tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-218932236326991552024-03-14T00:52:41.625+10:30Sea Monkies Rulekristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.comBlogger598125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-37597698039229592012023-05-18T10:45:00.001+09:302023-05-18T10:45:19.718+09:30Alone at last<p> One of the hardest things about early parenting for me was, I think, the never being alone. As much as I love my kids, having to interact with them constantly, or at least be aware of them constantly, was so, so much. I thought once my kids were all in school I'd get more alone time and would be able to do things like read and write, and could finally, FINALLY treat writing like a job.</p><p>Except it turns out that kids are always sick, and I'm still rarely alone. Even though my kids are older and probably old enough I shouldn't need to be aware of them constantly my brain just can't treat the presence of a child in my home as something I can ignore, even for an hour.<br /></p><p>Today, though, all my kids are at school and I have several hours to myself, so I'm going to sit down and write, starting with this very basic, very bland blog post. Yes, it's bad. Yes, it's boring. If you're reading this, I'm sorry it's not interesting and there's no real point here other than to say I am ALONE AT LAST!</p><p>Now, off to write!<br /></p>kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-76830561129767071392020-07-29T13:36:00.000+09:302020-07-29T13:36:06.911+09:30If you give a mouse a cookie...<div>I should never read other people's parenting stories. Yes, yes. I know. That's how we all learn to parent better. By listening to other parents' success stories and at least trying out the strategies that worked.</div><div><br /></div><div>My kids. My kids are different from other kids. I love them. Deeply. Fiercely. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Monday I kept Kip home from school because he had a nose sniffle, and in an era of COVID it seems prudent to keep kids home when even mildly ill. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Tuesday, Paul pitched a fit about going to school, probably because Kip stayed home Monday. He did have a rough night of sleep (he woke up at 3 am having wet the bed and both he and Sylvia took showers before heading back to bed). Reasoning one 'mental health day' wouldn't be a big deal, I let him stay home, then made him read and write all day long. I didn't think it was a terribly fun day and assumed he'd be rested and ready to go back to school.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I have read so many stories about parents who, good-naturedly allow their children a day off now and then just because school is hard some days and sometimes you just need a break. Their cotton candy children go back to school the next day refreshed and ready to learn. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Those are so not my children. My children are the kind where if you give them an inch, they take a mile. If they sense any hint of compromise, they'll argue for the sun.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So we come to this morning. Paul again pitched a fit about going to school. He punched his little brother most of the way to school, until I (sternly. No, I'll be honest, yelling) told him I'd drop him off where we were if he didn't stop and he'd have to walk all the way to school. Then, when we got to school and the other two dutifully went to class (though not with out Kip also asking to stay home again), Paul sat in the car and refused to leave. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I parked the car and played a game on my phone. Then I realized Paul was too entertained by the game so I turned it off and just sat there. I got bored waiting (I'm honestly terrible at the wait them out thing) so I walked into the main office "looking for forms" (which they didn't have). Paul still refused to go to class, but at least the office was aware of where he was, and they offered to help if I needed it. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>When we went back out, Paul locked me out of the car, so I went and stood in the sun where it was at least a little warm. Paul followed me out, begging for a fidgit. I emailed his teacher to ask what was appropriate, then tried to convince him he could go to class and I'd talk to her about it later (we have a parent-teacher conference with her this afternoon). That didn't convince him either. Nor did a phone call from his dad (the absent-minded professor, who set an alarm for this morning for a 5 am meeting that's happening Friday, and then forgot his computer charger). I finally bribed Paul with a cup of coffee. That worked. On the way into the office he offhandedly reminded me I hadn't signed a permission slip he needed that day.</div><div><br /></div><div>So much drama.<br /></div>kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-56936378094268180532020-06-02T22:43:00.000+09:302020-06-02T22:43:15.503+09:30We didn't start the fire<div>Yesterday was my 42nd birthday. I was looking forward to posting on twitter and maybe even facebook, "Today I am the answer," referencing Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But given the combination of a global pandemic and rioting in my home country, it seemed a tad gauche. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's absolutely surreal watching what's going on in the US right now. I watched a protest in Salt Lake City (SALT LAKE CITY!) over the murder of George Floyd and other acts of police violence against Black people. It was...unpleasant. I'm not sure what people wanted from the demonstrations, but the response of police was disturbing. It seemed like the police were saying, "we are the ones with the power here." <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It doesn't seem right. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The level of violence, and the constant undercurrent of violence was disturbing, too. Watching it all unfold on a street I used to ride the bus down to get to school, and in front of a library I loved visiting when I lived in Salt Lake filled me with a sense of dread, and yet I couldn't look away. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I finally made a birthday cake to celebrate Derrick's and my birthdays, and we ate it tonight. His birthday is in April, but with Covid-19 happening I just couldn't pull myself together to bake a cake. The kids were still home at that point as well, so it's not like I had time around homeschooling. He asked for a pineapple coconut cake with orange buttercream frosting, which I was also a bit nervous about making. The previous times I've made it we were in the US and I had slightly different ingredients on hand--cake mixes and orange juice concentrate mostly. I tried a new recipe--the pinacolada cake from smitten kitchen with pineapple curd filling and orange buttercream frosting just made with normal orange juice. It turned out okay. The cake's a bit heavy, but it tasted nice, especially with the pineapple curd filling to really boost the flavor of the cake. <br /></div>kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-12024448721416737662020-01-20T13:11:00.003+10:302020-01-20T13:11:44.154+10:30I always get so much from talking to you
I love
my grandma Mimi's hands. When I was a child I used to sit next to her
during sacrament meeting and play with the veins that wound over the
back of her hands and looked so much like rivers, trying
unsuccessfully to make one side or the other deflate. Her hands were
always busy doing something, so I loved those moments where she’d
let me just hold her hand. Hers were the hands that taught me to
knead bread, to make frosting flowers, and how to sweep the floor and
clean a toilet. She taught me to use a dictionary, and edited every
essay I wrote for a year with those hands, marking up papers with her
red pen until I had learned to write a grammatically correct sentence
the first time. She grew tomatoes and daffodils, made grape juice
(thick as milk) and jams from apricots, plums, choke cherries, and
any other fruit that came her way. She could learn to do
anything--she baked and decorated wedding cakes, birthday cakes,
cinnamon rolls (only occasionally with cumin), and 4th ward brownies;
she quilted and sewed and crocheted everything from baby dresses to
temple altar cloths, and she gave all of it to the people around her
as if to say, "Here, I love you, I made this for you."<br />
Mimi taught us to speak. Professionally, she was a speech
pathologist who worked with resource kids, and she understood the
importance of speaking well. Everyone around her was subject to
correction, no matter how old or young. She was a terrific writer,
but so busy making and teaching she rarely took the time to put down
her own stories.
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I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. I still do.<br />
Marie Hansen was the third child of Louis Manervan and Tressa Love
Hansen, born in Mills, Utah, a town that exists today primarily as an
exit on I-15. Her family were farmers, and when she was about seven
her older brother broke his leg, forcing the family moved to
Panguich, where there was a hospital. She helped her family picking
peas for 25 cents a bushel. I imagine she was an energetic,
industrious child before, but I'm sure that experience cemented her
work ethic deep in her bones. While she was there she was put back a
grade by a teacher who didn't think it worthwhile to educate "pea
pickers." Another, more observant teacher, realized she was
following along with the older children and moved her up a grade. She
later graduated (early) from Delta High school; in 1970 she graduated
Magna Cum Laude with a BS in Speech pathology and Audiology from the
University of Utah, and a year later earned her MS, all while raising
her seven children.<br />
In addition to her own children, she had a hand in the raising of
24 grandchildren and 30 great-grandchildren, and one great-great
granddaughter, along with countless neighborhood kids. When Marie was
ten her mother gave birth to a daughter, Paula, and then developed
'milk leg,' and Mimi helped raise Paula, too. For 61 years she was
married to Sterling Yates Nielson, and mourned his absence for the
last 11 years of her life. I am sure they are ecstatic to be
reunited.<br />
The last time I talked to her, the day before she died, she
wondered aloud if she'd done enough in her life. I wish I'd been
there to hold her hands, now knobby and spotted, with veins popping
out even more than when I was a child, as I told her yes, she had
done enough. Even so, my ever-generous grandma asked her body be
donated to the University of Utah for medical students to learn from.
After ninety-one long, busy, ever productive years she's still
teaching.<br />
She was an incredible woman, a force of nature. She created our
world, shaped and molded us, and always, always loved us. There is no
monument to her but us, but our hands, which must now bear one
another up and take on the work she can no longer do. We love you and
will miss you always.<br />
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p { margin-bottom: 0.25cm; line-height: 115%; background: transparent }</style>kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-83546354201234027412019-07-14T22:40:00.000+09:302019-07-14T22:40:28.805+09:30I gave a talk todayI know blogging isn't so much a thing anymore, but hey, this is where I can put something like this up. Since I'm pretty happy with this talk, I'm going to post it here.<br />
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We Believe in God the Eternal Father, and in his Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.</div>
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So begins the final portion of the Wentworth letter, a document written by Joseph Smith that lays out the foundation of Mormonism. Yes, I'm going to use the term “Mormonism.” today to refer to the Christian movement that Joseph Smith started that eventually splintered into multiple churches, one of which we now belong to, which calls itself “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.” I hope you all can forgive me. In any case, the Wentworth letter ends with thirteen articles, which we now call the thirteen articles of faith, and which many of us memorise as children (or are currently memorising) and the first one states our doctrine of the Godhead as three separate personages, God the Father, his son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy spirit.</div>
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This doctrine is one of those that marks us out as different from other Christian sects and is why some consider us not Christian. I'm not really interested in why, though. I personally believe that between the account of the first vision and multiple scriptures in the New Testament that our belief in three separate individuals is warranted. I think focusing on how this makes us different from other sects is, ironically, at odds with the doctrine of the Godhead itself, as it's something that is used to divide us from others rather than uniting us.</div>
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So, I would like to turn to unity and what our understanding of the nature of the Godhead teaches us about it. How is it possible for three distinct individuals to be united as one as the Godhead is described by Joseph Smith? And how are we to be united as one body of saints?</div>
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In John 10:30, while in the temple preaching during the feast of the dedication Jesus says, “I and my Father are one.” Some time later, during the great intercessory prayer that he gives at the conclusion of the last supper (found in John 17:21) he prays over the Twelve “That they may all be one; as thou, Father art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us: that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.” Since clearly the Twelve did not become physically one with each other or with God and Christ, again, I think this is indicating the Lord expects his disciples to become one with each other in spirit and in purpose. He asks the same of us today.</div>
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How is that to be accomplished among his disciples? Just a couple of weeks ago we studied the Last Supper. Just a few minutes ago we took part in the ordinance that came out of the Last Supper. Every week when we partake of the sacrament we promise that we, “do always remember him [Jesus Christ], that we may have his spirit to be with us.” We promise to keep his commandments, and to take his name upon us.</div>
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This is part of the oneness. By remembering him, by taking on his name so that our actions are taken under his behalf, and by accepting his spirit, or the companionship of the Holy Ghost, we promise every week to become one with Jesus Christ. We are, as a congregation, unified in that covenant and in renewing that covenant every week.</div>
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Unity is about the type of relationships we develop with those around us. During the last supper, Jesus twice gives the commandment to love one another. The first of these scriptures (in John 13:34-35) we sing regularly in the hymn, Love One Another. Loving one another is a definite theme in Christs teachings throughout his Earthly ministry, but I think it's significant that in the final hours of his life he emphasised Love so strongly. I've heard in my life a lot of discussion of the different words for love that Jesus uses that would have had slightly different meanings in the original language and yet are all translated into the word 'love' in english. I'm not enough of a scholar to be able to explain that to you today, but I do want to point out that Christ is talking about Godly love, and that Godly love is different from the love that we typically share with family or friends.</div>
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It's easy to love some people. It's easy to love those who listen to us, or who are like us in significant ways. I find it easy to love people who are kind to me, who say nice things to me or who do nice things for me. I don't want to discount the importance of these things within healthy, happy relationships. We all need those things, and we all need relationships that provide safety and acceptance and validation. The Trappist Monk, Thomas Merten said:</div>
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<span style="color: #706f6f;">“The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image. If in loving them we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them.”</span></div>
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But God's love is different. Dieter F. Uchdorf said in the 2009 October general conference:</div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="p23"></a><span style="color: #706f6f;">“Though we are incomplete, God loves us completely. Though we are imperfect, He loves us perfectly. Though we may feel lost and without compass, God’s love encompasses us completely. He loves us because He is filled with an infinite measure of holy, pure, and indescribable love. We are important to God not because of our résumé but because we are His children. He loves every one of us, even those who are flawed, rejected, awkward, sorrowful, or broken. God’s love is so great that He loves even the proud, the selfish, the arrogant, and the wicked.</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="p26"></a><span style="color: #706f6f;">What this means is that, regardless of our current state, there is hope for us. No matter our distress, no matter our sorrow, no matter our mistakes, our infinitely compassionate Heavenly Father desires that we draw near to Him so that He can draw near to us.”</span></div>
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When I was in college there was a girl in my class who was difficult to like. I'll call her Robin. Robin was not well-liked because she was abrupt and seemed to expect people to dislike her. She had a disability that made her difficult to talk to and, as is the case with many very smart people, she was more than a little arrogant. Her arrogance seemed as much a defence against a world that she assumed saw her as worthless. In any case, she wasn't well-liked and really didn't have any friends that I knew of. I'm a pretty awkward person myself and I remembered spending several years in my early adolescence friendless and remembered how miserable that time was, so even though I didn't much like her either I tried to be nice to her in the ways I've been taught to be nice to people.</div>
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You're probably thinking this is going to be a heartwarming tale where my efforts at kindness were received gladly and we learned to love each other and through the influence of my caring support Robin saw her worth as a person and her heart grew three sizes and whatnot. Yeah, that didn't happen. For the first two years I knew Robin I tried to engage her in conversation and unfailingly greeted her when I saw her around campus. And every time she rebuffed me. And she was not nice.</div>
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So after two years I gave up. I started ignoring her.</div>
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Once I respected her space and once she perceived that I wasn't being a fake friend she did respond to that. She's still a difficult person, but we are friends to this day because we're on equal footing. I thought I was showing charity, but it wasn't until I stopped making our friendship about making me feel good about myself that we could actually be friends. Robin taught me a lot about love and about friendship.</div>
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I believe unconditional love is a prerequisite for unity within our community. I don't think it's sufficient, but I do think it's where we have to start. I think much like faith, love is without work is dead.</div>
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As it says in James 2:17, “Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone.”</div>
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What are the works we are to be engaged in if we want to create a unified community? Let's back up a few verses, and start with verse 14 of the second chapter of James.</div>
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14-17 What doth it profit, my brethren, though a man say he hath faith, and have not works? Can faith save him? If a brother or sister be naked and destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the body; what doth it profit? Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone.</div>
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We live in a time of exceptional bounty. There is enough and to spare for everyone on the planet. There is enough food produced to feed 10 billion people. There is no good reason for people to go hungry. There is plenty of work to be done and plenty of money to pay people for their work. There is no good reason for people to be jobless or homeless. The degree of inequality between people and the concentration of wealth in the coffers of a few speaks to the inadequacy of our economic system to provide the necessities of life to everyone. We don't often talk about the immorality of that, but I do believe it is immoral when there is enough that we allow poverty to persist. It is most assuredly a huge barrier to the creation of a unity when we don't value people enough to provide the basic necessities of life.</div>
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It is my belief, and my personal opinion that we should use whatever tools are at our disposal to combat poverty and the multitude of social ills that follow it. The thing is, I can't alleviate poverty through my own individual actions. However, I can support using the government to address the problem of poverty.</div>
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And if you want to argue with me about it, feel free. I will be here in the chapel after church. Just be forewarned, I'll probably force a music score into your hands and make you sing with the choir.</div>
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I'm going to end with my testimony that the Lord loves each of us, whatever our circumstances, whatever our faults, whatever our sins. He loves us constantly in a way that we can perhaps glimpse a few times in our lives. He asks us to develop our capacity for love and for charity, to love those with whom we disagree, to sit with the publicans and the sinners of the world and show them their worthiness. I am grateful to have landed in Firle ward, where I do feel loved, where we do disagree and do so in love and with respect. I hope that this testimony I've offered today gives you a better idea of what I mean when I call myself a Christian, and what I mean when I say I believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in his Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.</div>
kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-79193777192428268652019-03-16T20:55:00.002+10:302019-03-16T20:55:54.672+10:30CrazyYesterday on the way home I cried on the bus. There was this young Muslim girl who I smiled at and she offered me her seat, which I didn't take because hey, I'd been sitting all day long and she was there first. And somehow her kindness juxtaposed with how terrible the world is right now--with looming climate change and rampant, violent white supremacy, a massacre of Muslims in Christchurch--it was just too much. Of course I didn't have a tissue, so I spent most of the bus ride trying to subtly wipe away my tears. <div>
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kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-32590975644075715112018-07-09T06:24:00.000+09:302018-07-19T10:59:50.264+09:30Animal jamWe showed up late, as usual, though early by our standards since they were still passing the sacrament. After the end of the sacrament Sylvia and I slipped into two seats in the overflow area. After a few minutes I looked over at Sylvia, just to see what she was doing.<br />
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Sitting on the chair behind her was a gecko.<br />
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Pausing here for a moment. For those who haven't been around my house in the last year, let me fill you in: Sylvia is obsessed with geckos. She's always loved animals, and from the time she learned to write she's been making lists of the tens and hundreds of pets she wants. And not in a theoretical, little kid dreaming of the future when she gets to make the rules kind of way; in an earnest, literal, this-is-my-life's-goal-and-I'm-going-to-chase-that-dream-now kind of way. (She's a bit headstrong.) As a parent interested in keeping my sanity I've put the kibosh on most pets, though we do have a dog and four fish, all of which are (curiously) my responsibility. When Sylvia learned that there were geckos down in the park she could catch and bring home as her pets, well, let's just say we've had a lot of geckos visit our house.<br />
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I tried not to make a scene. I think I managed to squash my squeaking without unduly disturbing the meeting. I made Sylvia get up so I could grab the gecko, at which point I spotted a second gecko on the chair.<br />
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That's right. My daughter brought not one, but two geckos to church.<br />
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I dragged her and the geckos outside and made her release them. Sylvia was thoroughly annoyed, we both yelled (though I did try to be firm and kind for a good 10 minutes. I just don't have the patience for more than that) and in the end I went back in without her after I'd judged the geckos had a good head start.<br />
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After sacrament meeting was over I collected Sylvia from outside, took her to class, and then went to my own classes. All fine, all good.<br />
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After Relief Society I went to pick up Sylvia from the Primary room. She was standing at the podium with one of the other girls in her class.<br />
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Both holding geckos.<br />
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(We had a playdate with the girl, who lives down the street from us, the next day. Yes, there were geckos involved.)kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-43009323581946605232018-05-30T21:49:00.002+09:302018-05-30T22:27:10.762+09:30Sittin' on the dock of the baySo, I was going to write something about things I think about, since my words are not precious and my thoughts need someplace to go. Maybe I will later, since there are many things I find interesting to think about. My brain turns my thoughts over and over in my head, which would polish them and hone them if there were any place for them to go. Since they stay in my head they just get smaller and smaller. I really should put them down so they don't all disappear.<br />
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Today, however, I need to record events.<br />
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Kip woke me up. He came in and asked me to help him take his pants off. I asked him, "Did you pee in the bed?"<br />
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He said, "No. My pants are boring."<br />
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Uh-huh.<br />
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Turns out he wasn't the one who peed in the bed, Paul was, but Kip was the one soaked and wet. After I dropped him in the shower with Derrick I took Rosie down to the park, though Paul came down with me to the oval. When I told him I was intending to walk more than just to the oval he went home. It was nice to have his company for at least a few minutes.<br />
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I got ready quickly when I got back because I'd stayed too long, talking to Rick and letting Abby play with Rosie. As soon as Derrick left, though, Paul begged to ride his scooter to school. It didn't take much to convince me to let him and Sylvia go. Yesterday (or maybe Monday?) Sylvia refused to let me inspect her bag (which I now know contained a frog in an ice-cream container that she didn't want me to confiscate). Rather than let me take away her frog, Sylvia and Paul walked to school. They claimed they were "one minute late" though Rick said he'd seen them after 9. Regardless, since they'd made it once and were close to on time I felt like I could probably let them go again, especially since they were on scooters instead of on foot and should have been faster.<br />
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I did some dishes, then took Kip to Pri's house, and then headed to work. Just as I was finishing talking to Mark about the work for the day I got a text from the school informing me that they'd recorded an absence for Paul. I was annoyed, but figured they'd walked slowly and spent too much time looking for geckos, and thought I'd give them half an hour more to get to school. Oh, and a few minutes for me to drink some tea.<br />
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So, after finishing my tea and talking to Cesca and to Mark about the drama (in my totally undramatic, I'm sure everything's okay but man isn't this annoying way), I called the school. They confirmed that Sylvia and Paul weren't at school, wanted to know where I thought they'd be, and immediately sent a couple of staff members out to look for them. As soon as I informed them that Sylvia and Paul should have been there but weren't it was like they went to defcon 4. They wanted to know where I'd left my kids and where they usually walked, and if they couldn't find my kids they wanted to call the police, and, AND I had to talk to the principal about it.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, Sylvia and Paul were easy to find--they were on linear park, just where I expected them to be, and just where I'd told the school to look.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, thanks to this, I now have a meeting Monday morning with one of the school administrators to discuss Sylvia and Paul's path to school. It sucks that when my kids do something bad I'm the one who gets called on the carpet.kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-65406692276480304082018-05-29T23:17:00.000+09:302018-05-29T23:17:02.057+09:30richnessMy words are not precious.<br />
<br />
When I was a kid I told my sister that she only had a certain number of words she could say in her life, and once she used up all of her words she'd die. For the next few days she barely spoke at all.<br />
<br />
I was a jerk. (Still am.)<br />
<br />
Probably the opposite is true--the more words I use, the happier I'll be and the longer I'll live.<br />
<br />
I'm stressed. I don't know about what precisely, though it seems like this time of year (the end of the semester) is just stressful. Derrick's super busy and absent, and even when he comes home at a reasonable time he sits on his computer and works, so even when he's home he isn't really home. Finals are next week, so at least he'll be done soon and back to his more reasonable absenteeism.<br />
<br />
It's also my birthday this Friday. My 40th birthday. I know it's just a number and I'm only as old as I feel and 40 isn't that old and blah blah whatever. I feel like a loser. I used to have ambitions. I really just don't anymore. I'm too tired. Too depressed. I finish things slowly, if at all. I should feel happy this week--yesterday I finished (more or less) the growth chart I started when Kip was a baby. Since he's almost 4. Because it's taken so long, though, I'm underwhelmed by it. I'm underwhelmed by myself.<br />
<br />
I am a good cook, and really, that's where I've put so much of my time and effort. I've become expert at cooking.<br />
<br />
Whoop-de-freakin'-do.<br />
<br />
I like cooking, so there is that, though today I've felt stressed while cooking. Like I can feel my abdomen tensing up when I stand in front of the stove, and when I eat. It's like I know I've squandered my life standing there, chopping and frying and stirring; creating ephemeral monuments that nobody else cares about. Sure, some people enjoy them (not my kids), but hours and hours and HOURS of effort and at the end of it all I have is the promise of another job. It's so hopelessly domestic, so hopelessly, eternally feminine of me to sacrifice my time on making something that will be consumed in a matter of minutes and then forgotten.<br />
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In case you were wondering, there is no actual end to this post. It's simply a catalog of my complaints and negativity today.kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-3873257718229213132018-03-02T03:47:00.002+10:302018-03-02T03:47:11.552+10:30Shape of youI can not fix them, I can not teach them, I can not train or cajole or badger them into submission. I can only survive them and love them as best I can while we travel along together for a time.kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-88374904111724818162017-07-19T11:48:00.000+09:302018-03-02T04:03:14.733+10:30Put your shoulder to the wheelI'm so proud of myself. I gave a lesson on Sunday that I absolutely detested, and managed to not rant my whole way through it.<br />
<br />
The lesson in question was lesson 13 in the Gordon B Hinckley manual, "<a href="https://www.lds.org/manual/teachings-of-presidents-of-the-church-gordon-b-hinckley/chapter-13-peace-and-contentment-through-temporal-self-reliance?lang=eng" target="_blank">blah blah temporal SELF RELIANCE</a>." You know why I hate lessons on self reliance? Because invariably they're given by rich white guys who have no idea what it's like to be poor. Case in point, the lesson tells us that,<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="background: 0px 0px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.01); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: "Open Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 30.6px; margin-bottom: 26px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
“My father had an idea that his boys ought to learn to work, in the summer as well as in the winter, and so he bought a five-acre farm [about 20,000 square meters], which eventually grew to include more than thirty acres. We lived there in the summer and returned to the city when school started.</blockquote>
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I only know one other family that had that kind of work experience. The dad in the family I know is the CEO of a company. Going out and buying a five acre farm simply so your kids can learn the true nature of hard work just reeks of privilege. </div>
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There are dog whistles around every corner. The most blatant, of course, is the </div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0.01); color: #333333; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 18px;">Those who have participated as the recipients of this program have been spared “the curse of idleness and the evils of the dole.”</span></blockquote>
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I'm pretty sure President Hinckley didn't know many poor people if he thought they're idle or if he thinks asking for government assistance is an evil thing. The quote itself, "the curse of idleness and the evils of the dole" comes from President Grant who was the president of the church during the great depression. That statement is one that was used widely at the time to indicate a resistance to the New Deal and expansion of welfare to help those made destitute by the combination of the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl. It's a phrase that's continued in popularity among republicans. <br />
<br />
And it's a phrase I hate.<br />
<br />
Why do people go on the dole? Right. Because they want to eat. I am all in favor of working hard and contributing positively to the society in which we find ourselves. But I also recognize first, that there are those who can't for reasons beyond their control (disability, age, etc.) and second, that there are a lot of jobs that simply aren't compensated at a level that reflects the importance of that job to society (mothers in particular, but really all low-skill, low-wage labor. Low-skill is not equivalent to low-importance).<br />
<br />
I wish that we as a people would, instead of talking about the value of self-reliance, start talking about the social contract that binds us together as a society and that only works if everyone (or most everyone) holds to it. It's true that everyone needs to contribute, and everyone should be striving to contribute at least as much as they take out as long as they are able, but at the same time when you're contributing to society the society then has an obligation to compensate people. A stable, free society can only come from a system where people feel their contributions are adequately and appropriately valued. Undervaluing people, and then compelling them to work through fear, is only a short step removed from slavery, particularly when we produce so much and are so wealthy as a whole.kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-75411111333431753632017-06-18T23:03:00.000+09:302017-06-23T23:19:51.336+09:30I'm Wide AwakeI am the lamest mom ever.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, my kids don't care. They know I love them anyway. Or so I hope.<br />
<br />
Kip's birthday was about as uneventful as could be. I took the dog for a long walk in the morning, then spent the rest of my time before church frantically preparing for a lesson I was teaching in Relief Society (Families as the basis for a righteous life or something like that; terrible lesson, but that's a different story).<br />
<br />
All three kids were reasonably behaved in church--I only had to get up three times to take care of issues (toilet, argument, toilet) and everyone went reasonably happily to class and stayed there. In nursery they sang to him and drew him a card, which I would like to point out is way, way cuter than any other store-bought card my kids have ever gotten, and because nobody knew it was his birthday that was it. Half an hour after church I managed to get everyone into the car and we drove home. I made pizza for dinner while the kids played minecraft (Paul and Sylvia on the new Xbox and Kip on my laptop) and we had banana splits for dessert because that was as close as I felt I could get to the banana cake Kip kept requesting (I only had green-yellow bananas. Can't make cake with those!).<br />
<br />
Then everyone went to bed. Kip didn't get any presents, I didn't make him a cake or do anything really out of the ordinary for the day. I don't think he cared. Next year he might, the year after he probably will, and the next year he'll certainly expect more. So, I suppose it's good I've taken advantage of the ease of this year's birthday. Regardless, happy birthday my littlest one.kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-13799007302949534352017-05-30T23:00:00.000+09:302017-06-23T23:02:05.371+09:30Syl-vi-aWhen Kip says 'Sylvia' it comes out something more like eea, with a slightly guttural sound before the e's and some other irreproducible vowel-ish sound before the a. It's a bit like when Sylvia says, 'no' these days, which is very much in the Adelaide style and sounds more like noe and almost has two syllables. <div>
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The problem isn't the 's' or the 'l' sound; he's perfectly capable of pronouncing those sounds correctly in other words. When I try to reproduce the way he says it he tells me I'm saying her name wrong and shows me the correct pronunciation, and will only accept when I say her name correctly. I think it's pretty cute, but then I'm the mom.</div>
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That ended today. He looked at me while we were in the car driving to pick up Sylvia from school, and after pronouncing her name his normal way he said, "No, Syl-vi-a." Like a little language lightbulb went on in his brain, and now it'll stay lit forever.</div>
kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-47622574515579388902017-05-25T12:02:00.001+09:302017-05-25T12:02:27.009+09:30Counting starsLet's be frank. Most jobs are crap. Most jobs are pushing paper or managing other people, or dealing with the mounds of regulations that simply have to be dealt with. There's a certain satisfaction in all of them, but really, most of them just aren't curing cancer or fighting fires.<br />
<br />
I don't think that's a bad thing. At all.<br />
<br />
I like my paper pushing, regulation enforcing, people and stuff managing job. It's a great break from the caring for my kids job that takes up the remainder of my time and mental space. I feel relatively productive, I support other productive people and help them be more productive. I'm a force multiplier.<br />
<br />
I'm also cheap.<br />
<br />
I don't have to be expensive because DH makes enough to keep us financially solvent (and because we live pretty frugally). I've spent my entire adult life having really pretty crappy, poorly paying jobs that I couldn't support myself or my family (especially my family!) with, which is really a pretty privileged spot.<br />
<br />
The thing is, there are a lot of people who are <b>living on</b> the equivalent of the crap, poorly paying job that I get to enjoy. Instead of getting to luxuriate in the joy of working just for the sake of working, they get to work much harder than me and then stress out because their job doesn't quite give them enough to live on.<br />
<br />
The part that irks me most is that there's plenty of work to be done in the world--taking care of others, cleaning, making good food and art and other soul and body nourishing things--but people aren't willing to pay for that work to be done. It's like we really don't value one another all that much, you know?<br />
<br />
We have a government in the US that's a democracy and so supposedly is <b>us</b>, but doesn't seem to serve the average and lower classes all that well. It's a longer conversation why we fail to value the humanity of the poor and even average among us, but I do think the government needs to be heavily involved in the fixing of this situation in which we find ourselves.<br />
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I think it would do our country a lot of good if we were to fund the government at a level more equal to its importance to the economy (so, more than 20% of GDP) and allow it to hire the people that are needed by our society at large to do more of the jobs that need doing. We need more teachers, we need more street cleaners, we need more people working at national parks and at the DMV. We need more people doing the jobs that keep the country going. We need to pay more taxes to do that, but on the other end we'll have a more smoothly functioning country (I say, living in a country that has no idea how well things work for them) and, even better, more people who are employed in stable middle-class jobs.kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-61240477558514032852017-05-19T11:25:00.000+09:302017-05-19T11:25:01.595+09:30I am the highwayFor the first four years of Derrick's and my marriage we spent anywhere from a week to a month driving around the southwest, visiting various places in the southwest, but always including the San Juan Mountains in southern Colorado. The whole time we listened to music--usually Derrick's CD's. Audioslave featured prominently in the rotation, and so now when I hear tracks from the album it feels like I'm listening to the soundtrack of Derrick's and my early travels together.<br />
<br />
It was with great sadness that I heard Chris Cornell, the lead singer of Audioslave and Soundgarden, died yesterday. We've lost quite a number of musicians I grew up listening to, and those losses have hit hard in their own ways. The soundtrack of dead musicians from my childhood is growing so long, and will inevitably consume them all.<br />
<br />
And yet there will is new music and there will be new musicians. There will be new people to listen and sing along, and more drives to take through beautiful desert vistas and flower-draped mountain passes. There are more words to sing and more dances to dance and words to write, only now by different hands and voices and feet.kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-15485397304108854782017-04-23T23:30:00.000+09:302017-04-23T23:30:40.658+09:30On my ownThe rest of this week was far less interesting. I let the kids play lots of computer games and watch a lot of TV, since Sylvia was pretty much confined to the house all week. Paul went to OSHC Wednesday (Inflatable world), Thursday (Aquatic center), and Friday (Sports clinic), which kept him a lot happier than if he'd been forced to stay at home all week. We made a play date with an old neighbor for Thursday, but ended up not making it because Sylvia couldn't walk. When we took the dressing off her stitches on Thursday morning the wound started bleeding a leaking pus, so we spent the day trying to treat her and just couldn't make it.<br />
<br />
Derrick got back last night, bringing with him enough food for the next week at least. I am so excited I won't have to cook this week! Sylvia's foot is doing well enough she's hobbling around, and I have high hopes she'll be back to normal in a couple of days. We did make it to see our friends today. It was stake conference, so I didn't feel bad about skipping church to go see friends. Funny how I'm not at all willing to sit through two hours of sacrament-like meeting with my kids when there's no sacrament and no promise of primary at the end. It's been a good day, though. I got a nap and the kids I think enjoyed having their dad back. Glad we don't have to do this again for a while.kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-22923445550551243062017-04-17T22:57:00.000+09:302017-04-23T23:21:54.120+09:30Easter weekendSince well before Christmas Paul has asked me to sing three songs to him before he goes to bed: Jingle bell rock, Jingle bells, and Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer. Finally, since it's Easter this weekend, he's dropped two of those (Jingle Bells and Jingle Bell Rock) and now he wants the ABC song, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and Rudolf.<br />
<br />
Kip sings the ABC song about twenty times a day. I think of my three kids he's the most into singing. He likes to sing the wheels on the bus, too, but mostly he sings ABC's. It's amazing to me how quickly he's learned to talk very, very well. He's gone from <br />
<br />
Good Friday was off (of course), and we had a pretty low-key Good Friday this year. Derrick and I took off early on Thursday so he could go shopping for his field trip this week (Monday through Saturday. Oh Joy.) and then he spent Friday and much of Saturday cooking food to take with him. That pretty much left me taking care of kids on Friday and Saturday, thought I did get shopping done for the week (I hope!) on Saturday. Friday was pretty low key all day, though we did go for a long walk around the Linear park loop in the afternoon. I was the only one of us not on a bike or scooter, which turned out surprisingly well. I didn't take my bike because usually I have to carry Kip and his bike at least part of the way, but he managed to make it almost the whole way without help. The only time I carried him was at the very end, and that was because he wanted to 'go faster' down the hill again and again. Patient as I try to be, there comes a time when I just want to go home.<br />
<br />
Saturday was full of running necessary errands and general taking care of kids. That night, just before bed, it finally occurred to me that I was singing in church on Sunday, and Alex, who was supposed to be singing with me, wasn't texting back. She'd warned me she might go camping on Easter weekend, but I hadn't heard one way or the other. Given her lack of communication I realized I'd probably be singing a solo.<br />
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So, yes, I've sung solos before. Well, I've sung a true, singing 'till the end by myself solo once. It was okay. I made it all the way through without my voice breaking or without dissolving into a puddle in front of everyone. But it's not something I relish.<br />
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Singing a solo on the same day I'm teaching (which is also nerve-wracking for me) AND a day I need to help Paul give a talk (On 'Jesus Christ teaches me the right way to leave') was just a bit much emotionally. I woke up super early, probably 4 am, and just didn't get back to sleep. Since I actually needed the time to prepare my lesson (mostly looking up the scriptures I wanted us to discuss) my insomnia was a bit of a blessing.<br />
<br />
At about 8 I took Rosie and the kids down to the park while the Easter bunny hid our small supply of chocolate eggs. I'm so glad I didn't go overboard on the chocolate this year. A single Chocolate bunny and about 23 Easter eggs was plenty for all of us.<br />
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I got the kids reading and went to church early (about 12:30) so I could practice. The kids ran around, as all kids should on Easter morning after consuming way too much sugar, and yet I managed to get in a decent enough practice that I felt like I could get up and not embarrass myself. Just as Heather (the pianist) and I finished practicing Alex showed up. We went through the song again with me singing the first verse, her the second, and together on the third.<br />
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My kids did remarkably well during sacrament meeting. Well, Sylvia and Kip did, anyway. Paul refused to sit most of the time, but that's kind of the norm for him anymore. Sylvia sat with another family and colored for most of the meeting and Kip was pretty entertained by the large amounts of food I'd packed (having not fed the kids an actual lunch before we left).<br />
<br />
Immediately after the sacrament the bishop announced a Relief Society choir would be singing "Come Unto Him." Alex and I tittered as we walked up together. A choir of two is kind of a pitiful choir. The song went well--better than we'd practiced.<br />
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During Sunday school I wrote Paul's talk, which I basically made into a talk on the resurrection (it being Easter and all). I dragged him to the courtyard, where we practiced it, and then he gave it while in Relief Society Adrienne (the RS president) showed a couple of videos to stall for time for me. They had technical difficulties, so I even made it back in before the second video was over. Hooray!<br />
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My lesson wasn't terrible, but that's about all I can say for it. We read a bunch of scriptures about Christ's interactions with women and children in the bible. I asked the sisters to summarize the story and give an idea how the story teaches us how we should live so our lives can be symbols of Christ, which was honestly a little too much. I'd picked way too many scriptures, too, so we didn't get through everything and didn't have time to sing the closing hymn.<br />
<br />
By the end of all that I was so exhausted it took me half an hour to get my kids into the car. It's amazing how the longest, most tiring day at church can get dragged out even longer by kids. They hate going, hate being there, but as soon as it's time to go, they can't possibly get into the car.<br />
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I was pretty wasted the rest of the night, so well all just vegged while Derrick finished his prep for the field trip.<br />
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Monday was Derrick's turn for insomnia, which unfortunately meant I also didn't sleep. Derrick hadn't packed so he had to get up at like 4 to get ready and I woke up at the same time. I tried to rest, but eventually gave up and just helped Derrick, then took Rosie out for an early walk. I'd hoped to get back before Derrick left, if for no other reason than to say bye, but I was too late, and was met by a crying Paul at the door when I got home. Poor kid. He hates it when we're separated.<br />
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I felt pretty lazy, so I let the kids play on computers and tablets and watch TV for the morning, though I did make arrangements to meet a couple of church friends who live on Linear park for lunch. I took my three kids and the other two kids on a bike ride (again, me the only one not on a bike) down to a nearby playground. The playground was fun for like 5 minutes, and then the kids spent two hours playing in the river, mostly wading in the shallows and generally being kids. <br />
<br />
At some point they started playing a following the leader kind of game, which I think would have been just fine had Sylvia not stepped on a large piece of glass. She freaked out at the blood, which was plentiful, and had a seriously hard time making her way back across the river. The other kids were unnerved by the blood and wanting to avoid also being cut by the glass. I waded in and was helping Sylvia hop across when I stepped on the glass, but I, being more prepared for it, didn't get cut as deeply. Still. Not fun.<br />
<br />
The piece I stepped on was a big round piece of a broken wine bottle. I have nothing but swear words for the individual who tossed their empty bottle in the river instead of a dumpster.<br />
<br />
I wrapped Sylvia's foot in a doggy bag to keep it clean and keep her from getting blood on her shoe. Then the other two kids and my oldest two high-tailed it back to my friends house, where she and her husband cleaned out Sylvia's wound. I made my way back much more slowly with Kip. As is, I think, typical of kids, when he's tired it's harder for him to go in a straight line. By the time I got there Sylvia's foot was already cleaned up and the kids were playing happily, though my friend's husband said he thought Sylvia would need stitches. I agreed. I went home to get my car and to clean up my foot with no children present to hear my screams and many swear words. It's awful having to cause yourself pain, even if in a necessary operation. My wound at least wasn't deep, and I was able to get all the dirt out with some saline and a safety pin.<br />
<br />
I drove over, picked up my kids and took them home, and then called around to see who would be open on a holiday. There was a place up in Modbury, so I loaded the kids up, grabbed my computer since I was sure the wait would be terrible, and then we drove up. Kip fell asleep on the way up, of course, so I had to drag him around while also helping Sylvia limp from place to place, and keep up with Paul. Man, three kids is so much fun sometimes. Fortunately, there weren't many people there, and Kip slept through being transferred to three different sleeping spots (Thank goodness I have one heavy sleeper!) and so I only had to take Sylvia and Paul into the treatment room. Apparently it was a day for injuring feet. The nurse claimed we were the fifth foot injury in a row, and a little boy came in right after us with another foot injury. He was sent home after a quick inspection by the doctor, which was what I hoped for with Sylvia.<br />
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I always hope that I'm being overprotective with my kids, that I'm overreacting to a situation and that medical intervention isn't really warranted. I have never actually been sent home, though, so I think my instincts must not totally suck.<br />
<br />
The doctor and nurse looked at it and decided it was a funny looking cut that did warrant some stitches. The doctor pulled out a syringe full of anaesthetic, at which point Paul decided Kip really did need someone to look after him. Sylvia didn't like the local, but made it through. She got three stitches, which I don't think she really noticed. I'd given her the computer while the doctor was sewing her up, and she'd decided to play Minecraft. She took one of my worlds and turned it from peaceful (no monsters) to normal (with monsters) and within seconds she had a zombie after her. Just at the moment the doctor was putting in the first stitch she yelled, "Oh my God!" and started fighting for her life. Probably a pretty good distraction for both of us, to be honest.<br />
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After being stitched up and bandaged we went home and had an easy dinner of tater tots. What a way to start a week without Derrick around!kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-63145107799469317142016-12-02T17:01:00.002+10:302016-12-02T17:01:19.786+10:30Other side, pleaseKip is just about 2 1/2 years old now and it's showing in how he communicates with me. He's been learning words left and right for a while now, but he's stringing them into sentences lately. Sorry if this is TMI, but hey, this is a record for me as much as anything.<br />
<br />
Much of my communication with Kip revolves around breastfeeding (which I'm still doing with him). When he was about six months old I realized I could tell him to switch sides and he would, obligingly, let go and wait for me to give him the other breast. "Side" was one of his first words, "nurse minute" was one of his first phrases, and now he tells me in increasingly complex sentences that he's ready to for me to give him the other side to drink. This morning it was "Mommy, other side, please nurse minute." The grammar isn't quite there, but it's closer and closer.<br />
<br />
It's a beautiful thing to see how my child is growing, especially with so many other things in the world to be depressed about. This is likely the last time I'll be so much around a child of this age, certainly the last time I'll breastfeed a child. I don't feel mystical about breastfeeding. Sometimes it's downright annoying when he's trying to get into my shirt, or whining at me for "nurse minute." And yet it's in the way we've learned to communicate together that I can, in many ways, see most clearly how he's developing. kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-12747284876925705992016-11-15T23:03:00.001+10:302016-11-15T23:03:43.960+10:30Boomers suckWarning, there are some swears in here. My optimism is flagging today and I'm pissed.<br />
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I know, #notallboomers. My mom's not to bad. My dad either, though he's terribly apathetic.<br />
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So here's what I have to say to the rest of you. Now that you boomers have elected the Biggest Asshole you could find you're going straight for screwing over the generations behind you. Seriously? As if you haven't done enough.<br />
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You didn't want to pay taxes in the 2000's, so you eviscerated funding for education, research, and functional government. When it turns out those things are *important* and that we younger people can't pay for all of it all on our own you go off, blame us for being too lazy, and then elect another guy who promises a big tax cut for you will miraculously solve all the problems your children and grandchildren face.<br />
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Guess what assholes: IT. WON'T.<br />
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See, there's this massive intergenerational transfer of wealth that happened for you guys when your parents paid for you to go to school, and paid for a bunch of cool research that made your lives better and cleaned up the environment and crap, and gave you a reasonably well-functioning government for when your children (us) were growing up. Yes, I know this is a vast oversimplification and was really only true for white people, but bear with me. <br />
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Then you got old. We grew up and were no longer living with you. It was time to live large! As newly-fledged empty-nesters your first instinct was to ... quit paying taxes. Not find a nice cause to dedicate a few years to (you child of the '60's), not read a few good books and see some good movies. Nope. Stop paying taxes. No reason for you to keep paying into the system, since hey, you weren't going to get anything more out of it. At least, not until you retired, but then your (many fewer, thanks to birth control) children will be paying for you. 'Cause hey, you worked hard. You earned your retirement.<br />
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Oh, and then on the way to retirement, you hired a bunch of your boomer CEO friends into university president positions where they could extract as much money from the education system as possible, replicating their massive exploitative success from the private sector on the public sector. Yet another young to old intergenerational transfer of wealth that benefits you boomers.<br />
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Somewhere along the line scientists realized global warming was A Thing, but since it made you feel like we might be calling you a bad person for using fossil fuels you stuck your fingers in your ears and started yelling, "La, la la." Just to make sure we know you really mean the "la la la" part now that you've got The Asshole as president and More Assholes in congress you're going to knock down our technology that might let us enjoy the same standard of living as you without fossil fuels/sand castle of hope and piss all over it. <br />
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'Cause you're mature like that.<br />
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Fuck you boomers. kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-52190416397499627082016-11-11T13:59:00.002+10:302016-11-11T13:59:50.526+10:30Pain and fear, but maybe hopeI want to say some very crude, very harsh words right now, but I'll refrain.<br />
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Watching Hillary Clinton lose two days ago now was dumbfounding and painful in a way that I don't think any other election has ever been. The polls said she had a high chance of winning. Everyone thought she was going to win, even conservatives. I thought that democrats would turn out in droves to vote against Trump.<br />
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And then they didn't.<br />
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In moments of bitterness I blame people being misogynist, for hating Hillary Clinton, whose biggest flaw looks to me like ambition. The people who buy the arguments about Benghazi and emails are looking for a reason to disqualify her. There's this visceral hatred of Hillary Clinton that I simply can't explain (though I remember thinking long ago that was a good reason to steer clear of her). I hope that hatred of her doesn't extend to all ambitious women. I'm not sure we'll get another chance to see for many decades, though.<br />
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In less bitter moments I can admit that Hillary, for all her experience, didn't offer much of a vision to the American people. She stood for the status quo, and while I thought preserving things like Obamacare and climate change accords would at least inspire people a little bit, it apparently didn't. She didn't actually stand for greater equality for POC (perhaps trying to not alienate the white people who didn't trust her anyway), so while they voted for her, their turnout wasn't as high as it was four years ago for Barak Obama. Republicans take some blame/credit for that as well as they did everything in their power to restrict voting for minorities and young people.<br />
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They know how to play to win.<br />
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Trump is at least being gracious in his win, which I didn't expect. I hope that he will actually govern the country for everyone in it and not just republicans. I hope the Real Donald Trump is more pragmatic and less bigoted than the one I've listened to for the last year. I hope my nation survives.kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-46952172550593871472016-04-08T11:28:00.001+09:302016-04-08T11:28:11.543+09:30Day in the life, April editionWe left late because I insisted on finishing Sylvia's Easter bonnet for sharing time--the project she should have been involved in and yet I accomplished essentially by myself because Sylvia revealed its necessity on the drive home from OHSC and we had a visit from our Home teacher that I wasn't able to cancel before he showed up and after all that Sylvia went to bed rather than stay up and help me with the hat.<br /><br />Fair enough. I was up until 1 am. <br /><br />Because I was up so late I got up late and Friday is a morning that Derrick leaves early to go teach. He was nice enough to get the kids more or less ready, except Kip, who decided to poop just at the time we should have been leaving. Oh, and in the process of cleaning up I discovered that my ever so helpful husband had done a load of laundry (necessary since one of the kids wet the bed) and really, you just shouldn't leave laundry sitting all day long. It sours. I can not abide sour laundry.<br /><br />Got the laundry up and we got out of the door just about the time Sylvia really needed to be at school. About halfway to school Sylvia announces her pants are wet.<br /><br />Great.<br />
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I haven't packed any spares.<br /><br />I take the boys to child care since I'm already so late for Sylvia and we need to go home anyway to get her some clothes. Paul insists that I finish his leaopard print juggling ball and that takes like two minutes and then we're gone. Finally, something's gone smoothly. Oh, and just before we leave Aman comes back for Bayan's kindy bag, so it's not just me who's having a morning, and while he's there Kip calls him "Baba", which is simply adorable. <br /><br />I get Sylvia home, get her away from her tablet and changing, and while she's doing that I get some stuff going for dinner (potato pizza--dough and sliced potatoes). I make her watch a video about making friends since that's something she's complained about lately and then gather things together again so we can go. <br /><br />Sylvia's school sandals are covered in dog pee. <br /><br />I swear.<br /><br />The only shoes Sylvia has are sneakers with no shoelaces. I get Sylvia in the car and we drive over to Target and hunt around for shoelaces. None in the kids department, none in the accessories, but I finally find them in the ladies shoe department. We pay and go and get Sylvia to school, only two hours late.<br /><br />She's just in time for recess.<br /><br />She's missed sharing.<br /><br />kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-18633735371714436042015-10-04T05:56:00.002+10:302015-10-04T05:56:19.212+10:30809 pictures laterToday is my last day in the US. I've been here for a month, visiting family and friends. I also went on a writing cruise. It's time to go home--I miss my family--but I'm going to miss being here among friends and family. I've only taken 809 pictures on this trip, which sounds like a lot, but most certainly doesn't capture the heart of the experience of visiting.<br />
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Still, here are a few of my favorites from the last month:<br />
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And from the cruise:<br />
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Such an awesome experience. I wish I could come back every year, but of course I have responsibilities and a limited budget. kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-5392830343771102902015-07-17T23:21:00.002+09:302015-07-17T23:21:51.291+09:30Year update, a month lateKip's been a year old for a month now (tomorrow, anyway) and I should write down a few stats before more time passes.<br />
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When Kip was just a year he had seven teeth. The seventh (on the bottom) poked through a couple of days before his first birthday. The eighth showed up a couple of days after. And then, last week, he got another tooth, this time a molar. I think he's excited about this food stuff. I made him a yellow cake with chocolate frosting for his birthday, which he mostly turned into a big, huge mess while I took pictures.<br />
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At his 1 year appointment (which was a week after his first birthday, but close enough) Kip weighed 10 kg and was 76.5 cm long. He got two shots that day and took them well. So glad one of them was the MMR since now we know measles erases part of the immune system's records of previous infections.<br />
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I can tell I haven't been as diligent about signing with Kip. After his one sign I expected him to add a few more to his vocabulary, but it hasn't been happening. Oh well. Makes me really miss the support system (read: local signing time) that we used to go to. <br />
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Sylvia also lost a tooth last week. She wiggled it and wiggled it and finally twisted it around so it was hanging on by almost nothing, at which point I reached in and plucked it out. We still haven't had a visit from the tooth fairy because we all keep forgetting to stick the tooth under Sylvia's pillow at night. I might just pay her $5 and let her keep her tooth.<br />
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Today was the last day of school holidays. We still have the weekend, of course, but today's the last non weekend day. Sylvia wishes she had another week of holidays, and I think Kip and Paul just wish I weren't working so they could be home with me. We don't really do that much when we're home. I took the kids to the South Australia Museum last week. Sylvia begged to go back, I suspect more because she wanted to catch pigeons (she was successful on our first trip) than because she wanted to see the museum. We didn't do much this week. It's been too cold so all we were able to do was hang around the house watching cartoons. I did make sure we had some outing or activity every day, even if just a trip to the grocery store, but it's so hard when it's cold. Looking forward to the next school holiday when it'll be warm enough to do stuff and go places!kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-41834260491547703342015-06-01T23:06:00.000+09:302015-06-01T23:06:00.321+09:30PrimeI don't think I've every really been big on my own birthdays. Sure, it's fun to have cake and celebrate a little, and yes, it's the anniversary of the beginning of me as an independent person (which is important) but I don't think I really understood the significance of my birthday until I had a child of my own.<br />
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My birthday is the day my mom went from being one, responsible only for herself, to becoming two; the anniversary of her taking on a huge, life-changing responsibility. In a sense it's not really my day at all, or at the very least not about me alone but about me and my mom.<br />
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Happy birthday to me, and happy birth day to my Mom, who had what sounds like a pretty scary birth experience with me and yet didn't let that stop her from going through the whole thing three more times. Thanks for thirty seven years of everything from nose and bum wiping to dropping me off at college (and paying for it!) to watching me become a mother and supporting me through those challenges. Love you.kristine Nhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08202917905756050811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21893223632699155.post-58634640302616401282015-06-01T11:36:00.000+09:302015-06-01T22:00:44.512+09:30Hala + DaveA couple in my congregation tied the knot this weekend and they let me take a few pictures of their family and of the day. <br />
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