"That's Your Job"

I blame Father of the Bride.

That is as far back as I can pinpoint it to. 1991's Father of the Bride with Steve Martin, Diane Keaton, Martin Short, and Kimberly Williams-Paisley. That particular point in the movie where Annie is about to cancel the wedding and everything because her fiance Bryan got her a blender for a gift instead of something artsy. She didn't want to be seen as a 1950's housewife who did nothing but cook and clean. She was an architect, an artist, a basketball player, a builder, and someone who didn't want to be known solely as "the wife," "the woman," or "the old lady of the house." Annie got upset enough that she was willing to not marry him--part of it was probably do to the stress of doing a super expensive wedding, but that fear and frustration didn't come from nothing. As a character or person, it would have been something she was very much opposed to and scared of as she grew up.

A line like that doesn't come out of nowhere.

And it struck me.

I subconsciously agreed with her although I didn't know what that meant. Annie is amazing. She is an energetic woman, who wasn't afraid to go abroad, who loved her family, loved sports, found a career that she enjoyed where she had the opportunity to create something artistically. These were all things that I eventually aspired to do.

While Annie Banks MacKenzie isn't the only woman to do those things nor my only influence in trying to be strong, my mother loved the movie. As most every little girl, what my mom loved I loved.

For my job, I work at a library, as occasion will promit. I enjoy being surrounded by stories all the time. The people I work with are amazing and sweet and the patrons are over all pleasant. Being a clerk at the library is my job. I get paid to do it and once the hours are done I get to go home and be me. I get to be "Caitlyn" with a side of "Mom" and "Wife" and an ugly veggie called "housekeeper."

With the influence of Annie Banks MacKenzie and the fact that I'm not OCD like people around me, I had no interest in being simply a housewife who cooks and cleans all day every day with vacuum lines on her carpets and mops drying every single day. I hate cleaning, though I like things tidy and being able to walk on the carpet without stepping on a million crumbs of Cheerio's. I dislike cooking. I only do really cook because my husband does work more than me and supposedly people need to eat to survive, or something like that. I do it because it needs to be done and there is not many options for others to do it. It is the obligation, the moral duty, to make sure everyone has something in their belly, I suppose. Again, I don't like cooking. If I can find a way around it with frozen pizza's or very simple "three step recipes" I jump on that band wagon so fast. Are my family foods the healthiest, not at all, but they are fed and they get a side of fruits/veggies enough.

But then things happen.

This year has been the definition of crazy! And it's only April.

I'm only 26... 27... (right?) and my husband's 13 year old nephew came to live with us. (He is twice the age of my own son, whom I know how to deal with.) New chance for a new life. Help my sister in law get back on her feet. Hopefully everyone can take good steps forward. It's good. (Right?) It's what we're supposed to do. (Right?) I can get through this (RIGHT?!)

*sigh*

I have never been more exhausted.

When people ask, "how are you doing?" I can only honestly answer, "I'm okay." The word "Fine" is a four letter 9-1-1 call to me, and "okay" is a few steps above that. For a time I was able to say, "I'm doing better" which was the honest truth. I was doing better than before, though "good" or "great" hasn't been in my honest vocabulary since before Christmas.

I've found white hairs--though only one or two. I've gone to dark chocolate for comfort. I've cried in the shower--and what a weird feeling it is to have the tears run down your face so quickly that they're suddenly gone. I've also had to seriously restrain myself from slapping him across the face do to the sheer amount of disrespect I've thrown in my face. I've even yelled--for those who know me, know I'm a quiet person and it ends up taking a lot for me to become violent or yell. Broken hearts, I got that--though I did really want to take a baseball bat to my best friend's ex-boyfriend when they broke up, but I didn't so I controlled myself. Screaming 6 year olds, handled. Financial stress, we've paid my tithing so we'll be okay. Job loss, annoying but manageable for the most part. But the disrespect and being sworn at to my face because you know I don't like it, tips my scales. I yelled and shaking with adrenaline coursing through me wanted to backhand the kid.

The situation was dealt with for the most part and I cried. I ate chocolate with a side of eggs and toast and I cried. The only was I was able to keep composed enough until my husband got home was by talking with my friend who lives with us.

I don't like being violent. To protect myself in elementary school from the boys, I bullied them until I realized what I was doing then did a 180 to where I'm more passive and let things slide more than I probably should.

 I hate crying. I won't watch some movies or read some books because "I don't cry pretty" and it is exhausting.

Those are the big things, but then there are moments where the disrespect is subtle. Eye rolls. Word jabs. "Whatever." Blatant disregard for the rules. The list goes on.

The one that has irritated me the most, though it was such a "little thing" and the situation didn't escalate to a huge blow up, was on a Sunday. Sunday's are bad anyway because it's church, ties, white shirts, slacks, no phones in the chapel, no hats in the chapel, people who are staring and judging (though they only look at him because he sticks out like a sore thumb by wearing all black, hoodies, and steps out into the lobby for most of the talks given), and the number of people in general. I get comfort zones. I get anxieties (believe me the white hears I have isn't from walking through a field of tulips). I get not like talking to people and that feeling judged is a thing (I feel it too dude). But, to sound a little southern here, "He needs Jesus."

Anyway, this particular Sunday we got back from church and I made food for my son--it was Fast Sunday, so I didn't eat. My nephew asked if I could make him a sandwich too because I was making one for my son. Sure, it's just another slice of bread and the knives are already dirty. He later comes in, after finishing his sandwich and gets a bowl of cereal. Okay, it's 4:00--an hour and a half after he ate last--sure, I guess. I end up getting other foodstuff for my son who can't prepare it himself. 5:00 when I start making my own food to break my fast. The conversation went something like this:

Nephew: "Caitlyn, would you make me a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

Me = exhausted (Sunday's just make me tired, but then dealing with kids all day already is more exhausting) and slightly hangry. Making anything is more than I want to do. "No, I'm not doing grilled anything. It's too much work right now."

N: "Come on. It's just a sandwich."

Me: "Then you make it because all I've done is made food today. I'm done. If you want it, you make it."

N: "But it's your job." He starts walking away, looking at his phone as if I'm going to do it anyway.

Me with a raised finger and my voice got deep: "It is not my job. You have your own hands, do it yourself."

N: *nothing because he's not listening at all and is now in the other room*

My friend, who lives with us, and I stare at each other. Did he really just say that?

The conversation died as they do in real life. This part isn't part of a book where the dialogs go on forever and things get resolved within 300 pages equating three days. I had no words to come back and stand my ground with. Vocal words often don't work for me--it's why I write, to get my words out in the way I need them to without the interruptions that conversation gives.

But no, that is not my job. Being a cook and clean is not just the "woman's place." Losing myself to the 1950's title of "wife and mother" with its complimentary pearl necklace was never something I wanted, first given predominantly by Annie Banks MacKenzie. I want and am my own person who's job is to work at a library and help patrons get their books. I don't get paid for cooking and cleaning, for making sure all of the stupid math homework and literature assignments that didn't get done in class are done. I don't have to do all those things. I could stop and see how well my household, mainly my nephew, floats on their own. It is not my job where I will get fired if something fails. If it was a thing to get fired when I failed at "wifery" I'm sure my cooking skills, banking skills, and not-wanting-to-talk-to-people skills would have gotten me fired a long time ago. It's not going to happen.

***

To my nephew: it is not my job to remind you to eat lunch, so then you won't be "starving" by the time 5:00 hits and there is still another hour til dinner. It is not my job to put your clothes away. It isn't my job to remind you to make your bed. It isn't my job write 15 emails a week to your teachers asking what homework is today because you "forgot" to write it down for the third month in a row or because you were goofing off in class and didn't do the assignment or didn't turn it in.

My back hurts from bending over backward for things that you should be able to do on your own. You want to not be treated like a six year old, than act like you should. You don't want to lose your phone again because of bad grades, then turn in your completed assignments. You want me to stop hovering over you telling you that you have four other assignments that were do last week that you didn't do because you were talking, you want me to stop making you do more homework on stuff you've already completed, then do your work at school like your teachers are asking you to.

Call me harsh, but the world is not an easy place. If you acted this way in a job in forgetting paperwork constantly or disregarding the rules, you would be fired so fast.

I don't deserve to be disrespected, mistreated, sworn at, and emotionally abused while I'm still bending myself in knots trying to help you stay a float and not drown. No one deserves that kind of treatment. And if you don't stand on your own two feet in this four foot deep pool, I'm not going to take another knock to the head because you're thrashing and drowning us both. My husband and I will wait until you've practically drowned yourself in water that you could stand in before we step in and if need do CPR if need be. But, dude, I'm not taking elbow to the face anymore. All you have to do is to listen to us while we're telling you to stand up.

***

In reality, I highly doubt he'd read this. I doubt many people will ever read this because my following is so few, which is actually okay. I've written this down in my journal, but somehow it feels like the possibility of more people reading it gives it more strength, relieves me a little of all the frustration and tension, and in the end will give me more words to say when the stress inducing conversations happen.

Please, dear few readers, try to not see me as an abuser in that we'd let him "drowned." Repeating the 7th grade or losing his phone or XBox for the summer or whatever other natural consequences happen because of his actions are more natural than harsh. He's been told and has been given a plethora of opportunities to excel with many people bending over backwards for him--his math teacher took time out of her Spring Break to meet us at the library to help him with a test he bombed. She didn't have to, but she was willing to in order to help him succeed. She is an amazing teacher. Most, if not all, of his teachers are. He's been given chance after chance after chance only he refuses to open his ears and take off his rose colored lenses and realize just how much leniency we've all given him.

***

It's exhausting and so often anxiety filled, but one or two good things have happened because of all this.

My husband and I have drawn closer and closer together and my testimony of prayer has abounded. Johnathan has been there for me and has come to my defence so often when my nephew is being verbally hostile. When I'm crying I've been comforted by him so much as well as the Spirit. God and my husband have been my constant companions. Without them I wouldn't be able to get through this at all. I'd be broken on the floor, curled in a ball, and unable to do anything.

I'm so grateful for my husband and for God and for my son who, when he sees me upset, runs up and gives me hugs and kisses and is so willing to cuddle. All of them. I'm grateful for all of them.

But, man, this year has sucked and so often I just want to sleep.

Ask, And It Shall Be Given You

In the KJV, Matthew 7:7-8 says, "Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened."

This whole morning I've been asking things of God. Please bless this food that it will nourish my body. Please bless my husband with safety while he is working. Please bless me with patience (as my son is practically yelling in my ear) throughout the day. And so on as the normal morning routine goes. Then I remembered that today President Nelson was going to speak and I really wanted to hear what the new Prophet had to say. I tuned in as my son was finishing his breakfast and listened to Elder Christofferson relate to us who the new First and Second Counselor to President Nelson would be. My prayers and love go out to President Dallin H. Oaks and President Henry B. Eyring. The joy of the Lord was on all of their faces. Their countinances were bright and full of love.

As they spoke, I listened to President Eyring say that he knew that the men round him were called of God. In a quick, half-thought out idea of a prayer I asked if they were called of our Father. As Eyring continued to speak, I gained that confirmation. These are men of the Lord who are directed to lead the Christ's Church on the Earth today. These men are prophets, seers, and revelators for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Days Saints. They will lead and guide the church as the Lord sees fit. The Lord will not let them do anything that is contrary to His Will; if they were to try, they would be removed before they had the chance. Though I know that they wouldn't even try, because they love the Lord. You can see it in their eyes. Unlike many other leaders around the world in different capacities who have ulterior motives and are constantly trying to get gain, these men want all people to know the love and light of Christ.

Over the past few years since President Nelson became President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, I feel we've gotten to know him more. He's spoken more often, or so it appears to me, in Conferences and his addresses have hit me more at my core than in previous years. (This might be do to some lack with I have, which very well might be, at which point I apologize.) But even before he became President of the Quorum of the Twelve, he always seemed so happy, so positive, and loving whenever he spoke or was out amongst people. His smile is contagious.

I believe there are big things that will be happening in the coming years. Some strenuous many positive, but all, hopefully, moving us forward to Christ.

Not only was this a spiritual morning listening to the new First Presidency and praying for spiritual confirmation there, but vigorous, frightened prayers were said for a good twenty minutes. My experience might sound silly, but that I guess is what makes this experience even more of a miracle to me.

I have had the same computer for nearly eight years. It was my first big buy after my first car and has lasted well past that car. My computer had a name, it was silly and now I don't even remember what it was, and it graduated college with me. I origionally bought it for two reasons, school papers/other writings and games. I wanted a big screen with a ten key. It is simple and honestly hasn't changed much over the years. No stickers are on it's screen, my nails have scratched the paint on most of my keys, a few of those self same keys have fallen off a time or two but have been masterfully put back on by myself, and where my hands rest next to the mouse pad are small pock marks where the fancy swooping design has worn away. It has been well loved. I even got thinking about it and if there were a fire in my house, after making sure my family was safe I'd have to make sure my computer was safe also.

So as you can understand, I have quite an attachment to it and the things in it's programing. I have my writing here (and backed up in other places--ALWAYS BACKUP YOUR FILES!!!), I have my games that practically don't work on any other system, and I have pictures from the last seven and a half years. So many adventures and moments that happen that I can remember with fondness about. It would cost me hundreds of dollars to get all of the pictures I've taken printed and many hours sleeving them in photo albums.

This morning after hearing President Nelson and his counselors talk, I was trying to get my son ready for school and he tipped my drink over knocking it into my computer and scriptures which I'd been reading. Neither were drenched, thank goodness. I picked up my scriptures and quickly wiped it off before seeing that my computer had droplets on it too. My computer started freaking out. Instead of the desktop picture I have of my husband and I on our wedding day, white, green, red, and black lines creeped across my screen until it automatically shut down. I, of course, flipped a lid and sent my son out of the room to get his socks and shoes on like I'd been telling him to do for the last two minutes. I grabbed my can of pressurized air (to rid the keyboard of dust) and sprayed where I thought would help the most, all the while still standing in a giant puddle of pink soda on the floor. I moved my computer away from the popping puddle of soda on the table and sopped up the mess with a towel. My phone run its alarm to remind me that my son needed to get to class and I left the mess on the floor  as I walked out the door.

Walking out to the car was the most solemn I've seen my son. He definitely realized that he'd done something wrong that not only a half heart "I'm sorry" would fix things. I was still irritated and told him I was mad which made the ten minute car ride to school very quiet.

All the while I prayed that my computer would be alright. Not only would we not have the money to replace it, but what of the photos? I have my most cherished ones printed already, but what of the other good times? Please don't let them be lost. Please fix my computer.

We just turned down the road to my son's school when he said he was sorry again. By then I had calmed down enough to tell him I was sorry too for being so angry. I told him I knew it was an accident and that I knew he didn't mean to spill the drink. Hopefully it'll be okay if it takes a break.

"We're both sorry," he said.

"Yeah, dude. We're both sorry."

I got him out of the car and gave him a big hug. He still looked distressed even when one of his friends started calling for him as we crossed the parking lot. As little boys do, when he started to play with his friend he got happier forgetting about being sad for a moment until we got inside and things slowed down again and he remembered he was sad. I again gave him a big hug and told him I loved him, kissing him on the forehead before I left. I will do something very nice for him when he gets home, don't worry.

When I got him, after more prayers that was mainly repeating the word "please," I started up my computer again it worked perfectly fine--as this is what I'm typing on. Prayers of gratitude spilled from my lips as everything started up normally. I cleaned up the floor, which was still popping with pink soda and finished my scripture reading.

The moral I guess, is that I know that prayer works. Fervent, heartfelt prayer to know if President Nelson is a Prophet or for a miracle to revive my computer, big things and little things will be answered by the Lord. If you earnestly ask, you will be given an answer; if you seek for a blessing, a miracle, you will find it; and if you knock on the Lord's door He will open it and more miracles, blessing, and answers will fall on you that "there shall not be enough room to receive it" (KJV Malichi 3:10).

"Behold my beloved brethren, remember the words of your God; pray unto him continually by day, and give thanks unto his holy name by night. Let your hearts rejoice" (2 Nephi 9:52).

The Lord is listening and watching out for us. He loves us and gives us Prophets to help guide us. He also gives us our own revelation if we ask and listen for it. Let your hearts rejoice and remember to be thankful for the many blessings He gives us every day.

God bless you President Nelson, President Oaks, and President Eyring. I love you and sustain you.






Picture from:  https://www.lds.org/church/news/new-first-presidency-speaks-to-members-worldwide?cid=HP_TU_16-1-2018_dPAD_fMNWS_xLIDyL1-A_&lang=eng