn and defiant? I can't seem to find it. On the one hand I am thrilled for her to hit a developmental milestone on time after being behind for so many years, but the reality is that she is a STINKER--my hardest kid yet.
Time outs don't work. She could care less about getting vinegar on her tongue (always worked with the others), we do 1, 2, 3, etc. I feel like my tried and true things are not working. Any suggestions? What worked for you? I think I just need a refresher course before I duct tape her to her bed and not let her out until she is 9.
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