"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.

Perfection: The Murderer

Perfection is a murderer.

I saw a Christmas Card from a friend which says: "All we want for Christmas is you to think we're perfect." Why the heck would you want that? Why would you even say that? Isn't there enough keeping up with the Jones' going around anyway and all it leads to, really, is exhaustion and bruises on your self image. This really bothered me, and bothers me still. On a Christmas card? Really?

The idea of being "perfect" kills people.

There is only one person who has or will be perfect and we are not Him. We can be "perfect" in Him and it is the only way we can return back to God, but Christ's "perfect" is different than what the world sees as "perfect."

The world's perfect is false. There is no true foundation for it. What does that even mean? "Perfect."  Depending on who you talk to there will always be someone else's ideas on perfect. Are you the perfect 1950's housewife? Are you the perfect Muslim woman, Mormon woman, perfect student, perfect house keeper, cook, baby sitter, the perfect working mom...? Are you the highest person in the company? Are you making gazillions of dollars because you are the man no company can live without? Do you have a beard? Are you clean shaven? Are you feeling enough? Are you tough enough? What the heck!?

I was actually just watching "Mona Lisa Smile" and they actually exploring the 1950's housewife and stigmas of girls while they were actually going through college. They were being taught poise, how to sit and stand, and home ec classes so instead of going off to be a lawyer instantly getting married and having babies.

(Disclaimer: I believe families are the most important thing there is. I would love to have a large family with many kids and I enjoy being a stay-at-home mom. I went to school and graduated college and use my degree in a non-work environment and I enjoy it. I love my son, I love my husband, I love being able to be myself and being okay with that.)

 Am I a 1950's house wife, not in the least. Seeing that experience from a friend who is a generation older than I am and was abusively raised to be the type of wife where every single spot in your house must be polished, dishes in the sink don't exist, dinner on exactly when then husband gets home,  where you iron your husband's shirt--because apparently he can't do it himself--, etc. And seeing how she has no life after her kids left because she was so enthralled in her children's life that she couldn't find time to be/find out who she was on her own. It is heartbreaking. That ideal, that image that women especially are always put up against, weather intentional or not.

Men are as well. All men, it seems, are supposed to be in a white-collar job, "bringing home the bacon." Where it is unsightly to have a janitorial job or work with your hands. You aren't as awesome as those in business suits. (Completely false statement!!) Men are still pressured to be successful and make a billion dollars a year otherwise they are seen as worthless. They aren't "perfect."

Ugh, I hate it.

I don't want to be seen as "perfect". It is overrated.

Sure it's good if dinner turns out well and to have a tidy enough house at the end of the day. My house is lived in, not some museum. My house is warm with love, most of the time. Are there ants currently on my floor because I can't freaking get them to go away? Yes. Is my apartment small? Yes. Are there times when there is only $5 in the bank for nearly a week until payday? Yes. Are there times when we only survive because of tithing? Absolutely! It is the only way we've survived for most of my life. 

God has taken care of us because we try our best. To be honest we could be better. But we are working on it. Striving to be better than we are now is not the same as striving to be perfect. God knows our potential. He knows what we can do when we are at our best, but he also knows what we can do now and will work with us. He will work through us.

I want you all, the whole world to know, you are loved. I don't know you, but I love you. I want you to do better than you were yesterday. Not perfect. Better, until you can reach your best. Don't let the idea of "perfection" murder your self-esteem, because you are beautiful. Keep working. Be diligent. Everyone can work to be better. You can be better.

The Curl

When I was about eight, I made a horrible dissension: I should get a perm. My father permed his hair so then it would be really curly and stick close to his head. And I wanted my hair like that, thinking I'd look like Shirley Temple or that tall, pretty girl with her naturally curly hair that looked amazing. I, being a girl who preferred to play outside and not get my hair brushed because we had a death brush that stabbed into my head like nails to my scalp, thought it would be low maintenance because my fathers was low maintenance. I was completely and utterly wrong.

My hair previously had a pretty wave to it; I did have bad 1980's bangs that on school picture days with more hairspray in it than it would have for the rest of the year. But perm on top of 80's bangs was a bad thing for a low maintenance girl. For the next year, my hair was frizzy. Poofed out by the death brush and tied into pony tails.

After my hair grew out and was cut back (which we even took pictures of at the salon, it was a momentous occasion), my hair was never the same. I slowly became a brunette instead of the dish-water blond I had been. Instead of the light wave I'd had that would work in curlers, it was still curly--though not as bad as the perm. I'd learned how to straighten it with the blow dryer and iron. I finally started figuring out that doing your hair, more than just a brush through it, in the morning was important for my self-esteem and that there were other things I could do with it on my own other than a ponytail at the nap of my neck.

In high school as I became aware of the hair products I could use, I would mousse my locks so then it would stay curly--though it was so stiff with the mousse and hairspray that it looked like I'd just stepped out of the shower even though it was dinner time and I'd just gotten home from school. My giant head band with long fabric tassels with my waterlogged hair was what I did my 10th grade year. Senior year I discovered hair dye. Stick straight hair with bleach blond high lights was everything even through the first few years of college.

All in all, I tried to keep my hair as maintenance free as I could while also giving me that bit of a self-esteem boost that girls crave for. If a girl has a bad hair day because it doesn't lay right, everything else seems to go wrong.

But now it seems my hair is still recovering. When I got pregnant, my hair was luscious, thick, and amazing! I could try anything and it worked. Hormones and pre-natal vitamins were the best. But then my son stole my curls, stole the thickness, and body that it once had. My body, as everyone's does, changed dramatically as well. It seemed to like keeping the fifty pounds I'd gained while my son was growing in me, so it stuck around. Right after he was born my hair was nearly stick straight and flat as could be. My mousse didn't work. Pony tails made my face look huge. And only rarely did I find that I actually liked my hair.

Everything always seemed to go wrong with it every time I had something important to go to, which wasn't necessarily often with a newborn/toddler/young child. I went to work, to school, and was home with family with hair: "done," make up: simple though sometimes with too colorful eye shadow, and often mismatched socks (though that was intentional).

--

Quick side note: I remember one day in my fiction writing class and listening to the only high-maintenance girl in the class was complaining. I'm so glad I missed out on the roommate drama in college. Her super busy life with roommates and the drama that ensued from them, made her enable to finish all of her make up. The only thing she was able to put on was her foundation, eye liner, and mascara before she left the apartment for classes at eight. I turned to my friend who sat next to me, a mom, worker, and student like myself, and we both rolled our eyes. That is all I ever put on, I was thinking to myself. I could tell my friend did as well. We were lucky to be able to have the time to put foundation on. Some days it was eyeliner (if we were lucky), mascara, and a brush through into some kind of pony tail. Her's was the hair that was always braided in some intricate knot or with just the right amount of body to it. She looked great, even though she was rather annoying whenever she spoke which was normally a self-centered conversation.

She spent a lot of time completely on herself, on her hair, on her endless workout routines, and the boy and girl drama the surrounded her, that I don't think anyone really liked her in class; I know I didn't care for her.

--

As my son has grown and now that I'm not in school anymore and work is only occasionally, I've let my hair do its own thing. I hop out of the shower and don't instantly go for my hair dryer and straightener. I, more often than not, skip the make up in general. Partially because of time and partially because my son doesn't care. He seems me as his loving mom. I dress up for my husband and for myself on occasion whenever we go out. He loves me with or without it on, with or without my hair done a certain way. It's interesting though, as I've cut his hair and his curls have faded slightly, I've gotten mine back. They're returning with time.

It's nice though, to have my hair work with me. It's not something I need now. My hair is becoming curly again like it was back in high school, slowly. The other day, I let my hair air dry and the parts the framed my face curled nicely without me having to touch it too much (the rest of my hair was flat or frizzy, but baby-steps; it'll get there). It'll be in its pony tail one day, curly the next, straight from the iron two weeks from now. Many ladies have one hair-do and one only, but what is the fun of that? Some days there seems to be almost no choice, while others you have the most choices in the world and pray that your hair works out the way I envisioned it.

Beautiful Changes for the Better

My best friend recently posted up a conversation she had with her high school self. It was beautiful and thought provoking. I ended up posting something on her page that was probably long-winded and made little sense, but it was thought provoking.

High school is a picnic for no one. Everyone gets beaten up, chased, crushed, broken, or hurt. If the "high school" experience is anything like mine and my friends' then life became the motto "fake it 'til you make it."

My group of friends suffered through a bus crash and the death of a teacher at the beginning of the year. That left the rest of the year to not mourn, crumble, feel guilty, and fake through it. Yes, yes, the school gave them grief counselors, but I don't think any of my friends actually went to see any of them unless they were told to do so that one time. What high school student wants to talk about feelings other than how cute that boy/girl is? Answer: maybe .001%.

We were all hiding behind masks of desperation for normality. Some might be faking it still. If we faked it well enough we could convince ourselves that we were "fine" just like everyone wanted us to be. All the while inside we wanted to throw up, cut, scream, sleep, and wither away under a rock where no one would find us suffering.

This photo is one I took at the Springville Art Museum at the end of my senior year (that is why the quality is horrendous). It was made by a student in our county who easily portrayed what was going on. Sadly, now I don't know who created it, but it is beautiful.

As I came to realize just how broken my friends had become (they had taken the brunt of damage of senior year while I tried to run back and forth from the front lines to the medic tent--or so I thought), I started to hate the facade. The fakeness of people and how the displayed themselves. Why couldn't they show the one face that they really were? At the time I didn't realize how childish that was. I hadn't realized the scope of the break that had happened in my friends and I also didn't realize how very complicated a person without that type of break can be. Everything had made sense in my innocent little brain so the complications didn't compute.

A few weeks after the art exhibit where I saw the painting above, we went up Provo Canyon just past Sundance where we had our "Senior Sluff Day" (sluff meaning "to cut class," but this was all official and sanctioned by the school so it was really more of a Senior Field Trip). The place where my friends and I hung out most at this giant park that had food, trampolines, giant fields to play sports, etc. was the little, western village. It was large enough for tall boys to barely stand up in. We could climb on top of the sheriff's station, play in the little stagecoach, sway in an ol' timey looking swing, or sit on old chairs and talk. I had gotten my camera a few months before then and had taken too many pictures. So many of them were staged. At one point my friends stood on top of a building and I had them pose, click, pose, click, pose, click, pose... Toward the end of the day, one of my friends, realizing I wasn't in any pictures, slightly on purpose, made me give up my camera so then she could take a picture of me. Like all the rest of them, I posed in my little rocking chair trying to look thoughtful staring off into space at the splintered, yellow door of the replica building we were closest too. So much about this day was brutally false. And we all did our best to ignore the shiny, plastic faces we were all putting on. The smiles, the laughs, the constant talking (though I would hope that some of my favorite times were real to those around me as well) were to hide the panicked, deer-eyed emotions we felt inside.

I honestly thought I could fix everyone. That my presence could mend their hurts from the crash, from the history of violences a friend had gone through, from the ache of breakups, from everything. For a while I thought I could be the mother and fix everyone's booboos with a hug and a kiss (much like I do with my 4-year-old now) then I could send them on their way to play. We could hang out and have everything be like it was the summer before everything got so messed up with boys and bus crashes. The butterfly band-aids I tried to place weren't on skinned knees or a blister. They had tried to cover up severed arteries and third degree burns.

The little I tried to do I hope was helpful instead of causing more of an infection. To one of my friends, because of emotion and compressed anger, I killed our relationship with a dull knife. In what she had thought would have been a moment to band together, it died slowly over the years as we tried to get it back together. But anger infection set in and it festered to other relationships as well.

I am so imperfect, especially when it comes to other people. Complications set in whenever someone else is involved. But as time has passed I've grown and learned that not all complications are bad. Hard, yes. Bad, not all the time.

My friend's posts, mentioned earlier, drew an emphasis of hope. Things got better after high school. The arteries have been cauterized, often by someone outside our original group of friends. Change happens and it is good.

For myself, I've realized that I was hurting too, though at the time I had fooled myself. Not only at the end of school when romances exploded, but at the beginning when I was scrambling to pick up broken friends. I didn't know what to do so I faked it until I made it out of high school and that first term of college. That was a brutal year. We were thrown into situations that we couldn't have expected and changed to survive it. Now that time has passed the fire has died down, though can still flare up, we change to find who this new person is that we've become.

I very much like the movie Inside Out (Pixar, 2015) for many reasons. But at the end (SPOILER ALERT!!!) Riley has lost all of her islands of personality. One by one she loses them and stops being herself. Once Joy and Sadness get back to Headquarters, Riley doesn't get her islands back. She forms a new one taking in that experience and growing from it. Riley isn't quite the goofball she was before and has taken on a little more of a serious tone where she doesn't want her parents showing up to every game. She changed as major events happened and has found a way to be okay with them. As can we.

Over the years new things have happened. I am a wife and a real mom where I can give hugs and kiss booboos and have my son be okay. I have been published twice. I have read more books in the past year and a half than I ever thought I would. I've finished a novella and am working on the second draft. I've realized I get seasonal depression and how important it is to be social. I've gained more friends in my community and church than I thought I would five years ago (mom's stick together like that if you try). I've learned that it's okay to leave the dishes for tomorrow if I have to. Naps are amazing things. I've learned when I get angry I don't scream, but do little things that drive my husband nuts. I've learned that parents need time outs too, again I'll say naps are amazing. I've learned how friends are important and that the people in your group often changes and that old friends can be acquaintances and it's okay.

The most important thing that has changed, but has always actually been a constant, is my love of Jesus Christ. My testimony of Him has become much stronger since becoming married and teaching my son. I've gained more faith because of circumstances and blessings than I had thought I needed. We all need more faith. So many people are scared of what the future holds in politics, world affairs, calamities, and natural disasters. But what we need to remember is that "Faith and fear cannot coexist at the same time" (Elder Neal L. Anderson, "You Know Enough," Oct 2008). Jesus Christ said, "Be not afraid, only believe" (KJV, Mark 5: 36). If we are doing what is right and have faith in Christ, God will always be there to protect us and get us to where we need to be. Many of us have very important things we need to do, many don't realize it, but Father will get us to where we are needed often in miraculous ways.

"Be not afraid, only believe" because Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ have our backs through whatever beautiful or agonizing changes we will be going through. Whatever trials we will face, They will be there to help us be better and lift us up.







Inside Out Image: http://screenrant.com/inside-out-movie-reviews-2015/
Christ Photo (Provo Tabernacle Fire 2010): http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&sid=13725181 
Other photos are my own. 

Essays, Movies, and a Way of Seeing

We all see different things when we go about our lives. We may share the same experience, same situation, but come out very different people afterward. This could go very deep and say people need to do this thing or that thing and we will all be happy, but that's not what this thought is. Fooled you, didn't I?

Probably not.

I had a friend over the other day, a non-English major (not that there is anything wrong with those people. :P ) who didn't spend all of her time in college thinking about thesis' and essay/the proper way to write an essay with an intro, thesis, three paragraphs/subjects for the body, and a nice wrapped up conclusion for the ending. She wasn't one who spent lots of time thinking about particular book analysis of characters, setting, dialogue, and plot points. I think a lot of the most important parts of my college career was learning to look at the little details. We were told to study this essay, read this book and diagnose the character as this type or that type of person, and make sure you look at each word in your essay to make sure it is the right one. Draft after draft after draft. Watch the word and the context to be in the just right place for your voice and your thesis. Overall it felt like I was being pulled through the same mud puddle for five years.

But I'm really happy to say that, unlike math, I've been able to use my English Major and the things I learned in my class in real life applications. WHAT!?! Yeah, awesome right?

My career is Mother and all that it entails (which is an incredibly long list of responsibilities and awesomeness). So, one would think that I wouldn't use it much, but I surprisingly do. Finding the little things in movies that I can talk about with my child to hopefully better him (as well as myself), being able to be articulate when talking (which is funny because I had a hard time finding the right word for that. :D ) to my neighbors or friends, and hopefully being able to slow my children the love of reading and thinking for yourself.

Back to my friend, she was visiting me as my son was watching Dreamworks Kung Fu Panda 3. We got talking about it a little and the Kai came on scene with his amazing theme music. I said, "Oh, I love this part, the music plays along with his knives/sword things and sets the mood for the battle they are going to have, but then when Po interrupts the monologue it brings so much of the personality..." etc. She looked at me and smiled, because she a very smiley lady who makes my day, and said "I've never thought about it that way. I've seen it a bunch of times, but never thought of that." I'd loved it the second time his theme song come on in the movie theater.

Had my view changed so much? Did I pay attention to movies and books and the interpretations that can come from them a few years ago? It wasn't so long ago when I just enjoyed movies for movies sake.

Now that I think about it, when the Warner Brother's movie Sucker Punch came out in 2011, I loved it. To me, it was a live action anime where girls could kickbutt and blow crap up. It was a good blowy-uppy movie when I needed one. And that was before I even saw it in the movie theater with my friends. After seeing it, and being enveloped in the metaphors and story-inside-story-inside-story motif like in the classic Frankenstein. I thought it was an ingenious way to display something that happened in an all female asylums with male staff and present it in a way that was artistic and not.....risque? It showed a way that some patients coped with being in there and kind of made them crazy. I loved Sucker Punch far more than my other friends because I was fascinated by the metaphor that flowed throughout the whole piece. It was beautiful. They didn't see it that way.

And again recently, I commented on Facebook how much I loved Ellen Parr (AKA Elasta Girl) on Pixar's Incredibles. I mentioned just how awesome she was and how she is set up to be the stereotypical mom who has to be stretched in  so many different directions and is often stretched super thin (pun intended) to take care of her family. (Much like the way Mr. Incredible is the strong father, Violet is the invisible daughter, Dash is a little boy who never stops running, and Jak Jak is a monster baby where he changes mood/skin? in an instant.) A few people commented on how they hadn't seen that and wouldn't have if I hadn't have said anything.

Am I just really weird in that I analyze many of the stories around me? I look at the setting and characters, dialogue and plot and see more than other people. I know I don't get all of it. Sometimes I'm actually very slow when it comes to things foreshadowed three chapters earlier. Or some of my friends, my husband especially, see a twist in a book or movie miles before I do.

Am I weird? Yes. But in my weirdness I find so much more than other people do. I find a bit more beauty in the things I surround myself in.

My way of seeing is different than yours and that's great. For both of us. For all of us.

Embrace your inner weirdo. Love your inner nerd.





Sucker Punch: http://www.warnerbros.com/sucker-punch
Kung Fu Panda 3: https://fanart.tv/movie/140300/kung-fu-panda-3/
The Incredibles : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Incredibles

History Through the Eyes of the Victors

This morning my husband's radio went off so then he could get ready for work. The lawn mower was going past our window of our apartment, so it took us a few minutes to become aware of the two men on my husband's talk radio channel. I was aroused just enough to hear something about history and my dreamy mind thought of my high school history classes. I loved my high school and the teachers there. English, history, and art were my favorite classes by leaps and bounds. 

But as my sleepy mind worked through groggy memories the thought of "we never get past World War II" came into my head. And it was true. From the time I remember really learning about history in the fourth grade when we learned in depth about Utah history and how we Mormon's came to settle here (which is well and good for a fourth grader) to my last few days in my AP history classes, we could never get past WWII. I know of the Korean war because of M*A*S*H* and the Vietnam War because of Operation Dumbo Drop (both awesome shows that everyone should watch) I have never learned anything about Nixon or Reagan or even the presidency of JFK except for the hearsay of "Watergate, blah blah, blah," "Actor, blah blah blah," "Assassination and brother's death, blah blah blah." Unless we did some random Wikipedia searching or students actually went to their public library, we learned nothing of the Cold War or the African revolts. Honestly, I still have no idea what the first Gulf War was about. I don't know what made Reagan such a great president, except for I think that he was the one who told Putin to "tear down this wall". I don't know anything about any of the other Presidents that we have had in my parent's lifetime, who's actions as President, as well as those in the cabinets, are a reason why we have problems today. (Recent Presidencies and policies are not out of that reasoning as well.)

If I, who is a history buff, don't know these things, what about those who hate history classes and think it's boring? Is that do to the fact that we learned the same history lessons every time we had a new history class? We learned of the Pilgrims (maybe), Battle of Concord and Lexington, Battle of Bunker Hill, the Alamo (big maybe), a gold rush and brief movements of peoples across country, Gettysburg and every single move they made while at that farm (Chamberlain was awesome, but we spent more days discussing it than the actual battle), Archduke Franz Ferdinand being the match that started WWI, the battles of Western front of WWII (but nothing of the Pacific Theater except for Hiroshima and Iwo Jima). Then when we reach the Paris Peace Conference and maybe a little into the Cold War (no later than 1950 though, we don't want to push it) is when finals would hit and we would miss the last fifty years our history. Every single year. 

We are forced to take these history classes and maybe memorize the Presidents of the U.S., but we learn nothing new. We block our U.S. History classes into the years 1775-ish to 1950. Even into college, when our required courses says we have to take History of the U.S. again! (for the tenth time) we never got past that point. We spend so much time being fed lecture after lecture with baby
spoons and don't touch potentially hot topics that are more recent. We kept slavery to plantations. I don't ever recall talking about Martin Luther King, Jr. in any of my history classes (now this may be vastly different in other parts of the country where the is a much higher African American population; Utah's is very small in that regard so it doesn't get touched often). The only mention of hippies or the War on Drugs is from my parents who lived during that time. 

Why couldn't we get past the Battle of the Bulge?

I understand that politics are hard to teach and keep the high school students, who are already sleeping, attentive and receptive. I know I hated my Government and Citizenship class my Senior year of high school. I didn't like it because we were learning the branches of government again, something we learned almost every year in all of our history classes. The other topics our teacher chose were the same one's we would have in our next class period (U.S. history). She did have us get news articles that we were to discuss in class, but no one really knew what was going on or why it was happening.  No one knew the background to the circumstances of which we were living. And what high school student is going to look dumb by asking?

The teachers, is seems, are forced to still teach to the test. For AP classes, that's all it was. Know Voltaire to Nietzsche to Marx and to have us come to our own conclusions about the text. He gave us histories and maps and didn't focus on every single battle of the French Revolution. We had a lot of context to cover, but we saw how the world moved. I came to finally understand why Spain isn't the powerhouse it once was and how England came to be so.
these pieces of art, know this person, know the reasons for this battle 300 years ago in France. Why do we need to know it? It's on the test. While I learned a lot from my AP European History teacher (because we weren't taught these things in any other class), he was still teaching to the test. Though, he taught us as if we were college students. He gave us primary sources to read from

That AP Euro class has become one of my favorites. However, I wish we would have talked about Eastern Europe. In college, I took a Europe: 19 Century class. My professor had an emphasis in her degree on the French Revolution. She wanted to spend a lot of time there. We spent three weeks guillotines and bloody messes.. We only have three and a half months on everything in Europe during the 1800's. I was sorely disappointed in that class. There were so many Eastern European countries who barely got fifteen minutes in the entire three and a half months. Those countries and their histories were the reason I took the class and the questions I did have she didn't have answers for and didn't direct me to a proper source. She also spent more time with us, the students, teaching the class when we had no idea what we were doing. 

I ended up learning more about Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia (the little countries between Poland and Russia) by reading Between Shades of Grey by Ruta Sepetys, who got most of her research from her family who was there, than any of my history classes taught. In class, we never talked about the Soviets taking over countries and what they did to the people. These people froze up in Siberia and were carted around in railway cars like the Germans did the Jews. Maybe it was mentioned that x-million people died in Russia by their own government, but we never learned why or how.

It was only through my Chinese History class in college that I learned about the Rape of Nanking what the Japanese did during WWII to the Chinese. How it was a holocaust in three weeks. Up to 300,000 unarmed civilians were brutally killed and/or raped. We never learned about that in high school, in any of the world history classes. 

And what is truly horrible is when governments to hide their own faults and wrongdoings, accidents or otherwise, they seal documents and keep other stories from being heard. I was reading an article online about the Cap Arcona  a ocean liner that was turned into a prisoner's ship during WWII. It is extremely sad what happened, but no one will fess up to the destruction of the ship or the thousands of concentration camp prisoners who died. A judgement can't be filed because the documents have been sealed until 2045 when all who would have been prosecuted for it are long past dead. All those people who died, and those who survived and lost loved ones, still don't have justice. 

**********

You get the point. I could seriously go on pages of the things that I had to find out myself outside of the curriculum. I do it, because I enjoy reading. I do it, because I enjoy the characters/real people who were there, whose stories are being silenced and need to be told. 

I try to do family history. I'm not very good at it and my dedication is slacking, but I try. All of those people, all of your ancestors, had their own stories. Whether it is about a little farmer from Illinois fifty years ago,or a mother in Nanking during WWII or the chambermaid of Charlemagne in the 700's or even one of the Pharaoh's servants who saw Moses and lost a child. 

We can learn a lot from history. We need to learn it otherwise "we are doomed to repeat it," as the saying goes. We will repeat it if we are unaware of what is going on presently. Our history classes are good(-ish) at giving us our history from the far distant past. There is a lot to learn. 

What our history classes have forgotten, or what they are told not to tell us because it's not on the AP test, is the modern history. The things that have happened recently that influence us now can keep us from repetition. Documents are being kept from us, the people of old and now. We don't get the full truth because the people who are supposed to represent us are keeping things from us. Even in National Treasure 2, there is a Book of Secrets that only Presidents can read. Look back at Nixon; look back at Benghazi, look at the potential candidates for the Presidency in 2016. There are so many secrets, hidden things, and lies that flutter around in the media shadow, so then we will vote or act a certain way.  

If we don't learn our modern history from those who actually understand having been there or have done the research, as we just as gullible and illiterate as the peasants during the dark ages. If we don't know what's going on (especially us millennials who haven't understood the past presidencies and haven't been taught the last fifty or sixty years) we will be taken advantage of by people who know and run the system. 

Our history books have been written by the victors over us. 

Tear down the false media. Find the primary sources and make your own conclusions, not just reading the commentaries of others opinions. 

Take initiative. 

Learn another language and read the older texts. 

Make sure the younger generations knows cursive; if they don't, they can't read those older documents unless they have someone else translate/alter them. 

Read the Declaration of Independence and Bill of Rights. 

Find other opinions that aren't like your own. Learn why they have it. The reason will enlighten you even if you don't change your own opinion. Discussion, not argument, is vital. 

For the modern history, talk. Discuss with neighbors and family and older friends. Find out what they did during the 60's and 70's besides discoing with bellbottomed pants. They have vast amounts of knowledge to offer if you could just talk and tap into it. 

We need to do something to change the way the system is being run. The best way to do that is to become informed and act, not with hostility and anger, but with dedication and understanding and kindness. Intelligence, courage, and kindness will go a long way if we want change, which we desperately need.




Thank you Wikipedia.org and Google Search: History Books for pictures. 

Unexpected Underdog: Ted Talk

I enjoy many different TedTalks. Do to the influence of my husband I've come to enjoy stories of the Bible and other Scripture as well. I've found it extremely interesting to find the little joys of the gospel stories that you can only get if you look closely enough at them. You can find many different and surprising gems inside the stories if you really study them. 

David and Goliath is a story that many people, even non-Christians know. The David has been reproduced many times by artists over the years. My favorite "David" is a sculpture by Gianlorenzo Bernini in 1623-4.  I love this sculpture because it is so very different from the other David's that were produced after the Renaissance. Many of them have no movement; they stand nonchalantly, not like they are about to go kill someone or die. Many of Bernini's other sculptures are like this. To see his works in St. Peter's Cathedral in Vatican City would be a trip of a lifetime. 

But our figures in the Bible story are looked at differently in Malcolm Galdwell's TedTalk "The Unheard Story of David and Goliath." Galdwell describes gives us much appreciated  background of the terrain and peoples who are fighting and he sets up the story for us. But he flips our renowned "underdog" story into what could have probably happened. 

Lets look at Goliath first. Goliath, Galdwell argues, is probably much like the beloved "Princess Bride" character Andre the Giant. Goliath and Andre most likely suffered from the same illness that was the cause of Andre's death. This was known as acromegaly--a disorder that's caused by the abundance of growth hormones in the body. There are many complications with acromegaly and many of the people who have it die fairly young. Galdwell explains that Goliath's size seen as his greatest strength was actually his greatest weakness. This hormone disorder can cause severe nearsightedness and double vision, as two of the many repercussions. So David would only have to stand a dozen yards away with his sling in order take Goliath out. 

Speaking of our Master Slinger, David was an artilleryman. Galdwell mentions, though doesn't reference any which I really wish he would have, moments in ancient warfare that slingers were the deciding factor in battles. These men would be amazingly accurate; Galdwell says that they could shoot birds out of the sky in flight which is amazing. David was a shepherd. He would have had to fight off "lions and wolves" to keep his flock safe. He was in the army probably as an artilleryman. Also Galdwell points out that the rocks in the valley they were in were twice as dense as most stones around and they could sling these rocks very quickly. So, an accurate shot to the head with a heavy rock that could be shot out of a sling almost as fast as a bullet would indeed kill anyone let alone a gigantic target like Goliath. 

This "underdog" story here has almost been flipped on it's head. The little guy took down the big guy. But then again the story is still the same, just a different take. All big, scary, problems that we are supposed to face, our Goliath's, can be faced if we are prepared like David was with his well trained arm. Before my understanding of the story was that it was a lucky shot, God helped the rock to fly straight and with enough force to slay this giant, but that isn't the whole truth. God gave David time to prepare for his battles with his Goliath just like he does for us. 

We can overcome anything! 

The Unheard Story of David and Goliath 

https://www.ted.com/talks/malcolm_gladwell_the_unheard_story_of_david_and_goliath?language=en

The Power of Introverts

I love Susan Cain's voice. Her TedTalk is one that I listen to often, one: because I would consider myself an introvert, and two: because of her voice. Her way of putting things that I hadn't thought of in realistic and very understanding ways.

Since I started college, I've tried to be more outgoing. In this I've succeeded. I've gained a few good friends by trying to introduce myself at the beginning of classes and it helps a lot now that I'm in my upper division classes and many of my peers are in the same classes I am. But there are many times when I want nothing more that to sit down in a comfy chair with a cup of cocoa and read about far off places. I want to go on an adventure all by myself and maybe at some point talk to a friend (or write on my blog to you unknown people who I appreciate) about the characters and world.

There are so many outgoing people who I know and love very deeply. They do things in ways that I wouldn't have thought of or wouldn't have the guts to do. Speaking in public is causes me the worst butterflies especially on subjects that I have little to no knowledge about. I know many extroverts who can work through things very quickly on subjects they know little about and they can work sound like they know everything. I like to have time to process my thoughts and explore them on my own before I let anyone else have a jab at them.

I hold my thoughts as dear and precious things. Not all of them need to be shared with everyone.

Although, there are sometimes when the extroverts or the louder people step over my words. My own ideas get looked over because my voice isn't as loud as others. There are many times when I have to be flamboyant and almost abrasive to let my voice be heard. Those who are near and dear to me know how much I dislike having my words being stomped on and they are kind in trying to quiet their voices a little or ask me questions so then I can speak.

It was worse when I was younger because I didn't know that it was okay to speak up. I would raise my hand, like I would do in a classroom if I ever spoke up, amongst my own group of friends for them to realize I had something to say.  Sadly, though, there are others who haven't gotten the memo and still step all over me. Whether or not it is getting better is hard to tell.

Susan Cain refers to the idea that I know I had and have that being an introvert is a bad thing. This is false. The wonderful thing about her TedTalk is that she says it is"to sound grandiose, the world's loss" because we need introverts to "do what they do best." We need them to be thoughtful and creative and that little bit of hesitancy so then we don't rush into things without thinking them through thoroughly.

She delves into the differences between introverts and extroverts and how they are stimulated by different things. This is perfectly okay. Find out where you are stimulated the most. Is it in a library where it is quiet and not many people in your ears? Is it in the kitchen with bustling kids? Is it out on the streets?

She also calls out teachers and the institutions where children are taught to realize that 1/3 to 1/2 of their students are introverts and may not learn the best not in group activities but in doing their own work. Realize how different the students are. (I think the best way for this to occur is to have smaller class sizes--though I know that is a difficult topic to some.) Don't simply believe that the "ideal student is an extrovert." That would cut out 1/3 to 1/2 of the students in the classroom.

We introverts need to realize that this is good to be introverts. That it is important that we share our views and share our creative spirits. We don't have to pretend to be extroverts but find a way to let yourself be heard.

I believe that Susan Cain's TedTalk to be very intriguing and worth the watch. She also has a book, that I have yet to read--though I want to, called Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking. I am very interested to read this.

But please watch her TedTalk. I enjoy her thoughts immensely.