Mea Culpa

You know how you sometimes do something you shouldn't and then, soon after, something bad happens and you are sure it's your fault for having been so evil?

Well. I have a tale to tell.

It's a good thing Greg has seen On the Way Home so many hundreds of times because today while we were. . . On our Way Home from church we got a flat. Greg was able to change it in his suit and dress coat, (his stylish scarf blowing in the breeze) on the side of a very busy freeway between Katowice and Krakow. I'm sure this is because of his having seen that girl (the one who says "Maybe she's WRONG!!") change that flat tire so many times. However, we did not have great 90's music playing in the background while he did it. I guess that is not built into the process.

So I know why Greg was able to change the flat so quickly and efficiently but I wish I didn't know why we got the flat in the first place.

I was not aware that I had committed a sin until last night. As a matter of fact, even then, I thought it was just funny.

At the hotel, just after turning off my light, I hit "random scripture" on my scripture app. As is often the case when I read by this method, the scripture was incredibly relevant to my current situation.

It was Proverbs 13:24 "He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes." That is a good one, but it was the one right after, and the last one in the chapter that hit home:

"The righteous eateth to the satisfying of his soul: but the belly of the wicked shall want."

With my stomach growling from want of carbohydrates I laughed out loud and read it to Greg. I decided to repent and quit my diet the next morning.

But then we went to breakfast and I skipped the DELICIOUS crusty rolls that I usually eat two of with 4 or 6 helpings of butter and had cottage cheese and a slice of ham instead.

Sinner am I. Which, of course, is why we got a flat tire.

We were safe and everything. I mean, if it had happened a half an hour later it would have been dark and very difficult to change. If it had happened last week it would have been below freezing and snowy. It could have been much worse. No thanks to me, though. It wouldn't have happened at all if I had satisfied my soul with those peanut butter brownies last week, making me righteous again.

At least Greg's righteousness (i.e. having church videos memorized) saved the day! Thank goodness we really do balance each other out with our strengths and weaknesses in marriage and make up for what our spouse lacks. (Although, come to think of it, I wouldn't be on this diet if it wasn't for him, since he succeeded at it and set the example, wicked man.)

I think I will print out that scripture and post it on the fridge.

On Pornography (Again)

Another one of those posts that are for my personal record more than to share with the world at large.
A couple of months ago, at a random time on a random day I felt I should talk to Ev and Dave about pornography. We've talked about it before of course, but it seemed a good time to talk about it again.

I love having talks like this with my kids. These are the times when I can put into words some of the things that are not easily understood just by seeing an example. My kids know how we feel about pornography, nudity and immodesty (a subject I've gone into great detail about before here) and we obviously avoid it in all types of media, but for them to fully understand the why of it, we have to discuss.

I explained a little about avoiding pornography and how we should make decisions before we meet temptations so that we don't have to make an on-the-spot choice. If we already know that we're not going to look it'll be easier when a situation arises (and the spirit can help us keep resolutions we've already made).

While we talked I compared pornography to alcohol; the seeming harmlessness of it, it's addictive nature, the curiosity young people sometimes feel about it. We talked about how alcohol is bad for our bodies and can be physically dangerous in many ways, besides the possibility of losing a job or even breaking up a family. I compared this to how looking at pornography is bad for our spirits and repels the Holy Ghost (which we need in our lives).

I explained how Satan wants to do everything he can to keep people from following God's commandments and having happy families.

We had been talking for maybe 10 minutes or so; pretty long for this type of conversation, I felt. The kids threw things in now and again, mostly about alcohol and how their friends talk about it sometimes. Overall I felt like they were understanding what I wanted them to know. Then I said something and the reaction I got from David made me realize that, while he had heard what I was saying, he maybe didn't fully get it until that point.

I almost didn't want to say it because it made it sound like they might make such a choice, or that I was even throwing it out there as an option, but I said it anyway. "If I had to choose between you trying alcohol or looking at pornography I would rather you have alcohol," I said. David looked confused. He asked me to repeat. I did, and this time he was shocked.

Finally I found a way to really get the point across about how serious I think it is. I'm so glad he is so clear on how "taboo" alcohol is so he could really get the point about how important it is to avoid pornography. I hope that will stay with him.

I was very happy just a week or two later to hear President Packer's conference talk which, I felt, had a strong emphasis on pornography and how Satan uses it to damage, destroy and even prevent the building of families. I was so grateful to have a prophet's testimony borne so soon after I had shared my own on this important topic, the purpose of the commandment, blessings of keeping it and the miracle of the way back if it has been broken.

As a mother I really love helping the kids understand why they're supposed to do and not do certain things. I love that the gospel makes this so much easier. There's not a lot of "because God said so". Even when the world tries to make us think things are perfectly harmless, or even good which God says are not, it is easy to see past the world's view and through "eyes of faith" when the blessings that come from keeping commandments are so apparent.

Teaching Evie to Give Her Socks to the Janitor

Schools in Poland are set up differently than those in America. Rather than hanging your coat on a rack in your classroom, when you first enter the school there is an area with a group of cages, one for each class, in which you leave your coat. You also leave your shoes there.

Every day the kids change into "school shoes". They take this separate pair of shoes, which is usually canvas or some other light type of shoe, in a special bag (which can be bought to match your backpack), change near their class' "cloakroom" and leave their regular shoes in the bag, which they hang by their coat.

The janitor lady locks up the cages after the bell rings and opens it again before school lets out. (this means that if your kids are late they may have to run around looking for the janitor to have her open their door) Different classes let out at different times, and sometimes classes take trips outside and have to change shoes and put on coats etc. so occasionally the cages are open during classes.

This, of course, is all very strange to me. It's a pain in the neck in many ways. Of course it's a good idea in some respects. I mean, imagine walking down the hall at school and not going through all the slush people bring in during the winter. The problem is, it only takes one or two parents or teachers to walk down the hall in wet shoes and then all the kids' clean school shoes are muddy, too.

But whatever. That's how they do it here and I stopped complaining about it after Evie's second year in school (see how good I am, only complaining for two years about something I can't change!?!)

There is, however, another problem. Stuff gets stolen and lost very easily. David has "lost" a couple of nice sweaters, a pair of good new gloves and a pair of (cheap but new) school shoes over the course of 2 1/2 years. Ewelina? Well, she's "lost" a number of items of clothing and two pairs of shoes. Good shoes. Good, new shoes.

Sorry about this tangent, but I can't really stand girls' shoes these days. They are ugly, most of them. And the ugliest ones of all are those that I'm sure I would have died to have when I was Evie's age. Fashion and it's cycles.

Anyway, last year we bought Evie this (ugly) pair of shoes that she was just in love with. They were the most expensive pair we've ever bought her (we're cheap though, so they weren't that expensive). She wore them for a couple of weeks and then they disappeared. From the cloakroom. Into thin air.

She was somewhat devastated. It was cold enough that we just had her wear her winter boots, but when spring came again we finally got her a replacement pair. Shiny red low-tops that she also loved.

A week or two later and the red shoes disappeared, too. Nothing we have ever lost has ended up in the lost-and-found. Thin air, I tell you.

Yesterday after school Evie called Greg (who was getting ready to go pick her up; we don't rush and the kids sometimes wait an hour or so for us (him) to come. Again, every class has a different schedule so there are always some classes still going on and it's very normal for other kids to just be hanging around)

This time Evie didn't want to wait. She told Greg to come as fast as he could. Why? Because she had just seen the janitor wearing her old shoes (the first pair that went missing)!

Yeah.

Those were not a style of shoes a forty something cleaning lady would wear. Unless. . .

So, yeah.

Ev and her friend were looking at the shoes and whispering. When the janitor noticed them staring she left right away. A little later they saw her again and she was wearing the slippers she usually wears around the school.

What a range of emotions I feel about this. The shock and upset that I felt initially wore off pretty early on and is now mostly covered by pity and. . . regret? I just feel bad for her.

I sort of would like to approach the lady. Maybe I would say she could keep the shoes (obviously), but could we please have back the leg warmers that were in the bag with them, which Ewelina's aunt knitted specially for her?

Greg is planning on talking to the principal. I definitely understand this. They really shouldn't have a thief working on grounds. Especially not one with keys.

But I can't help thinking that maybe talking to her would be enough. I don't know. Maybe not, if she has a lucrative stall in the outside market where she sells like-new children's shoes and winter clothing.

Basically when it comes to the "justice" part of the whole thing I'm a little torn (let her keep taking other children's things? Probably not a good idea), but there is no question about the mercy aspect.

Evie was very upset when she got back from school. She really misses her shoes. She is very angry with the janitor. I talked to her about how understandable that is. Then I asked if she knows what Jesus said we should do in such situations. She didn't remember.

Well, it turns out he gave quite a similar example. I quoted that "if any man . . . take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also."

I suggested Evie take a pair of socks to school and offer it to the janitor.

She didn't think this was funny. Or poignant. Or anything other than a little annoying. But I think she's coming around. Sometimes forgiveness takes a little time.

If You Grew Up During Communism

A popular Polish comedian, Drozda, visited America in the 80's. When he returned to Poland he shared some of what he had learned about that admired and idealized country and its citizens in his comedy acts. For example, he explained that Americans are very stupid: they go to the store and pay for light bulbs when every single elevator had light bulbs in it!

This is quite hilarious because of how true it is. In Poland most elevators simply didn't have light bulbs in them. If they did, they were encased in a little cage to try to keep people from stealing them.

For the same reason, to this day, in many public bathrooms the toilet paper sits outside the stalls next to the woman you pay for the privilege of using the toilet. You take as much as you think you'll need and the rest stays under the watchful eye of the bathroom lady; because why on earth would they leave it in the stalls where anybody could (and anybody did) just stick it in their coat and walk away? (this restroom set up is much less commonly seen than when we first came to Poland 10 years ago, mostly only in old train and bus stations and farmers' markets etc., and all gas stations have better bathrooms than in American gas stations.)

If you grew up during communism you would have a very different mentality than you do currently. Take what you can get whenever and however you can get it. That may be stretching it a little, but not much.

Greg's parents came to visit a few months ago and brought a nice paper coffee bag. I assumed it had their coffee in it and was surprised when they left it behind. I then found out that it was full of home dried mushrooms they had brought for us (they spend hours every week in the forest in the fall collecting mushrooms in a wicker basket, just as you imagine Europeans would). But there was something about that bag. . .

The writing on it was all in English and seemed so familiar. Then I remembered where I'd seen it before. When my in-laws came to visit us in Provo 12 years ago they did a lot of things I did not understand. One of these was this: when we went shopping they were excited to see a selection of coffee and a grinder where you could choose, grind and bag your own coffee. They ground some and put the bag in the cart and then. . . picked up a stack of the empty paper bags and put them in my mother-in-law's purse.

That was 12 years ago and here sat one of those bags on my window sill. Craziness, I tell you. At the time I was a little shocked. To tell the truth, Greg isn't all that excited about me sharing this story but really, I totally get it now. They were free, right? There was no sign saying not to take them or anything. And they would definitely come in handy, so why not take some? (And come in handy they did, as illustrated above.)

There is nothing embarrassing about it, really. When you spend decades in survival mode you just do things like that. As a matter of fact, it was this same mentality that brought Greg the best blessing he's ever enjoyed.

The independent, hitchhiking 18 year old Greg and his best friend were in Vienna in the city square. There they met two missionaries, one of whom happened to be Polish, who were offering a free book. A free book. For free. Did they want one? Of course they wanted one!! Greg and Kuba gave their contact information so missionaries in Poland could get in touch with them when they returned home, and then the missionaries asked if they had any friends that might want one of these free books, too. Greg couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't want a free book so he gave them the names and numbers of every friend and acquaintance he had on hand.

We all know how that ended. Not only was Greg's life completely transformed, but so was the life of a girl he hardly knew at the time (but had her info with him), who is now the head of the translation team for the church in Poland.

So although the system caused people to put themselves before others and take what wasn't theirs (because they almost had to), it also created a curiosity and well, not greed, certainly, but awareness of what is around to be had that had some amazing effects. What's a few "stolen" paper bags when compared with a life and generations to follow blessed for eternity?

Feeling Your Pain

In high school my skin was always . . . less clear than my friends'. It was the main thing I was unhappy with about myself, I think. (not that I was unhappy, but it would have been the first thing I changed if I could). But we were all teenagers, and none of us had perfect skin.

I remember occasionally standing in front of bathroom mirrors at a dance or at school with my friends and one of them complaining about their one zit. I would immediately point to myself and say, "Hello! You should be grateful!"

Starting around that time I began learning something. Just because my skin was worse than theirs doesn't mean that it wasn't a big deal for them to have a zit. They could be as unhappy about their one as I was about my twelve.

Because women compare themselves to each other so much, even those of us who feel we don't (I'm talking to you, self), complaining about or mentioning something like weight, pregnancy, physical appearance, almost anything, can turn into something of a competition, or at least can get people feeling defensive or offended. I hate that.

I'm sure there are some women that make jabs at a "friend" who is 30 pounds heavier than them by saying, "Oh! I'm just so fat! I really have to get rid of these disgusting 10 pounds!" But I doubt it happens a lot. Mostly, I think we worry more about ourselves and aren't thinking so much about those around us.

When a friend of mine who, to me seems quite thin talks about needing to lose weight, I only feel empathy. I know exactly how it feels to really want to lose weight. Just because I want to lose (insert number) pounds and she couldn't lose more than (insert much smaller number) without looking anorexic doesn't matter (I'm exaggerating, of course, but it sometimes feels like this). She has the same feelings I do. And that is okay.

I have felt a little sick after complaining about my child's behavior during church when I realized that the person I was talking to struggled much more with her children. I would not want her to think I was suggesting that even my mild mannered child was bad, so I must think her children were terrible.

I appreciate when this happens and instead of getting offended and holding it against me the person says something along the lines of "Oh, then you must think MY kids are little hellions!" or something like that. Of course I feel awful realizing what I sounded like, but then I can apologize and we can be fine. Hopefully. Everyone sticks their foot in their mouth sometimes, but we should give each other the benefit of the doubt. And even if someone does seem to be unkind on purpose, that's no reason to get offended or hold a grudge (see earlier post on taking offense).

But mostly I think we have to recognize that everyone has trials on their own level. Shoot, I can't remember who posted about someone telling them that they only had two children so she could not empathize with what she (a mother of four) was going through. Really? Back when you had two you never felt stressed or overwhelmed? It doesn't matter whose is worse, we have all felt it to some extent. Let's commiserate with one another!

Okay, this really doesn't sound how I mean it to. I'm not saying everyone should complain and we should all just try to make each other feel better. I'm also not saying that it's perfectly fine for people to complain about something the person they are complaining to struggles with more than them. But I am actually saying both of those things a little bit.

Mostly I just think we need to have all of our sensitivities be on the side of the things we say about ourselves in order to be careful not to hurt others, and not be so sensitive to what other people say about themselves and letting those things hurt us or think ill of the person saying them. We're all in this together. Really. We should respond with a heartfelt and sympathetic, "I know!" and leave off the "better than you do!"

Hope

We have only been to the temple three times since we moved to Poland nine years ago (besides once or twice during visits in the states). I find this to be sort of sad, but considering what it means to "go to the temple" in Poland:

Drive or ride about 12 hours each way to Freiberg, Germany; stay for 4 nights in the temple"hotel", taking its underground tunnel to the temple at 7am every morning and going through session after session -- four per day (including an evening session) -- for four or five days in a row.

and what our life has been like in those nine years:

over two full years of pregnancy, 2+ years of nursing infants, years of kids in school and lots of "life"

I think three is an okay number. Actually, let's put it this way, we maybe attended fifty or so sessions, over the course of nine years, at a temple that's 12 hours away. That sounds a little better. :)

Our last visit was three years ago. That time we became temple workers. This meant spending hours learning exactly what that entails, what to say and do (in both Polish and English) attending super early prayer meetings, and getting to know the temple presidency and temple missionaries rather well.

Unfortunately, when we first arrived at the temple and before we were asked to be temple workers I realized that my back was wrong as it sometimes is for weeks at a time. This would make the whole week difficult. I determined to try to attend a session or two each day, if I was able and rest the rest of the time. Then we got the calling. I explained my dilemma and, after our meeting with the temple counselor and his wife (the pres. was out of town this week), he and Greg gave me a blessing that I would be able to work. So I did.

Okay, that was a very long lead in to my point:

I had the chance to rub shoulders with some wonderful missionary couples. I know that being in the temple is an uplifting experience in general, but spending so much time (and there's quite a bit of standing around time for temple workers) with those people was really and truly wonderful .

Those mature women were such an enormous pleasure to talk to. They were smart. They were fun. They were warm. They were wise. They were extremely sympathetic, seeming to be intensely interested in every minute detail of my back issues, family, hobbies and everything I might possibly enjoy talking about. I came away feeling like I was an interesting and good person (who isn't interesting while talking about their back problems, really?) And not like I had hogged the conversation, either, somehow.

I came away from nearly every conversation thinking, "I wish I could, I HOPE I will be like that one day. I would just give anything to be like that. To make people feel like that, just by being who I am."

Currently, though, I am NOT like that (at all). I am starting to realize that it's not exactly the time for me to be like that. I need to be much better about being less oblivious of others and their needs, but it's also okay that I focus mostly on my family right now. So I'm sort of okay about it.

But then I worry that I am just too selfish in general. I am not the kind of warm and caring person I'd like to be by nature. I'm too tied up in me. BUT. . .

I am starting to realize that the experiences I'm having now that require me to be tied up more in myself and my family than I'd sometimes like to be are the very experiences that might make me that more mature woman that I want to be some day.

I've been thinking about this more than usual in recent weeks.

I really hope and believe that these last few months are part of that training. Other women have the same experiences I've been having. I think, I HOPE I will be more understanding and sympathetic to them as I learn to untie myself from me over the years.

I know the reward for what I'm going through these months is the baby that will be mine forever. That is enough. But it doesn't stop me from hoping that I'll also be rewarded by getting a little closer to becoming who I want to be, too.

I Like Nike

I'm sorry for the problems!  The picture should be up now.

(Of course the "Nike" in the title is meant to be read the way I pronounced it as a girl, with the silent "e".  Also, I don't actually like Nike (or at least not the ones I'll be writing about) so pretty much every single thing about that title is wrong, except for that you can take out the "N" out of it and have a rhyming political catch phrase from the 50's, which  I'm assuming you already knew.  And if you didn't then everything about the title is wrong)

There was a time in my life when I did more than just sit on my lazy rear all day.  I ran cross country and track in tenth grade (yes, only tenth grade).  Since then I have loved running off and on.  Mostly off, though.  

My second year at Ricks College I started to notice that my pants weren't fitting me right (or at all) and also that I hadn't eaten a single vegetable in months.  I was getting up to clean the library every morning at 4am and my health wasn't the best anyway.  I decided to get it in gear.  

I started eating things like a bowlful of canned green beans (I used to believe that those were vegetables)  for a snack or meal.  I also decided to start exercising in the mornings after my shift at the library instead of going home and going back to sleep.

First I tried weight lifting.  With free weights.  Free weights are no good for people with spastic tendencies so I decided to try running.  It was winter (and you don't know winter till you've experienced one in Rexburg Idaho) so I had to use the indoor track, which was eight laps to the mile. 

Running around a tiny little circle in a dark room at seven in the morning after vacuuming and mopping floors and removing gum from carpets for three hours.  I was dedicated.

So much so, in fact that over the Christmas break while I was back home I decided to buy some new running shoes.  My old Saucony's that I just LOVED were dying and needed replacing.  I went shopping with Erin, my best friend from high school, who also attended Ricks and with whom I regularly swapped stories about the guys we had crushes on.

It came down to some UGLY-but-perfect-in-every-other-way Saucony's, or some cutest-shoes-on-planet-earth-but-much-more-like-not-very-comfortable-cross-trainers-than-running-shoes Nike's.  I ran laps in the mall a few times with each pair, and there was no question which pair I should get.  I already loved Saucony's as my runni

ng shoe of choice, and these ones felt GREAT.  But why did they have to be ugly and gray and bright orange (or what is yellow)?  (the Nike's were mostly white with a little bit of turquoise and dark purple.  Remember 1995?)

I hemmed and hawed over this forEVER, and finally Erin told me I should just go with the Nike's.  Her logic was too much for me to resist when she said, "What if you meet the man of your dreams while you're running?"  I'm not kidding when I say that that is why I bought the Nike's.  I'm also not kidding when I say "What on earth was I thinking?" and "Was I really ever that lame?"

So I wore those Nike's running early mornings on the indoor track.  I was looking awesome but running was seriously about 10% as enjoyable in my new shoes as it had been in my old Saucony's or would have been in my new ones, had I bought them.

I ran and I ran.  And I consistently didn't meet the man of my dreams.  In fact, the only person I do remember meeting was President Bennion, the President of Ricks College, who ran laps the same time I did every day, and who I wasn't particularly interested in making a good impression on with my footwear.

So you could say that the story has a sad ending, but I did end up running a lot with friends at BYU, one of whom  was the man of my dreams.  I just wasn't wearing those shoes when I met him.  And he is the last person that would ever care about what I had on my feet.

And here I am 14 years later having done so little exercise that I still have ONLY those same Nike's as my shoes to be active in (although even when walking across town I just wear my every day shoes and in the summer I only wear sandals or flip flops).  They're pretty worn, but WOW.  And they're even less comfortable today than they were then, as my feet have "grown".  

I still think they look pretty awesome, though.  

I'm not a fan of pictures of old shoes, but I had an afterthought to include one anyway, so here it is.

You can tell it was an afterthought because I would never say "I... think they look... awesome" if I knew I'd be including a picture, but I'm leaving it anyway.   And sorry they're lar

ger than life.

Thoughts on Shouting

This is sort of a journal type entry written for my own benefit but you can read it if you feel so inclined.

My kids are relatively well behaved.  They never (I may be jinxing myself here) write on walls or rip pages out of books.  They don't climb the curtains (and this isn't only because we don't have any.  I'm sure they wouldn't if we did) or hit other kids at school.  They're tame.  They're good.  I believe there are three likely reasons for this: 1) they are calm kids by nature 2) I'm a stickler for not letting them do anything I don't want them to from the very first time they try and 3)  We are only given what we can handle and I could not handle hyper kids.  

I love watching those parenting shows.  Little Angels, Tanya Byron's House of Tiny Taraways, Supernanny etc.  It's so surprising to see what some kids get away with.  I love cheering the mother on when she's following the counselors advice.  I love seeing the change that comes over the entire family when the parents learn what behavior of their own they need to change in order to change their children's.  I love that I can always anticipate what advice they will be given because it's very logical to me (and maybe because it's what I studied in school).

But I see those mothers, too.  The desperate single mother who's convinced that her four year old wants nothing more than to rile her up all day every day.  While following a new bedtime routine she takes her son back to his bed 30 times saying calmly, "Good night" as she walks out the door over and over and over.  And then he whines one more time and she goes into his room and throws off his blanket and screams in his face "WHAT DO YOU WANT!?!  JUST GO. TO. SLEEP!!!"  Very, very loudly.  

I'm thinking, am I so supposed to be shocked that a mother would do that?  I feel so much empathy for this poor mother.  And I have screamed in my own kid's faces before.  I mean screamed.  And I've never even had bedtime issues.  And I know all those tricks you use to get good behavior.  And my kids are generally good.

They're not perfect, though.  And I'm even less so.  Lately I have felt awful that I yell at my kids so much.  It is often almost my first reaction when they do something wrong or whine about something silly. 

Last Friday I had an awful migraine.  Or it might have been my blood sugar.  I had a terrible headache, I was nauseated and lightheaded, shaky and I just felt like bawling.  Greg was at a business dinner and David was whining about everything.  And I mean everything.  He would not do what I asked and I was just waaaaay past my limit and I went up to him and I held his shoulders and screamed in his face.  

Of course I felt terrible about this later.  Terrible.  Even though I knew I wasn't being myself, I realize that I just shout at the kids all the time.  Pretty much daily.  Some days are worse than others.  

On the drive to church on Sunday Greg had recorded a lecture from some Perry Symposium (or something) in which the speaker talked about the omission of the "without a cause" from after the "He that is angry with his brother."  The talk was compelling.  I mean, I know that we know that the "without a cause" was an addition to the original text, but it was fascinating to hear about the various versions and how and why it was added etc.  

The talk was very academic.  There was very little talk of the gospel or any sort of sentiment in the telling.  But it was very striking.   After an hour long speech, he ended with evidence that we are not meant to be angry (including a rebuttal to the common "What about Jesus and the money changers in the temple" argument.)  His closing paragraph was a short.  I don't even remember what he said.  I just remember feeling that there was no room in my home or life for shouting.  I knew it about anger in general, but I felt it about shouting in specific. 

As if I didn't know that before!  Duh!  As if I didn't feel bad any time I yelled at the kids.  As if I didn't pray to be a more patient mother all the time.  But this was just one of those moments of change.  

This week I didn't yell at my kids.  Well, I started to maybe 4 times.  I would ask them to do something and they wouldn't do it a few times in a row, then I'd ask them one more time a few minutes later and whining would ensue (this is what makes me mad.  They should be apologizing for not doing it earlier, not whining that I was going finally force them to do it!)  I would start in with the stupid, "I've asked you to do this 4 times. . ." in a raised voice, totally ready to be MAD.  Then I stopped myself and said, "Okay, I'm not going to yell. . ." and magically I didn't feel mad at ALL!  And the kids smiled!  And happily did what I asked (sort of).

So I feel like I just was not angry with my kids this week.  We even had FHE about anger and specifically shouting.  We've all decided that it doesn't belong in our home.  Aaron had just recently started yelling "NOOOOOO" very loudly when he didn't get his way, and I know he learned it from all of us (the kids yelled at each other a lot, too).  I really hope we can completely reverse this.

It's working so far, and I'm feeling really good about it.  It feels so nice to have control over myself.  I feel like I'm finally starting to set a good example for my kids.  Finally. 

It Was Not Our Intent To Turn Them Against Her

While we were at Greg's parent's house last week, his mother showed us a drawing that she had found while sorting through some of her papers.  I've mentioned before that she is a good artist, and this was a pencil sketch of a cute little old colum-fronted building that she drew as a young student while visiting the lovely Łazienki Park in Warsaw.  The picture was awesome.  I expressed how impressed I was with it and we talked about it for a minute.  

As soon as Babcia (grandma in Polish) left the room, David confided to me in a whisper, "I don't believe that she really drew that."  I asked him why not, but I think I already knew the answer, even if it wasn't' the one he gave.  

I've mentioned before that honesty in Poland is a relative thing.  There are very few people (if any) that I would call strictly honest.  It is absolutely accepted that people lie to get ahead or to impress or avoid offending people etc.  Often people lie for no apparent reason.  It's just almost a part of the culture.  

Greg's mother (who I love!!) often gets caught in these little lies.  She only gets caught because she tells them to the kids and then we tell them that she doesn't exactly mean that, but she's just saying it.  Like she was going to run downstairs to a neighbor's apartment and Evie asked to go with her.  We had heard her make the phone call and all she said was, "Hey, Ula, can I come down for a minute?  Okay, I'm coming."  Her response to Evie's request to be allowed to come was, "Oh, well, you know what?  Ula is just on her way out the door because she's has someplace to go, so I'm just going to be very quick."  This may possibly have been true, but I don't believe that my mother in-law knew it.  Why couldn't she have just said, "Nope, not this time, Ev.  I'm coming right back.  Maybe next time." ?

A few years ago we were visiting and there was a Scooby-Doo marathon on.  The kids were crazy about Scooby-Doo and when they told Babcia that they couldn't believe how many episodes were coming on she told them, "Well, when I knew you were coming I called them and told them that my grandkids like Scooby-Doo and asked them to please play a lot of them."  This is such a tiny little innocent lie, and a kind of cute one (she's really cute with the kids) but when they get older they will look back on it, and many other similar lies and wonder how often she ever spoke the truth.  

That's what has happened with Greg.  He doesn't trust his mother.  He loves her, but he rarely takes her at her word.  He has lost a bit of respect for her over the years as he realizes just how often he was lied to as a child.  It has had a huge impact on the kind of father he is.  (and is probably part of what makes him a little cynical--although he hates to be called that)

In Poland lying to children is very common practice.  You hear it all the time even in public, "No, we can't buy a sucker, those suckers are only for adults." or a very common one we heard at a dance class, "Okay, see that door over there?  If you kids don't listen, a dragon will come out of the door and eat you!"  or, "you can't push that button or it will explode!"

It seems these little lies are told mostly to make excuses.  I admit they demonstrate a bit of creativity on the part of the adult, but they serve no real purpose, and I think they will backfire. While children may listen for now, soon they will realize that those things don't happen and will stop trusting their parents, even when they are giving sound advice or legitimate excuses.   

And how much better for children to learn to do things for the right reason in the first place!  You don't push the button because it might ruin part of the appliance.  You can't have a sucker because I don't want a sticky mess in the car or we're eating dinner soon.  Come on!  These things help children to actually understand the world around them and how and why they should behave certain ways.  It's so logical.  

This is the reason that Greg is so extremely opposed to The Great Santa Deception, as I've started to call it.  Why would you lie to your child about something?  Then one day they find out that you were lying and orchestrating this whole sequence of events year after year to make them believe something that is false and in no way necessary for their growth.  (I'll say here that I understand the appeal of Santa and the doing good/giving to others etc.  It's not like I hate Santa.  I think he's very nice.  I just wish, he were a little more real so people wouldn't have to lie to their kids!  :)  Also, Santa comes to our house and the kids always look forward to  his coming with much anticipation, just like in any other home.  The difference is that ours know that he's us.  We talk about him as Santa, and anyone might assume that they believe in him, but they're in on the whole thing.  And I think they love it all just as much as other kids.  They have known from the time, when Evie was barely two, and Greg told her that Santa isn't real and shocked and upset me (we hadn't discussed how to deal with Santa before at all).  So please know that I would very likely have been in on The Great Santa Deception, too if it hadn't been for Greg.  And now look at what he's done to me!  Yikes!  He's so persuasive!  (may he never persuade me to go along with all of his views! ;)

I don't mean to pass judgement on people who do Santa, of course.  I'm just explaining a bit of background on why we don't.  And I'm not even sure that we should point out when Greg's mother lies to the kids.  Iit started when they were really little and they would excitedly come and tell us something that Babcia had said or done which we knew wasn't true.  We didn't feel it was our responsibility to go along with her stories.  We do tell her, though.  Once in a while we will say something like, "Well, not really, of course, Babcia's just playing."  Or even, "Oh, you can just tell them the truth, don't worry about it."  So she knows that we don't go for that kind of thing.

Probably a lot of people would not consider this a very important thing, or would even think it was wrong to tell the kids about and wouldn't want to turn them against the poor lady.  But our kids love their Babcia!  I think it helps them to know about one of her weaknesses, and to understand that lying can have the opposite effect than what is intended.  (And the kids totally haven't turned against her!)

(Teachers often tell these kinds of lies to their students.  Also, one of Evie's best friends constantly tells them to her friends and expects them to believe her:  Ten of her teeth fell out once when she bit into a roll or that she saw a real "water nymph" and took a picture of it etc.)

Up Lifting

I need, for myself, to write about something that is very good and that I am most grateful for in my life. I feel like, at this moment, I'm being swallowed by fear and failure, hopelessness and frailty. But there is so much good in my life.

Long ago, I went on a trip with some friends. When we returned home I wished, overall, that I hadn't gone. Still, I have realized, starting then, and in the years since, that I was supposed to go, if only for this one incident that has affected my life since then.

Four of us went for a hike. I don't remember the name of the place we went, and I won't disclose the location, but at some point we were walking along a ravine. We were looking for a way to get down in it so we could walk along the beautiful river that flowed through it. It was rocky and steep. The rocks were a deep red, similar to those I had climbed on so many times as a child on camping trips to Red Cliffs, in Southern Utah.

 We all started on our way down, each choosing a different path we thought would suit us. I found a place that almost looked like stairs going down. Very steep stairs. I thought, if I went down facing the rock, it shouldn't be too hard to just step down. As I was deciding if this was really the way down for me, I looked over and saw the teenage boy that was with us making his way down. His way looked way too tricky for me. I could see all the muscles standing out of his slender, toned body as he worked his way down the rock. Um, my muscles didn't look like that. Really, my muscles didn't look at all, as in they were hidden, rarely used, and certainly never seen. That was definitely not the way for me. Mine was just right, and it was only really maybe 20-25 feet down. I'd be down in a flash.

I crouched down and put my hands on the tops of the rocks where there was enough soil for a few tiny weeds to grow. I cursed myself for not having cut my fingernails for the fifth time that day. They were getting dirty and gross and making it hard to hold on to rocks. I stepped down onto what was my first "step". It was kind of far down, and harder to get onto than I'd expected but I had both of my feet on it at last, and I was ready to think about moving down to the next step. I could hear the others making their way down as I stood there contemplating my next move.

 Really, I felt sort of stuck. I realized that there was no way for me to get down to the next step, as the one I was on was too small for me to be able to crouch down again. Plus, I need to be holding on all the time. As I stood there trying to figure out what to do, my feet started slipping. The rock I was standing on was situated on a little too much of an incline. I held faster to the soil my hands were resting on, but I needed rock to hold, and there was none in the right place. My feet kept slipping. I knew that I couldn't lift either of them to bring them higher up or I would surely fall down.

I dug my fingers into the dirt. I searched everywhere for any weed growing within reach that might be large enough to offer me enough support so that I could fix my footing. There were none. I grabbed a handful of the tiny ones that were there, hoping that together their roots might help hold me a little bit. They ripped out (of course).

About this time I called to my friend to come quickly and help me. I was frantic. I dug my fingers into the earth as deeply as I could. I continued to slip. I felt that if I had cut my fingernails before this hiking trip, I would already have fallen. My claws are what were keeping me from going over. But I was still slipping and I could feel my hands were starting to tear the soil as the rest of my body started following my feet. "Okay. Here I go," I thought, as I realized I had nothing, and I was going down. Right now. . .

Just then I saw my friend climbing quickly over the rocks above me. She jumped down by my hands, secured her feet and grabbed one of my hands. . 1-3 more seconds and I would have fallen on solid rock on my back,and would very likely have died. She started pulling at my hand until I was supported enough to give her my other hand. I resettled my feet in a more sure position and she pulled and I was up.

I was up on top again. As if nothing had happened. As if I hadn't almost died. And it had been so easy for her. I'm not sure the others realized how terrified I had been for my life right then. How utterly helpless I had stood there, losing my footing, trying to prepare myself to fall to my death, all resources completely exhausted, but one.

I have thought about this so many times. There was absolutely nothing I could have done to save myself. Nothing. But one hand from above me, and I was completely freed from all that panic, horror and fear.

This is exactly how grace works. We make wrong choices, struggle with weaknesses and sometimes cannot see our way out. We feel fear, helplessness and desperation. But there is always someone standing over us. He waits for us to ask Him to help us. And He always will. There is no need to fall. There is no need to fear that we will fall.

This works day to day. It also is how things will work in the end. Those going into heaven are supposed to be perfect. I'm not perfect. I can't be. I don't even know how. I can try, but I will fail, ultimately. There is absolutely nothing I can do to save myself. Nothing. But one hand from above me, and I will be completely freed from all insufficiency. I just have to ask.

See No Evil: A Sermon

We spent almost a week at Greg's parents' house and just got back Monday night. While we were there we took the opportunity to go on a date. Okay, fine. We didn't really celebrate our anniversary, and were waiting for our trip when we would have built in babysitters (we don't have any in Mielec) to do something special to celebrate.

Greg looked in the newspaper for a suitable event for us to attend. He was delighted to find that The Magic Flute was playing in a theater in town that night. (he loves the music from it and he is very interested in Freemasonry, and aparently there are lots of references to it in the opera) He called to reserve some tickets for us but was not able to over the phone. Finally he decided to drive all the way into the city center to get the tickets. When he returned he said that they did have some tickets left, but before he bought them he saw the poster advertising the opera and that it was fairly pornographic. He learned that some of the actors played nude. Oh. Okay. We decided not to go. Well, "decided" is the wrong word, as we didn't really turn this over in our minds. Let's say rather: We didn't go.

Because it was just after Christmas there were no concerts or anything else we would really have preferred to go to, so we decided to try a movie. The newspaper only listed the titles in Polish so we really had no idea what they were. We decided to just go and look at the posters and decide that way. (Welcome to life without the Internet!) We were super lucky to arrive just as Four Christmases was starting and decided to watch it (not knowing anything at all about it beforehand).

I spent the movie alternating between cringing at the crude and laughing too loudly at the hilarious (and eating my chocolate covered cherries and strawberries). Greg reminded me about 4 times during the movie that we weren't in America and you don't really BURST out in very loud laughter here. I mentally reminded myself that you don't really do that, even in America. But I couldn't help myself. It was funny. Very. And crude, too. (I just looked at the reviews and see that we are in a very small or non-existent minority of people who found this movie to be funny. Whatever.) I'm not sure we would have watched it if I'd known it was so heavily sprinkled with vulgar jokes and references. (but we still both loved it)

So this all got me thinking about my personal views of what's appropriate to watch and what isn't. I remember being surprised when someone I thought I knew well was upset when a group I was watching a movie with decided to shut it off because of the sexuality/innuendo, proclaiming, "That is about love! What is wrong with love. You think this is bad to watch, about people who love each other? It's much better than watching people killing each other!" I remember thinking, "But are we choosing between the two?" (and BTW, I was a teenager, but I'm fairly sure this was nothing R rated, as we didn't watch those then, and I don't now, either)

After that I had a long think about it. Of course I knew that we were not watching people who love each other. Or if we were, it wasn't their love that we were feeling. It was a different L-word. Maybe the characters loved each other, but those scenes were not included to help us understand that they loved each other.

I hate violence in movies. I always look away. I often wonder if people even DO watch it. Why do you want to see those details? It's yucky. It doesn't help you understand the story much, either. Sometimes, maybe a little, but you really don't have to have graphic violence to understand the trauma and horrors of war.

That being said, I think that violence, while clearly evil, is so clearly evil that many of us will never be tempted to emulate the actions we see depicted in an action movie. Not too many of us will be tempted to think about comitting murder. On the other hand, seeing "love" shown on screen is quite different. I think far more people are prone to sins against virtue. It is something that is becoming more and more acceptable in our society, and beyond acceptable. Only the prudest and most old fashioned people today would think anything wrong with watching those things.

I believe that adultery referrs to relations outside of marriage. That's before, after or during marriage (fornication is a form of adultery). Anyone to whom you are not married. I also believe Christ when he says that whole "looking at a woman to lust after her/comitted adultery with her in his heart" thing. I don't understand how pornography is accepted in a Christian society. The same goes for nudity in films (much less things the naked people are doing).

I live in Europe. I think I can safely say that I saw more naked bodies in my first month here (on accident, of course) than I did in all my previous 24 years of life (remember, no rated R movies). It was shocking and disturbing. I felt pretty outraged. Now, it's fairly normal. I still get a little ruffled, and am surprised, but I know that when you go to an office or small business, it is very possible that there will be a picture of a naked woman on the wall. (and for some reason they are never regular naked women. They're women with unnatural bodies, usually). Recently a law was passed here that pornographic magazines have to be kept out of reach/view of children or have to be covered, but there are still contraceptive devices sold in all gas stations and most stores that are usually kept in plain view right near the cashier the packaging of which is covered in uncovered women. I also know that if you flip through channels after 11 pm you will almost surely see something pornographic.

I believe that what happened in the Garden of Eden really, actually happened. I believe that the commandment they recieved as the first people on earth to "multiply and replenish the earth" has not been revoked. I don't believe that people who choose to have more than a child or two are irresponsible. Well, of course, some of them are irresponsible, but just the act of having a large family does not make one irresponsible. I believe that God's commandment for Adam and Eve to "dress and to keep" the Garden carries over for us today. I'm not big on the whole global warming fanatacism (update: my apologies if I just inadvertently called you a fanatic), but I do believe that we are meant to be responsible in our relationship to the Earth we've been given for a home. (Oops, I got going on our early parents, but here's the part I meant to say, which relates to the subject of this post:)

I feel that when Adam and Eve ate of the fruit and were able to distinguish good from evil, it is very important to note that once their eyes were opened, the first thing they did was to clothe themselves. They recognized that in a place where good and evil exist side by side (before they ate of the fruit they only knew of the good) we must cover our bodies. I can only believe that it was because they had the desire from the beginning to choose good over evil, and they understood that nudity could somehow bring an evil influence.

I know I'm a major idealist (and a "prude" which is one of the ugliest words in our language; right up there with "puberty") but I can't help but think how less vivid people's imaginations would be if they never saw naked people. If a husband saw only his wife, and desired to keep his appetites in check, how likely is it that he would cheat on her? I'm probably pretty naive about this (and many other things) but I would be really curious to know how many men who don't view pornography, or even pay attention to lingerie adds, cheat on their wives compared to those for whom other women's bodies are commonly seen. Maybe it could be argued that those with more exposure would be less likely to be unfaithful. I would argue that they already were being unfaithful.

I certainly don't believe that the human body is evil. I think it's beautiful. This, however, is not a kind of beauty to be shared and "appreciated" by all. In order to be truly appreciated, I think this kind of God given beauty should be shared in His way. I think it makes people happier, marriages stronger and families closer.

Once we were with a couple we are very close to and on a TV in the restaurant we were in there was some fashion show going on. This, of course, means that here and there breasts could be seen through the sheer fabric of many of the, um, what shall we call them? shirts? Dresses? No -- let's use "creations," as someone surely created them, and it's not as controversial as calling it "clothing". Greg made some comment about how it would be nice if they would change the channel and the man we were with said, "Oh, come on! Don't tell me you don't want to see that!" Greg said something to the effect of, "It depends on your definition of 'want.' Does a part of me want to see it? Yes, I'm a man. But a better part of me wants to steer well clear of it." (okay, he didn't sound as preachy as I'm making it sound.)

Many say that there is no harm in it. I believe that there is, as it encourages our base desires, and passions that we are meant to bridle. It is also becoming more apparent that it is addicting and can cause great unhappiness and even 'ruin.' I wish people would take God at his word. He wants us to be happy and his commandments are not outdated, no matter how hard people in today's society try to convince us otherwise. Jesus wasn't "just saying that" when he mentions this subject in his Sermon on the Mount. He only talked about the important stuff there. Yes, he taught us to love, to serve, to pray, and to give, but he also taught us things that it is important for us NOT to do. Today many of these things are cast aside, and seen as nitpicking. I think picking and choosing what parts of that powerful sermon we consider to be important and throwing out the rest (and even laughing at those (prudes) who don't throw it out) is a real fault.

And that concludes my sermon, with a disclaimer that I know I have all my own ways that I don't follow Christ as well, but I'm trying! And I don't fool myself into believing that doing those things is okay, even if it might be considered "normal" by many others.

The End. Really, this time.

How Many Polaks Does it Take to Change a Lightbulb?

Real answers to real life questions, here. That's what we're about. Knowing the answer to that question may one day be of some moment to you, as it was for me. And while I'm proud to possibly be the first person to blog about this, I still wish someone had done it before me and I had read it and been saved a small amount of stress.

Greg recently calculated that we can save as much as $6 in gas on the drive to church simply by leaving on time so we don't have to speed. You're right if you're thinking that maybe our chapel isn't 3 blocks away or even across town. We have a two hour drive (to Cracow). And gas isn't four dollars a gallon, either. It's almost twice that.

Greg's church calling requires him to visit three branches, and we take turns visiting each of them. The previously mentioned Cracow branch is our "home" branch, as it's the nearest. This Saturday, however, we headed out to Wroclaw (the farthest), a city about a five hour drive from where we live (not including stops). Greg had an afternoon meeting there so we were doing our usual stay over in a hotel in order to attend that branch on Sunday. We knew there was big money to be saved by leaving extra early on this one. First we had to go to Greg's work so he could print out some documents for his meeting. His computer kept freezing and that took longer than expected. Then, on our way out of town he stopped at our local Opel dealer and explained that one of our headlights was recently replaced and it was at the wrong angle, so it needed to be adjusted (sidenote: in Poland-possibly the entire EU- you have to have your headlights on day and night year long--except for when you're not driving it, then they can be off, I believe).

Greg parked in the parking lot and assumed that they would just have someone run out and make the adjustment. No, we had to drive into the shop. Two men started working on the headlight. After about five minutes I was a little perplexed as to why we were still there. Then they called in the third guy. Another 10 minutes of work. Finally they call in guy number four. They're adjusting, turning the tires, turning the lights off and on etc. while Greg stands around with them providing the comic relief and I'm sitting with the kids in the car trying to make them forget that we're sitting in the car, just like we will be for the next 5-6 hours.

So the answer to the question posed in the title of this post would be 5. It takes five Polaks to change a lightbulb; four that work at the auto shop and one customer to cheer them along. It also takes those five Polaks 35 minutes to change that bulb. But, to be fair, and also in order not to completely deceive you, this had not a whit to do with their nationality. It had everything to do with the car:

www.autodoom.com/Opel_Zafira.php

This is what our car looks like, except ours is beige-ish. Panna cotta, to be exact (sounds significantly nicer than beige-ish, but doesn't give you any idea of the actual color unless you're a total foodie [or a regular foodie. Or an Italian speaker. I wouldn't know; I am none of the above.] and know what panna cotta is. Still, I imagine real panna cotta doesn't have all the pretty sparkles in it like our panna cotta Opel does.). Doesn't this car just have the cutest nose? Well, this picture doesn't really do it justice. I love the front of this car. Unfortunately the designers of this car made the same mistake designers of highly fashionable clothing often make. They threw practicality to the wind, as no single human being, especially one who doesn't work for Opel, would ever be able to change a headlight on their own in under an hour.

And I'm like, "What's up with that?"

And then we finally get on our way and realize that the extra hour we gave ourselves is gone and Greg is about a half an hour late for his meeting. Maybe that math doesn't add up (I'm only good at Geometry and there were no angles in this problem), but that's how the story goes.

First Time Failure (Never Trying it Again)

I like sleeping. I enjoy it uninterrupted at night, and I love it during the day. I like it on my left side or on my right (never on my back, as it causes me to startle repeatedly until I finally turn over on my side). I can do it at home, in hotels, or even on other people's couches (hopefully only when sleeping over). I consider sleeping to be my right. This is apparent in the way we deal with our kids at night.

I want my kids to enjoy their sleep as much as I enjoy mine. For this reason we've always had a pretty structured bedtime routine. After all the toothbrushing and prayers and songs (actually, we don't really do the singing anymore, sniff sniff), and hugs etc. we say our farewell for the night and that's that. See you in the morning! Now it's me and Greg's free time before we go to bed ourselves. We start this at an early age. Our kids never sleep in our bed (apart from occasional daytime naps with mom). Babies sleep in the car seat or the crib. Even though Aaron didn't sleep through the night until he was almost 10 months old, he still slept in his crib, and I went into his room and fed him. No family bed in this family*!

Well, for some reason last night became the exception to end all exceptions (literally. see title). We've been a little sick and Aaron and I seem to have the worst of it. Last night, after going down as usual, Aaron woke up a few times before Greg and I headed to bed. He sat up in bed and cried. Laying him back down and patting and kissing him didn't help so I picked him up and rocked him for a minute and put him back down. Five minutes later? Same thing. We realized he wasn't breathing well with his pacifier and he refused to be in bed without it.

Finally Greg decided that we should just put him in bed with us for a little while. At first we had the lights on and just wanted to relax him and put him back in his crib. Greg turned on the iPod nano and let Aaron watch with him. After a bit of pointing with his chubby little index finger and commenting on the show, he settled down a little. But only a little. He didn't seem to be getting tired at all. It was after midnight. Greg made an executive decision and said that Aaron would just sleep in the bed with us. We decided to turn off the lights while he was interested in watching the screen. As soon as it was dark, Aaron started laughing. How silly are mommy and daddy! What a funny new game!!

We turned off the iPod, told him "Night-night" and kissed him a few times. Silence. One minute later, "Da da da?" 30 seconds later, "Aaaah! Da da sa sa da da!" We patiently ignored him and waited for him to settle down and fall asleep. He raised his hands straight up in front of him and realized that he could see them in the blazing light from my over-sized digital alarm clock (it sits almost two feet away from my face, and since I don't wear my glasses while I sleep, those numbers need to be a good 3-4 inches tall). He started waving his hands around, watching them in the green glare, and doing some type of singing. Then he would stop and yawn. Silence. 30 seconds later? More hand waving. Then some searches in the dark for mommy and daddy's noses. And a bit more chatter. Soon the bed started shaking. I admit this was my fault. I was giggling. And giggling. And trying not make any sound while I did it. This causes beds to shake.

I decided this wasn't working. And why should we teach him all his life that his crib is the place for sleep and then suddenly say, actually, no, tonight we're completely changing everything, okay? No sense in it, really. I thought I'd take him downstairs and watch a little TV and then take him back up and put him in his crib, pretending that it was a normal bedtime and not the middle of the night . But first I decided to try laying him in his crib to see what would happen. Well, what DID happen was he fell asleep. Probably glad we had finally finished our silly turn-the-light-off-and-lay-in-the-dark-in-mommy-and-daddy's-room game. (he probably doesn't realize that we sleep, since he only ever sees us up and at 'em.)

So, uh, we won't be trying that again, I don't think. Two of us find it far too funny. And between the hand waving/ nose honking and bed shaking, I don't think any of us would get much sleep at all. I mean, I enjoy a good laugh as much as the next guy, but sometimes, I like sleep even better.

* I don't mean to disparage those who DO have a family bed. Especially because I recognize that people often do that for many of the same reasons that we do the opposite! Funny how two extreme opposites can bring so many similar results!

A Broken Promise; or Never Say Never

I distinctly remember sitting with my sister in the living room of our trailer in Orem talking to my dad about fashion. Actually, my memory isn't all that distinct because there's every possibility that it might have been in our house two states (and at least as many years) away. But anyway, we were in some living room somewhere, and we were talking about fashion. I think we had been looking at pictures from the olden days, read: when we were even younger than our 12ish years. We had been teasing dad about how ridiculously he had dressed back then. Those bell bottoms! How silly were those!

They were pointless. If you wanted your pants loose, you should wear them loose. If you preferred them tight, by all means, wear them tight. But to have them fitted from the knee up and then have 5 pounds of extra material flapping at your ankles was just ridiculous. And ugly as sin. We railed him on this for quite a while. He did the best he could to explain that fashions come and go and that they actually were cool and that one day we would understand. He even went so far as to bet us that WE would find ourselves wearing them one day. We laughed. We laughed hard.

When we had finally stopped rolling on the floor and wiped the tears from our eyes we saw that he was actually serious. It was as if he hadn't heard what we were saying at all, and therefore still thought that we really would wear them some day. To prove to our father how very, very serious we were, we each swore (most likely "on a stack of holy bibles"as all oaths were sworn back then) that we would never, no never, stoop so low. I can still picture the kind, but very slightly smug upturn on the corners of dad's mouth.

I'm sure I don't have to explain what happened probably very nearly exactly as many years later as he had said it would. The title of this post tells that part of the tale. To my credit, I resisted for a long time. When I watched people walking down the street and heard the "ding" and the "dong" of their jeans, I felt a bit scornful. I wasn't fooled by the new name "flares". Those were BELL BOTTOMS, plain and simple, and they were ridiculous. Eventually, of course, they became so darling in a "why didn't I see it before" sort of a way. I started wearing them a few years before they went out of fashion again.

Why do we always tease the youth about their naiveness? This is something THEY understand. As soon as you're "supposed" to be wearing skinny pants, they start wearing skinny pants. THEY don't care about how ridiculous they are, or how unnaturally short they make their legs look. THEY don't mind continuing to pull up the extra 10 inches of material over their heels and bunch it around their ankles after they've already zipped and buttoned them at the top. If bell bottoms had come back in fashion a week after we had made our promise to dad, I would probably have been wearing them before the month was out. As an adult, however, I resist.

I am still wondering, do we have to wear skinny pants? Will they be like the flares of yester-or, in my case, this-year? Can't there be some alternate style chosen that will always look classy to people of all ages, for those of us who can't be suckered into wearing the trendy ones? As it is, I am feeling like it's about time for me to go and get myself a pair of skinny pants. Partly because all my old flared ones are falling to pieces, and partly because I don't want to still have pairs and pairs of new-ish skinny pants right about the time they start going out of style. **sigh**

So, advise me. Do YOU wear skinny pants? Can we get away with NEVER wearing them? Do you still wish your flares were in fashion? ARE they still in fashion on the other side of the world? (If so, we may move up our date for returning to permanent residence in the States).

Drapers Know Best

Some years ago, our brother in-law recommended Gmail to us. I believe he even sent us an invitation. He had told us all the advantages of joining up including all manner of numbers and statistics (Tom? Numbers? NEVER!!) about things like megarams and gigaseconds. We contemplated and considered, weighing all the pros and cons in various pertinent categories. How did it compare with our current service as far as its organization, userability and storage space. Gmail won out in all of these areas. But there was one ultra-important consideration that would trump all others: would it be easier, short term, to switch to the far superior Gmail or to keep our current account? We stuck with hotmail. (Remember us? Lazy and Lazier?)

A month or two later Greg's boss sent him an invitation to join Gmail. Suddenly nothing made more sense than to join right up. So we did. And we love Gmail. And at some point we remembered that, Oh, yeah. Tom already told us all about this.

A month or so ago, Tom's better half told me about how she used Google Reader to alert her when there had been any recent posting on the blogs she reads. Oh, Google Reader isn't for me, I told her. I'm really into blogging, and therefore must do all my blog searching by hand. I explained to her about the suspense before getting onto someone's blog and wondering-- did they or didn't they? They DID! Or, nope, on to the next blog. Then the next and the next. What a way to spend an hour (give or take--usually give) in the morning. Then another in the afternoon, and one more before bed. No, Google Reader would completely disrupt my way of life.

So this morning I go to check and see if one of my fellow tagees (who I do not know) from the mom tag, Sharon, has done hers with her kid. She hadn't, but she did mention about how she uses Google Reader. Google Reader! What a great idea! I went straight into looking it up and started subscribing to all my favorite blogs. This is wonderful! I can still find out if anyone has posted lately, but now it takes 3 seconds to find out, intstead of 3,000. How much less time I will spend on the computer! Imagine all the books I can read to my kids! Think of the fun we'll have making crafts together! How great will it be to go to the park before it gets too hot! I'll be a better mother. My kids will learn more. We'll be amazing! We'll be a lot like Su and....her.... kids. Oh. That's right. NOW I get why Su is such a great mom. Google Reader!

So, uh, note to self: when the Drapers recommend something a) it will very likely be something run by Google* (this one isn't that important to remember) and b) listen to them! (this is the one we want to stick).

*This just reminded me that she was also trying to get me to blog (using Blogger--Google!) for a year or so before I started, and we all know how much I hate blogging. Another bad recommendation!

*I know some people are afraid Google is planning to take over the world, but seriously. It's either China or Google. Google or China. Hmmm, forced 16 hour days in a sweat shop or the promotion of workplace fun and creativity? And think how organized and efficient the world will be, and how well everyone will keep in touch with each other. C'mon, join Gmail. Use Google Reader. Get on Blogger. Your vote counts! Thwart China!

*This SO was not meant to be a post about Google! I only noticed it was when I wrote that note to self at the very end! So it looks like the company is establishing its gradual world domination by affecting our sub-concious as well. And apparently the Drapers are in on the whole thing!

Seeking Therapy

I know that I probably need therapy for many reasons, but for now, I'm just thinking about it for my kids.

Today, just as I was about to get in the shower, I suddenly heard screaming from outside. In a second, I recognized it as coming from Ewelina. I quickly threw on my clothes, assuming the whole time that the screaming would abate, but it did not. I ran outside.

David was running from the kids' "baza" or "base"--their hideout in the field across the street from our house. I kept running and David showed me how to get in through the tall grass to get to Evie, who was still screaming. I'm thinking "broken bone, dog attack, torture by monsters"- something terrible. I came through the weeds and saw that she was sitting on one of the little green plastic chairs that they'd taken there, holding on to her foot. She told me that she thought a bee had stung her. I looked at her foot and saw that, indeed, there was a tiny little stinger that looked more like an itsy bitsy sliver stuck in the arch of her left foot. I carried her wailing and sobbing, on my back, back to our house. (To find that we were locked out, but that part of the story doesn't really go with the rest of this post, so I'm leaving it out--er, I meant to).

For those of you who have spent any extended amount of time with my children, you already know how they can freak out at times. Like when a fly buzzes anywhere near them. Or when a puppy, not to mention a full grown chihuahua glances in their direction (these are David's). Or maybe it's the anticipation of a visit to the dentists office, or getting a sliver--or (and this causes 20 times the level of out-freaking) the thought of having that sliver removed!

Any of these things will cause my children to cry. Possibly to scream, and just generally wig out. When they were smaller, we thought it was just the normal childhood phobias. We tried being very understanding and supportive. We held them and soothed them. Then we tried being practical and instructive, showing by our own calm manner and explanations why everything was okay, and how best to deal with the situation. We tried various combinations of these two techniques. Sometimes we have resorted to a third: threatening and shouting. Admittedly, the threatening and shouting were not used so much as a "technique" but rather came out of our frustration and sense of helplessness, and search for any way to get them to calm down. (All good parents know that threats DO sometimes work.)

It's entirely possible some of you are thinking "Yelling at a kid who is afraid of something?" But that would only be because you haven't been around during some of these fits. They are entirely out of control. They care not for empathy. They care not for guidance. They care not for threatenings. Left to themselves the hysteria continues indefinitely. They are in their own little world of terror, and we don't know how to bring them out of it. That's why I think I need to take them to a counselor.

Evie sobbed and cried for about 20 minutes until Greg came and opened the door for us, and then kicked it back up to hysteria for the 10 minutes before she would let me remove it, when we actually had to force her down so I could do it, or we would have waited endlessly until she felt "ready". It took a quarter of a second and she didn't feel a thing. I know a bee sting is a scary thing (though I've never had one), but this just reminded me of the other panic attacks and made me wonder what kind of a doctor we need to take our kids to.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

I'm dancing because I got my girl back today! Not really actually dancing, because I have this migraine coming and going yesterday and today, and I wouldn't want to upset it, but dancing inside.

While she was gone we had NO contact with her. They had our number so we could be contacted in case of an emergency, but other than that NO CONTACT. Evie said that they were told that they should write to their parents every day, but when we were packing and as we were finding the cutest stationary for her to take she said, "Mom, don't be surprised if I don't write to you, okay?" Thanks, Ev! Guess how many letters we got from her. That's right! Zero.

When they came back we were so relieved to find out that only 3 girls, of the 40 or so that went, became seriously ill while they were there. And only ONE had to have an operation right there in that foreign country. That was one of Evie's closest friends. She's still there in the hospital (her parents went down to be with her, of course). Evie, a very unpicky eater, said that the food was pretty terrible. I think the illness was some stomach issue. Hmmmm.

They had a dance, the highlight of which was supposed to be this enormous cake. The cake came the day after the dance. We bought her new shoes right before the trip and only ONE of them came back broken (we can have it fixed, though). She only left one pair of underpants and one sock there.

For some reason, before she left, I envisioned her with her friends all going into the bathroom at night to wash faces and brush teeth together. It was going to be so fun and slumber party-ish. Well, apparently nine year-olds aren't so into stuff like that. When she came home she told us that she had only brushed her teeth once the whole time. That's ONCE in almost SIX days! Yikes. She said that all the girls kept forgetting. She mentioned that her friend, Ewa, has this whitening toothpaste and she said it's amazing. Ewa brushed her teeth and showed her friends the difference even after one brushing and they were all struck dumb with the whiteness. Uh, I think it may possibly have had something to do with the fact that her teeth had 4 days worth of yellow plaque covering them before she brushed.

They went to a castle, a cave, an open air museum, went on lots of hikes, and went swimming a few times. She had TONS of fun.

She brought Greg a cute little key chain leather backpack, David a mini pack of cards, Aaron a little stuffed sheep, which he keeps mooing at and throwing across the room, and me a bracelet with little black and brown wooden beads, which I LOVE and plan on wearing until it falls apart.

The number of pounds I lost while she was gone exactly matches the number of letters we received from her. I don't think there is any correlation between those two things. Man, if there was, I would have made sure she wrote me three letters each day!

Aspiration; or What I'll Never Be

You see, there's a problem with having to come up with a title for each post. That is that some bloggers are kind of dorky and will come up with a series of post titles like, "Sophistication", "Justification", and "Aspiration". Or they just can't decide between two super clever titles, so they use them both. Today we've hit a low. I've done both in one post title. But you know what? I'll just bet I keep rolling out these awesome titles anyway. Oh well. They should offer a class, "naming blog posts 101".

But today's title isn't referring to my aspirations to some day be able to make good post titles! Oh no! I'm referring to the fact that we're having company this week and I don't know how to be a hostess. We have visitors SO rarely that I can only imagine what kind of hostess I'll be. Now we live in a house(ish) and have an entire apartment downstairs for visitors (and English classes when there are no visitors)! [Here's the part where you take a hint and decide to come visit us. But if you're going to, don't read on.] We are hoping people will come and stay with us more often. A few weekends ago we had our first visitor...but more about that later.

I have had the opportunity to stay with soooo many people and see all different styles of hostessing. There was a certain family living in Krakow who let us (me, Greg and 1 year old Ewelina)stay with them nearly every weekend and made us feel so at home. There's a family on the East coast who we visit all the time because I have never once felt in the way there, even when the house was full of 4-6 adults and 7-9 children for weeks at a time. Then there are those living on the other side of the country who go out of their way to make sure everything is as easy as possible for me and the kids, and who are willing to plan my entire vacations for me. I also remember staying with people who have a list of rules and are sure to let you know if you aren't following them. That's not very fun. BUT I'M AFRAID I'M ONE OF THOSE KIND!

So our visitor came (travelling MANY hours (12 each way, I think) across the entire country to spend about 24 hours with us and then go back!) on a Saturday evening. We had been sick all week and I hadn't been doing housework, plus the downstairs apartment hadn't been cleaned since we've never used it, so I had to clean that as well. Needless to say I was up to my ears in work. Then I start organizing the toys in the playroom and accidentally start to REALLY organize them (like weekend-long-project organize). By the time I finally finish that, I have about 1/2-1 hour to vacuum the entire house, do laundry, make dinner and clean the kitchen. He arrives while I'm vacuuming and the kitchen has stacks of dishes and the dinner isn't started. Then Greg starts showing him around the house and I realize (too late) that the kids beds weren't made and their pajamas were on the floor (which would have been remedied in 30 seconds if I had done the vacuuming upstairs like I meant to) In the end I ever-so-graciously suggest, wouldn't it be fun to have a late dinner? But you know what? We had a great time with him! We ate dinner (even though it had broccoli and he wasn't a fan) and had lots of fun looking at pictures of his family and video from the days he and Greg were roommates at BYU and were huge dorks. I thought later, that was so fun! Why was I so stressed earlier in the day trying to make everything exactly how I wanted it?

Why do I cringe at the thought of having house guests without everything having been vacuumed and scrubbed the very day they come? If I had tried to make sure everything was just at least tidy when he came, it would have been tons better. Why do I need people to think that I have a sparkly house? Why am I afraid of dirt? Why do I stick so stubbornly to my ideas of how something should be when it just stresses me out and makes me yell at my kids for no real reason?

I hope one day to get it together. My house looks clean enough, and I am able to sit down with the company and visit. I don't apologize over and over that the food didn't turn out or that I meant to do something or whatever. Just leave things as they are and enjoy the company!! Greg's parents and sister will be coming and staying for a few days. I'm writing this posts to encourage myself to be a little more like some of you guys. Thanks for your examples and hospitality!

The Best Policy (or What It Takes To Get Ahead)

Tesco (supermarket/mini Wal-mart type store) runs a yearly contest to see which schools can collect the most points. They are then rewarded with new equipment for the school. I'm not exactly sure how it works, but that's the general idea. When you buy something at Tesco, with your receipt you are given a little card on which the cashier has handwritten the amount you paid. That's how many points will be given to the school who turns that card in. Every day in Ewelina's class kids bring in any of the cards their parents have given them. She is always excited after we do our shopping to see how many points they will get, and says that she has the record for the card with the highest number (since we shop American style, i.e. once a week and buying more stuff than we need).

I'll start by saying that we love Evie's teacher. She's cute. She's funny. She's playful. She teases the kids (this is important to our family). We like her. BUT...
Last week Evie told Greg that her teacher had instructed the children to change numbers on their cards before handing them in. 1s should be changed to 4s and 3s to 8s.................I couldn't believe it. I was shocked. I was horrified. I was outraged. This woman, whose students admire and respect her, was TEACHING them to be dishonest. INSTRUCTING them to be deceitful. This was especially hard for me because I feel like all forms of cheating in this country are not really considered such a terrible thing. Greg remembers when stealing was almost a good thing, if it would hurt the system. It was a form of rebellion against the communist regime. I think this is the root of many of the forms of corruption that are still so universal in Poland (bribery is the biggie that comes to mind right away) I know that for the older generations this is normal, but I also was hoping that it was changing, now that things in Poland are so different than they were.

Greg handled the situation well. We try not to be too weird or annoying since Evie already doesn't attend the religion classes, and the entire class schedule has had to be reorganized for her and she's the only semi-foreigner in her class etc. Greg talked to the teacher about it. She argued that she knows for a fact that schools who have won big in the past cheated in this way. She said she is hurt that her school doesn't have the same equipment as other schools, even though they might actually get the highest number of actual points. Greg is awesome and convinced her that he (and hopefully lots of other parents) would rather have their kids come out of elementary school as good kids who understand ethics, than have them work on a nice computer at school and not understand the difference between right and wrong. In the end she told him that she agreed, but she knew that the two of them weren't "going to change the world". The next day she apologized to her kids in class and explained things to them. (Evie had been the only kid in class who had expressed doubts about changing the numbers)

This makes me ashamed of the time that David opened the car door and bumped the car we were parked next to, leaving a mark on the door. I planned to have my friend that we were visiting help me write a note in Polish to the car owner that we were sorry and to contact us if he felt so inclined. My friend and her mother tried to talk me out of that. They KNEW (as I did) that most likely the person would charge us for all sorts of damage that wasn't there. They were shocked that I would even consider leaving a note. My friends mother even said that if I left a note, she would contact a news station and tell them about it. They love talking about how, even in our day, some people are honest. It's a sensational thing here. If someone's lost wallet is returned, you will likely hear about it on the news (I'm making it sound worse than it is, but not much). After our visit I went down and took a look at the car and realized that there was just a very small paint mark from our car. I thought we had chipped their paint. So after lots of debate, I decided not to leave a note. I hate myself for that. Not because I think I did the wrong thing, but because I think I came across the wrong way, fighting for the cause of honesty so vocally and then doing exactly what they had told me that "everyone" would do.

This is way too long, but I wanted to give more examples, like how everyone in one of Greg's English classes thought that the person who was at fault when a couple's marriage broke up was a friend of theirs who knew that the husband was cheating and let the wife know. He was the bad guy. There was not a second of consideration that it could be the fault of the cheater. They were a happy couple until she found out, and she wouldn't have if it hadn't been for this stupid guy who told her. His fault. Yikes.

What kind of a "best policy" causes some schools to use outdated equipment, causes some people to (potentially) pay for something they didn't do, and breaks up marriages? Hmmm. I think it's the one that Shall Set Us Free--in the end.