Women's Work

Alright all you lazy moms—I think it’s time for those of us who have “never worked a day in our lives” to start lining up for unemployment benefits. Maybe then we could show we care about the economy.

If a woman is not in the “work force” does it mean she cares less about economic issues? Does it mean she is less aware of the terrible economic problems facing our nation, more particularly her own family? Does it mean she is out of touch with how the economy impacts hers or her family’s life?

No!

If a woman is not the one bringing home a pay check, she still has to worry about that pay check.

Right now my husband’s company is going through a hostile take-over. It is not my job at stake. I am not the one dealing with the intricacies of such transactions. The share-holders do not even know I exist. But am I concerned? You better believe it.

My husband and I made the choice nearly 20 years ago that when children came to our family I would care for them full-time, even if it meant financial sacrifice and sacrifice of my own time and career, among other things. For the last 15 years, this is exactly what I have been doing. I know many people think that’s crazy. I know many people, including even some other mothers, put very little value on what I do and the choice we made.

Several years ago, when we tried to get life insurance for me, the first insurance company we went to refused to insure me because I “didn’t contribute” enough to our financial well-being. When we sat down and calculated my “contributions” we quickly discovered that were we to have to hire out the “work” I do (if I were to die or become incapacitated), we wouldn’t be able to afford it! This was just for the basic cooking, cleaning, laundry, yard work, music lessons, and child-care, not to mention tutoring and full-time teaching for our one home-schooled child. Needless to say, I was more than displeased with the insurance company’s ignorant response (obviously, we dropped them as our carrier for any insurance and went with another company).

When a woman leaves the “work force” to care for her family, it does not make her less concerned or less in touch with economic concerns. If anything, it makes us more concerned. We have to plan carefully, make adjustments and sacrifices, and be creative in budget development. We know that if our husband loses his job, we do not have a second income to fall back on. I fully recognize many women don’t have the choice to be at home full-time, and I feel extremely grateful that I can be with my kids. Although it is not without its challenges, being home with my kids is my favorite place to be and it is my very most favorite job. I wouldn’t change it for the world. And I hope I don’t have to.

Free Girls Clothes or Empty Promises?

I’m about to admit something that says way too much about me. My name is Courtney, and I like the Napoleon Dynamite cartoon. There. I said it. I know, it’s ridiculously stupid, and maybe even uncomfortable at times, but I find myself laughing out loud, and I’m afraid I even let out a snort or two the last time I watched it.

Why did I just confess this, you ask? Well, believe it or not, I actually find some interesting analogies in the show. Let me explain.

Last week, Napoleon’s friends were upset at each other, so he was trying to find a way to get them to talk. Naturally, he set up a trap. This was no ordinary Mystery Inc. trap, this was a good, old-fashioned, catch-a-rabbit-with-a-carrot trap. Deb came walking into the school hall way to find various signs with “Free Girl Clothes” hanging all around with arrows pointing the way under a giant box propped up with a stick. Well, you can guess what happened: Deb said, “I like girl clothes,” and the next thing you know she’s tied up on a chair in the gymnasium—and no free clothes.

How many times do people offer lovely speeches with lofty promises and high hopes only to end up giving an empty box?

Politicians may dangle budget reform and tax relief, advertisers dangle weight-loss and instant beauty, TV shows dangle popularity and style, but those carrots just often lead to, that’s right, an empty box.

We live in a tough world. Trying to rear righteous children with good hearts and strong spirits can be extremely challenging. Trying to navigate political winds and social storms is very difficult. With so many voices calling out, it can be hard to know which ones will lead to happiness and which ones will lead to emptiness.

Thank goodness we have help. Barbara Thompson, a counselor in the general Relief Society presidency said, “Fortunately, we are not left alone in our efforts. The greatest help we will have in strengthening families is to know and follow the doctrines of Christ and rely on Him to help us.”

In the Book of Mormon Alma reminded us that the gospel has “a great tendency to lead the people to do that which was just.” He said the word of the Lord had “more powerful effect upon the minds of the people than the sword, or anything else, which had happened unto them—therefore Alma thought it was expedient that they should try the virtue of the word of God” (Alma 31:5).

What would Jesus do? What would He say? What does the Spirit tell me? Pretty simple.

So, the next time you see a “Free girl clothes” sign, ask yourself, “Will that really lead me to frilly skirts and ruffly blouses, or is it just an empty box ending up with my being tied up in the dark gym?”

The Devil Made Me Do It

Am I the only one out there that saw the unbelievable hypocrisy and even irony in Newt Gingrich’s opening response at last night’s Republican debate?

Now that I’ve calmed myself a bit (I know you shouldn’t discipline your kids in anger, and I figure it’s probably a good idea not to blog in anger, too—although I feel a little like I am chastising a childish kid in this one), I have to say how even more thoroughly disgusted I am with that man.

I'm sorry, but Newt and Callista can’t be in the White House—she had a six year affair with Newt, not only while he was married, but while he was leading the charge against Bill Clinton for the Monica Lewinsky scandal! I know, I know, Clinton was impeached for lying, not for adultery itself, but just because Gingrich wasn’t under oath doesn’t make him any less of a lying creep.

I whole-heartedly believe in the power of forgiveness and repentance. I do. I am eternally grateful to my Savior. And for all I know, the Gingriches may be living clean and Christian lives now. But how can any woman, or any man for that matter, go out and vote for him after listening to him turn the blame around and call the media “destructive, vicious, negative," and never concede that his own behavior, his affairs, are what are so destructive, vicious, and negative. He even had the gall to warn the media, "Don’t try to blame somebody else.”

Either our society has become so kind and forgiving, or it has become so morally bankrupt that we can brush all Newt’s lies and hypocrisy and “indiscretions” aside and consider him for the office of what should be the position of the greatest trust and integrity and importance in the entire political world.

I think all people should have the benefit of repentance and forgiveness. But there should be something special about the office of the President of the United States of America. That person represents our nation and all that we believe in and hold dear. The whole world looks to the President, and their spouse.

I want someone who can represent all that’s good about America, someone who embodies not only great patriotism, but firm faith, strong families, moral fortitude, and good old-fashioned leadership. I want someone who can represent me as an American. Someone who, not only the world can look to, but that my own children can hold as a role model and hero.

Well, you got my rants and raves. If you want a little more restrained and professional comments, you'll have to check my Moms for Mitt post. But don't blame me if it makes you want to scream!

Alien Testing

I've never been abducted by aliens and probed on their spaceship. But I imagine it would be an awful lot like having an MRI.

I took my youngest son in yesterday to have an MRI of the lump on the back of his neck. In his sweet innocence, he was actually excited for it. So, when they put him on the long table with an IV port in his arm and padding all around his head and a plastic frame over his face, he was ready for adventure. They finished him up with earplugs and blankets for both of us, then slowly slid him into the giant metal tube--"It's like your going into a cool spaceship," they told him. Yeah, an alien spaceship.

We both jumped when the first unexpectedly loud whirring and banging sounds began. Do you know what it's like to tell a 9-year-old boy to hold completely still for 15 minutes, even without sudden loud noises? That's like telling atoms in a nuclear reaction to sit quietly for a second so nothing gets broken. Well, fortunately I guess, my son loves rules, so, he actually lay there perfectly still the whole time. The second round was a little more difficult since his head started to hurt. And with all that banging and whirring and thumping and whatever else aliens do to scan your brain and figure out a way to take over your planet, it isn't surprising he wanted so much to squeeze the emergency button and scream, "Get me out of here, now!" But he didn't. He stuck it out. He tried as hard as he could, and he did it.

"That was by far the worst thing I have ever done," he said. "I can't believe I was actually excited for that. Why didn't you tell me?"

Good question. Well, I guess partly I didn't realize it would be so bad, and partly I didn't want to scare him. I suppose it's one of those things like serving a mission or having a baby--it seems so exciting at first, but if someone could tell you how hard and scary it's really going to be, you wouldn't do it. And it's something you have to do and is completely worth it in the end.

Same with the MRI. The test came back clear. Nothing to worry about. What a relief! Of course, for my little son who has always wanted to be a space scientist and astronaut, this whole alien space ship experience may change his mind. But, then again, maybe it will be like having a baby--after a while you forget about the pain and fear and actually, purposely, go back for more!

Irrational Fears

As much as I love Halloween, I don't love the 3 am awakenings..."Mom, I can't sleep. What if that noise is a pack of warewolves fighting zombies over a vampire steak?"

After one eye squints open I say in best reassuring voice, "It's ok, Honey, it's just the milk man."

I can see the mix-up.

Sometimes our minds conjure up all sorts of things. But why are they usually the weird, crazy, scary stuff? I mean, unless it's Christmas (when every sound is Santa's reindeer), each little creak, or thump, or house sigh is Frankenstein searching for his brain, or crazy birds attacking through the chimney.

Unfortunately, it isn't just the noises at Halloween. I do the same thing with my children. If one of them has a high fever for a couple of days, somewhere in the back of my mind I start seeing sick pigs or those crazy birds, and imagine swine flu or bird flu or Jack and the Beanstalk flu. I keep calm, of course, for my kids' sake, but inside I feel a little panic.

But why do I jump straight to scary instead of to flying reindeer when I'm coming to a conclusion about something unusual? Take, for instance, my youngest son--last week he informed me he has a big bump on the back of his head that had been there all week. Well, I tried thinking back, remembering any falls or collisions or soccer injuries, but couldn't come up with anything. I guessed perhaps it was a swollen lymph node or reaction to a recent bee sting. That's what I said out loud, at least.

But, as soon as I finished reading our good-night story, the first thing I did was google head/neck bumps. A few things showed up, such as swollen lymph nodes and allergic reactions, and a few unpronounceable cancers. I called the doctor in the morning and took him in. She wasn't too reassuring and ordered an ultrasound. So, I was still saying outloud it was probably just a big fatty lipoma or weird cyst, but inside I was fearing the worst.

Over the weekend I had several panic moments, imagining what could be wrong with my little son, even wondering what I would do without his cheerful eyes, and sweet your-the-best-mom-in-the-world comments, and his prayers--oh, his prayers, thanking Heavenly Father for everything from the blades of grass and being able to go to church Sunday to Mine Craft and winning his soccer game.

I guess I often fear the worst because I love so much.

But for now, I will try to take the positive approach with this weird bump. I'll tell myself it is an extra growth of brain cells--he's extra-super smart and will be spouting foreign languages and theories of relativity, or maybe he will have super powers like running faster than a bullet or flying--that would be cool, or maybe he is just growing a protective layer of fat around his spinal chord in preparation for all the sports he loves to play. It will be like every day is Christmas, and all those creaks are just reindeer on the roof, and those thumps are just Santa climbing out of his sleigh and the bumps are his toy bag, full of all the fabulous things I wish for for Christmas. Well, I already know what I'm going to ask for this Christmas--I wish for health and happiness for my wonderful family.

Meat, and Other Joys of Fall

It's nearly that time of the year again--leaves turning the color of pumpkins and pomegranates, the smell of cinnamon and spiced cider in the air, and unusual meat items.

Yes, you read that correctly. Meat. Along with being a weather weenie, my husband is a meat junkie. When we moved to England for a couple of years, we chose our house based on the fact that it was around the corner from a butcher's shop ("A real, live butcher--right here in the village! Brains, liver, tongue--anything!"). The butcher, by the way, became one of his favorite people, but more about that in a moment.

You see, I grew up with a frozen Butterball at Thanksgiving, a ham at Easter, a ham at Christmas (both of which were those oblong shaped red-wrapped hams that I'm pretty sure are first cousins to balogna), and hamburger or pot roast in between holidays. So, you can imagine my curiosity when last week I saw an E-bay receipt for a 35-pound bottle of peanut oil, only to find out it is for deep-frying a turkey (and anything else that has a surface, apparently). Fine. I'm pretty happy with most things with a greasy, crispy coating. At least it's an actual turkey, unlike the great "turkey loaf fiasco of '98" as I've come to call it.

My grandparents had kindly taken in a woman who, conveniently was a nurse and could help take care of them, and had no other place to live. Since before I can remember, my grandmother had hosted Thanksgiving dinner for all my cousins--turkey, stuffing, yams with apples and marshmallows, candy corn--the whole spread. Well, in an effort to help my grandma, this lady convinced her to simplify, and to cook something simpler. That something turned out to be a loaf of turkey parts, probably mostly meat shaped into a brick. Grandma died a few years ago, but I'm guessing she still hides behind the post of the pearly gates every time Thanksgiving rolls around and we remember that day, it's shock, it's horror, it's gnashing of teeth, and maybe even a little bit of fainting. We can laugh now whenever we tell the story.

We laugh too about the "Turducken." Yeah, that's pretty much what it sounds like--a turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a chicken, each with a layer of dressing in-between. Something my husband read about in the Wall Street Journal. "Did you know you can order these, and they'll ship them too your doorstep in dry ice?!" That they will. And there's nothing like dry ice in a pot of water to entertain your kids for the afternoon.

But to entertain my husband, meat is usually part of the picture. There's something about it that helps create memories--like our memories of England. At Christmas when the butcher posted a sign to order your Christmas goose early, you can guess who was first on the list. "It's like having a real Charles Dickens Christmas in England!" I had to admit, an English Christmas goose did sound a bit romantic. Until it came.

"Do you have any cash?" my husband asked when he walked in the door from the butcher. "I didn't actually ask how much the goose would cost--he said I could pay him the rest the next time I went in." About $120 later, we realized our Dickensian Christmas goose wouldn't fit in our tiny British oven. So, as any red-blooded American would do, we barbecued it on the grill. And you know what? That was the tastiest meat I've ever had! And a great memory, too.

So, while the rest of us are planning Halloween costumes and trick-or-treating routes, and maybe getting a jump on our Christmas shopping, my husband is conjuring up his next great meat feast. Let's just hope it doesn't start with "SP" and end with "AM." I'll keep you posted.

I Believe in Christ--Can't You Tell?

I sat in my car in my garage and cried this last week. I couldn't help it (and it wasn't because of the scattered balls and nerf guns and catapults and sawdust and Halloween decorations and popsicle wrappers all over--I let go of that a long time ago). It just became so personal when a prominent pastor proclaimed, in an attack against Mitt Romney, that Mormons aren't Christian. Now, if you've read my Moms for Mitt blog, you've seen me before defending his values and goodness as a person, not just his intelligence and expertise. But this time wasn't just about Mitt. It was about me.

I was struck again, not only by the misconceptions of so many people, but by my own example. I had to ask myself again, "Is the way I live a testimony of what I truly believe and to whom I am truly devoted?"

I'm adding a little excerpt from my other blog about some of these ideas:

"I can’t help but feel that when people say Mormons aren’t Christians it is just expressing their own ignorance. “Mormons” is just a nick-name. The actual name of the Church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and if the name doesn’t give it away, all one has to do is look up LDS.org or Mormon.org on line, or better yet, ask a church member what they believe, to find out.

Ideally, the members’ belief and devotion to Jesus Christ is demonstrated in the way they live.Whether through the countless volunteer hours of Mormon Helping Hands service projects cleaning up neighborhood parks or building shelters and new homes after natural disasters, or through simple acts of kindness like making a meal for a sick neighbor or canning fruits and vegetables for the hungry and needy, these people strive to be Christ’s hands here on earth.

Along with donating 10% of their income for tithing, “Mormons” give a fast offering monthly to help those in financial need; they believe in the sanctity of marriage and family and practice sexual abstinence until after marriage; they don’t drink or smoke; they read scriptures daily and have an evening set aside every week for Family Night. “Mormons” attend church each Sunday, and as part of that they partake in the sacrament, renewing their covenant to take upon them the name of Jesus Christ—that means they always remember Him and try to do the things He would do if He were here.

Now, having said all that in an small attempt to clarify whether or not members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, “Mormons,” are Christian, I think about many of my neighbors and friends who are not Christians, but rather Jews, Muslims, Sikhs, Buddhists, etc.Many of these people are also very kind and generous. They give service whenever they can. They pray. They do things to strengthen their homes and families and the neighborhood. I don’t think it’s news to anyone that “Mormons” do not have a monopoly on “goodness.”Christians are not the only people with good, moral values.

So can we say that feeding the hungry is only worthwhile if a Christian is handing out the bread? Will a drink only quench thirst if offered by a Christian? Is clothing the naked only useful if a Christian gives the clothes? Would it be true that caring for the sick, the stranger, those imprisoned only counts if done by a Christian?

Goodness benefits everyone in society, no matter who offers it or who receives. Christ himself was no respecter of persons, meaning he loved all, no matter their religion, their culture, their spiritual status. Can we not do the same?"

I am determined, however, to take this latest misunderstanding and use it as an opportunity to re-commit myself to following my Savior, and stand as His witness at all times, in all things, and in all places. I want there to be no question in the way I live that I believe in Christ.