Loyalty, Trust, and Trauma in the Hunger Games

Last night I finished the last of the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. Interesting series. I’m working them out in my head here, so it includes spoilers.

To separate the books, I’d have to admit that the first book is written the best, the story starts to fully engage in the second book, and the third book allows the characters to become more realistic and frustrating—which is a brave move as a writer (I think), especially when a lot of people hinge some emotion on your fictional world. Mostly I let myself be caught up in the narrative (because sometimes that’s healthy particularly when you have book-snob tendencies), but I occasionally thought, “Really? A dash—there?” or “Careful with the fragment power…” and wished that she could have had more time to refine the books on a sentence level. Still, the books are worth reading; they got into my system and made me analyze a few relationship things, which I appreciated.

People warned me about the last book. They told me I’d hate Katniss. They told me I might have issues with the ending. When I completed the first book, I worried that this would be as a result of the love triangle (gag! Please no more Edward-Bella-Jacob stupidity…at least Katniss can shoot things and has a personality…). I didn’t want to deal with that and almost didn’t read the next two, but gave it a try anyway. Happily the focus remained on survival and grew into themes of loyalty, trust, and coping with trauma (the last I didn’t fully anticipate, despite the violence of the situation). If the characters had been unaffected then they would have seemed heartless, shallow, or simply unbelievable.

When I closed the cover last night I gauged my response: it was almost like the feeling I had after Jonathan Safron Foer’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (a must read). Something both painful and redemptive. Of course, especially in pop-fiction, people want the characters to survive unscathed. They want to see overall success and satisfaction. We’re trained to cheer the main character on to triumph. Katniss does not. Despite her fire and intensity, her humor and convictions, she falters emotionally, she fails in her mission to kill Snow, she fumbles in her most important relationships, she emerges from a coma depressed and deranged. Plus she is young, inexperienced (as we all are to a degree) and used. The books don’t skirt around the realities of broken people and the impact of political unrest, war, and frankly a lack of love and compassion. Katniss wasn’t alone in not trusting anyone, in battling with her loyalties. She can’t be called a “hero,” (which is perhaps why people have stretched a lot and compared her to Winston in 1984), but she can be called human and 17. If anyone is cast as a hero, it’s Peeta—not for his devotional to Katniss necessarily—but because of his courage at trying to figure things out after the trauma, at his willingness to face reality even when he didn’t know what that was, in his ability to create hope, in his selflessness. I knew Gale wouldn’t be sticking around when his character progressed only minimally and mostly as memories; he should have been developed more if only to be more than a narrative tool. I thought Katniss would end up alone and sunk, but I’m glad that Collins allowed Peeta’s loyalty to Katniss and to living life resolve the series—trauma scars people, often permanently, but it doesn’t have to be the final abyss.

Thinking on trauma in addition to the importance of trust and loyalty makes me further reflect on knowing the reality of the Plan of Salvation, on being able to trust God when mortality feels (and is) suffocating, on knowing the loyalty of Christ to me as an individual—so much that He atoned to make me whole. His life exemplifies that compassion and unity are possible even in seemingly hopeless circumstances. This is not stuff in pop-fiction, and those who try often flop with some moralistic beating-the-audience-over-and-over which is less appealing (see The Wednesday Letters, which is fine but not thought provoking or well written). Still, as I heaved my huge body into bed last night and looked at Wesley’s exhausted face, I felt whelmed. Thankful. Relieved to know that our loyalties and trust are in the Lord and in each other, amazed to realized that we will face our own set of horrors. Perhaps we won’t step away as heroes but I know we can grow in our humanity and purpose.

Notes on Lance Larsen's First Book

Erasable Walls is a good first book. I say this because I've been thinking about first books and how Edward Hirsch calls them collections of "the best ofs..."--meaning they don't flow as well as the next books because the writer is still figuring the process and himself out. I thoroughly enjoyed Erasable Walls on its own, but since I read the other two collections first, I can see how Larsen has become more comfortable and confident in his work.

I knew going in that Larsen is a narrative and personal poet--meaning there are people in the poems, healthy sentiment, an arc you can follow as a reader (compare to lyric poetry which covers more "landscape of the soul" and other abstract concepts). I enjoyed the whole collection; my favorite poems centralized on the attempts to spiritually translate a situation, though.

I love "Errand." What are our errands? Of our fingernails or knees?

Another section, from "Letter to Hieronymus Bosh" that I appreciated: "This afternoon I found a mouse with a chewed-off head / on my doorstep. What was he guilty of? If tossing / him into hte field was a kind of prayer, I offered it / quickly, but didn't mean it. A single, lazy arc." How do our actions become prayers? Or how should they be prayers? What does it mean to really have compassion on the least? Is simply noticing ever enough?

"Denouement" felt like a poet's poem--on naming and language and expansion. Most collections of poetry have at least one meta moment. Usually every poem has a line or so that hints toward it, perhaps because one of the purposes of poetry is to draw attention to how we shape the world and our experience by the way we name things, by our labling processes. So Adam addresses the new world. "And no punctuation--all commas adn periods / swallowed by a grammar of infinity: / for who can parse God?" as we see the punctuation, the thundering dash, and definite colon, all leading up to the question mark that hangs heavily and implies that we believe we are whole, or know we are lacking, but ultimately we attempt to parse ourselves so that we can understand God, so we can grasp our relationship to something even as simple as the comma that may or may not be there.

Overall, I savored the book and my main complaint is that I bought a used copy and dislike the previous owners' marginalia (alas).

Catching up, again.

Our normal, happy life. Florals, stripes, pants...

At the state capital, learning more about Texas and the Civil War.

Levi helps with the mopping.

November in Texas.

Family shot--we realized we didn't have one for the year!

(the mom puts on her lion face to make the baby smile. Oh. Dear.)

Thanksgiving = food equivilant of a marathon. We had a great time.

Menu: turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, steamed squash, twice baked red-pepper sweet potatoes, cresent rolls, vegetables and dip, stuffing (complete with homemade bread!), buryani, cabbage salad

And apple, pumpkin, coconut cream, and banana cream pies. With lots of cream.

Close up of stuffing--I was nervous about it.

Cranberry sauce I made the day before and forgot to pull out for dinner! Still yummy with apples, pineapple, oranges, walnuts, honey, and a healthy doese of pepper.



This is just to say

I ate the oranges from the refrigerator.
No one else likes them here
but the cold, pulpy flesh almost
convinced me of winter.

Even in Texas. Even pregnant.

I've realized lately that I'm a bit of a book snob. Or just a snob in general. I never intended to be! I'm not perpetually dissatisified! I just seek perfect phrases, sentences, punctuated moments--and rarely find them. Never in my own work, occassionally elsewhere. My relationship with literature becomes more complex with time. Is it wrong to want good writing to be widely read? Is it wrong to want good writing? A month ago, I read Short Takes, the first of the Kitchen/Jones anthologies of short nonfiction--and decided that the following anthologies are much better and I wonder if there is such a way to forget genre distinctions and write something simply true and fulfilling and awesome--and how to anthologize that?

Perhaps that is called life.

A note on some poetry (drafted months ago...)

Time builds up and I start feeling guilty about this dumb blog. I should form better, more efficient reports on what I read, but some days I can barely check my e-mail (Levi + technology = haphazard joy, destroyed machines...). And some days I struggle to slip in any writing time at all--the blog is just lower priority, I guess. Forgive me for my inconsistency; I don't live up to my own expectations most of time.

I have now officially read all of Jane Austen's work. Perhaps this desire came because I am surrounded by boys. Pride and Prejudice is witty and passionate and quoteable--no wonder there are multiple versions of it. Plus it's a fast read. Persuasion is not appreciated enough. I haven't heard many people rave about it, and it can be raved over. Sense and Sensibility is such an interesting look at sisters. What I love about Austen is the interiority she reveals by focusing on exterior realities. Granted, sometimes certain books and authors just fit my mood.

I've also recently reread Dandelion Wine (that was to celebrate summer). Ah. And Cheaper by the Dozen (one of Wesley's favorites--and very fun). I've read a few others and they are logged away in Excel. Eventually I may just figure out GoodReads.

This post is actually about three poetry collections.

I didn't mean to read The End of Desire by Jill Bialoski. Wes ordered The End of Oil for one cent online, and the bookstore had the two mixed up in their catalogue. They told us to keep it and sent the money for shipping back. Neat. While there were some great lines and what Doug Thayer calls "moments of insight," the collection felt self-absorbed and strangely self-congratulatory in its confessional style (annoying). It made me remember why people resisit the idea of personal nonfiction and confessional poetry. I worry sometimes that my work comes across that way. It is easy to believe you're exploring when you can't see the larger picture. People who have already made the map, or at least seen it, have a different perspective.

The Clearing by Philip White is an immensely personal study of grief, healing, and time as he considers the death of his wife. He's in his thirties. Overall, I found the collection lovely but a bit redundant. Sometimes I buy into the idea that there are only three or so themes out there that we all choose from and cling to--but I still want surprise and joy in the language. I want to feel pushed from the inside out.

Two Great Spiritual Reads

A few weeks ago I read a book that changed my life. Completely. I (unfortunately) have a tendency to edit as I read and wonder why people made certain decisions in their writing, but on this book I looked past all of that and stopped caring. It is written with the Spirit: amazing. Each page uplifts and edifies as a result, regardless of writing style or organization. It's one everyone should read, I can't even offer a decent summary. Such a humble, inspiring work. Wesley and I have made some life/family changes because of it. That's a powerful book.

Point: Read F. Enzio Busche's book, Yearning for the Living God (edited by Tracie Lamb).

This morning I finished Neal A. Maxwell's Not My Will, But Thine. Also lovely, but perhaps organized more intellectually. I thoroughly enjoy Maxwell because his work is quick to read as well as full of things to mull over. I find myself still refering to his ideas and insights years after I have read them. One that stood out from this book:
"What we feel on that occasion will be God's and Jesus' perfect love for us--not a scolding sterness but a profound kindness and immense tenderness. As these virtues flow from them toward us, many will feel the scalding shame of not having returned that love. As we feel their perfect love, we will confess that the justice and mercy of God are likewise perfect."

Isn't lovely that mortality is a matter of developing? I've been thinking a lot lately on how life demands more of our bodies and spirits than they are capable of handling, and yet we are upheld. Sleep deprived, over- or under-worked, strained--our lives are hungry, starved in a variety of ways at different times. But on earth, we refine our soul, we combine the worth and strength of both body and spirit, we daily discover what it means to be mortal and sometimes glimpse the greatness God sees in us.

Of Ivanhoe, Titles, and Foils

I'm in a book club with my sisters and mom. We read Ivanhoe in October. Since I'm behind in my book logging, I thought I'd start with this review. More to come.
Despite my first suprise at not hearing the name "Ivanhoe" until chapter 5, I thoroughly enjoyed the book (note here that I listened to the entire thing--so when it comes to names, etc., I don't have any spelling references!). I determined early on that male authors--at least our friend Sir Walter--of that time period should not spend pages describing clothing since even after lengthy anecdotes of feathers and furs, most of the characters fall into categories of class but are rarely distinguishable otherwise. With that acknolwedged, I do love Wamba--in his jester cap or disguised as a friar.


Throughout the novel I considered why Ivanhoe was the title character. He had few appearances, no real show of valor or strength, and primarily background information (rather than current since he was in secrecy then wounded). The book spent equal time with Wamba and the swineherd, more with Locksley/Robin Hood, and a decent amount with Cedric, Friar Tuck, and the celebrated Black Knight/King Richard. I felt that ultimately, the cast centralized around Rebecca. Rebecca revealed imperfections and virtues, desires and constraints, weakness of person and station but strength of spirit. Her affection for Ivanhoe is really where the reader sees the most of him. As a literary tool, Rebecca's main problem was that she proved Rowena to be a surface character: limited, again, to a vague description of beauty and heritage. At the conclusion of the novel, although we are told Rowena and Ivanhoe live happily, I could almost sense Sir Walter's wish that he had allowed Ivanhoe and Rebecca to somehow end up together. Alas, she a Jewess and he a crusader.

Ultimately, I think Ivanhoe is the proper title character because all of the events and other characters hinge on his existance. While the story only briefly touches on him, it could not happen without him. Cedric and Rowena probably would not have attended the tournament without the initial argument about/with Ivanhoe. Isaac might not have survived (more than once). Brian would have persued Rowena. The Black Knight would not have interfered as he did. Sweet Gurth never would have achieved freedom. Rebecca's champion would not have materialized. In addition to physical events, the emotions and motives of the characters relied on the established goodness and solidity of Ivanhoe. At least as a catalyst.

Six Months Along...

When I was six months along with Levi we tried to make a double layer cake that looked like a ninja turtle.

Alas.

And I very proudly showed off my burgeoning belly.



At six months with Urias, our double layer cakes have improved but still need help.

And I feel huge (much bigger than the picture shows), though I still very happily display our newest addition (edition?).



Weird how similar the two pictures look. I'm actually not a long hair person or a pink person. Maybe it's a result of being surrounded by boys!

Dancing

Finally recorded this after fighting it for three days. This version is a bit milder since he was tuckered out from climbing up and up and shrieking happily as his mom ran to grab him. Now we've captured history, we'll move on!

Realized the last few days that we take pictures of Levi, but not many of ourselves. I've been trying to come up with a headshot that doesn't look too awkward or too close to fourteen. No success as of yet.

Mercy

Yesterday swirled, at home and definitely outside of home.

Amazing how Heavenly Father knows us individually and shows His love in interesting ways. I had a very tender experience after Levi smeared his face, body, and the kitchen with his breakfast, screamed all morning and found the borders of my patience and capacities. We sat in the rocking chair to sing songs and calm down. He whimpered and I tried not to feel harried.

Then I had an overwhelming feeling of I can do this. Not that I felt hopeless. Not that I had really considered other options. I just knew I had spiritual support and angels. I knew that I could be cheerful and patient and happy and teach my children even on long days. I was surprised at the change of emotions and the onrush of comfort.

Once I lay Levi down, I received the text from Wes: "Classes cancelled today. Gunman was in the library. I'm working on INL stuff. I'm okay. Don't worry." Most days I am prone to panic--it doesn't have to be big. As I thought about the horrific possibilities and the terrible situation on UT's campus, I realized that I felt the overwhelming peace at the same time Wesley sent his text. Not only was I bouyed up about motherhood and my individual purpose, but I was prepared to hear and respond wisely to the news.

All day I prayed for the family and friends of the student with the assault rifle. I can't (and don't want to) imagine getting to that point of dispair and hopelessness. I prayed for the people on campus. I prayed that others could feel the tender mercies of the Lord that I so often overlook.

I reflected on how blessed I am and how quickly our lives pass. Day by day and sometimes it is just gone. There might be a morning when Wesley leaves and we don't see each other again. There will someday be a last morning, a last kiss, a last farewell in mortality--but the Plan of Salvation is real and we will be together eternally with our family. What a miraculous gift. How merciful is our God.

Grateful

Usually Levi hates being naked if not in the tub, but we left his shoes on while we cleaned up a big accident yesterday. He loves his shoes. This reminds me of the song, "The Streak": "Nothin' on but his Keds..."

Learning to use utensils is fun. The kitchen was in the same condition.

Outside!

Words of Inspiration

Every day that Wesley rides the bus to campus he memorizes something--usually a scripture, but also things like all the verses to "The Star-Spangled Banner," poems, and the new Duty to God requirements. I've decided I need to actively learn every day and I miss memorizing, so I've been memorizing a few small things also. Over the last three days I memorized the Relief Society theme--oh, it's great.

"We are beloved spirit daughters of God and our lives have meaning, purpose, and direction. As a worldwide sisterhood we are united in our devotion to Jesus Christ, our Savior and Exemplar. We are women of faith, virtue, vision, and charity who:

Increase our testimonies of Jesus Christ through prayer and scripture study.

Seek spiritual strength by following the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

Devote ourselves to strengthening marriages, families, and homes.
Find nobility in motherhood and joy in womanhood.

Delight in service and good works.

Love live and learning.

Stand for truth and righteousness.

Sustain the priesthood as the authority of God on earth.

Rejoice in the blessings of the temple, understand our divine destiny, and strive for exaltation."

I have a long way to go before achieving all of this--particularly "understanding [my] divine destiny" on a daily basis. I usually delight in service and good works, but there are times when I get distracted by activities rather than focusing on people...Basically, there are days when I can hit on a few of these and days when I really need to find my start button. I want to live worthy of such goals and become a woman of "faith, virtue, vision, and charity" who knows my heritage to Heavenly Parents and honors them in my daily life.

So Excited for Saturday!

Saturday is the general Relief Society conference. I love Relief Society! To make sure I am prepared for and worthy of inspiration, I've decided to do something each day to bring extra focus.

Yesterday, I listened to this great interview between Sheri Dew and Julie B. Beck and her daughters. It's about an hour--and awesome! Wes and I talked about it all through dinner.

At one point, Sister Beck stated that she wanted her children to become people she would want to be friends with; that meant that she needed to parent them while they were young. They needed to learn virtue, manners, and a desire for education. This has me thinking: what skills/standards do I need to teach my sweet boys so that we can all be friends in the future?

A love of the Lord. A  love of learning, service, and charity. A desire to communicate clearly and effectively. Honesty and selflessness. So how to go about this?

Catching up with a few pictures

My new rocking chair. It looks a lot different now that we cleaned and oiled it--but it works great. Levi might be getting too big to share it with me! (Or maybe I'm just getting too big...)

Yes, this is Levi trying to climb into his pack-and-play. He'll be doing chin-ups in no time.

I love this face.

Throwing the bear!

Loving the bear.

Working hard with Dad.

Little red shoes. He wore them all day on Saturday just because he loves them and wouldn't let us take them off. Despite smelly, sweaty feeties.

Levi's cupboard in the kitchen. He plays, I cook.

A common position with books.

Bathtime! (He doesn't sit in the water, he runs in it).

Sharing dinosaurs. So charitable.

Love this sweet bum. Little did we know that we'd find a scorpion next to the toilet when we pull Levi from the tub! At least we found it and not him.

Isn't he great?

Boy oh Boy!

Ultrasound yesterday. Our little monkey was quite modestly curled up on my left side and not interested in even showing off his stomach, but by the end he somersaulted and pulled up his knees to prove he is definitely not Venice Christine! She'll come later.

We're tickled to have another boy. He and Levi will be buddies. They can share clothes and toys and a room (even in puberty! Though we may have to separate them for their safety and my sanity...). They can prepare for their missions together. They can build with Legos and play catch. They can terrorize their mother and sing "I'm So Glad When Daddy Comes Home" while putting bunny ears behind each other's heads. This can and will happen eventually with a sister--we're excited for the male bonding, though.

Unlike Venice we don't know who this little man is! He's surprising us as Levi did. So we're calling him Urias until he's born sometime in January. (Urias is my great-grandpa; Wesley says no to the name as a permanent thing, so it's a good embryo name). Urias is due January 20--Grandpa Merlyn's birthday; as long as he doesn't arrive before that during Wesley's Ph.D. exams, we're good.

Urias has a beautiful beating heart, tiny kidneys, and a good healthy brain. We watched him swim around for 45 minutes. How do we create such miracles? God guides this sacred process.

Walk the Walk

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

This lovely creation perches right on top of our back window. When we moved in she was the size of my hand, perhaps larger. One of her sweet legs was about the size of my middle finger. We can see her from both sides--which is a rare treat with spiders, particularly ones this large. She's golden on the bottom, but as you can see here more yellow, blue, and brown on top.

I've watched her with chilled interest. Mostly for Levi's sake. Still every time he moans in his sleep I have to remind myself that the sound would be much different had she snuggled up next to him, or had he stuck a scorpian in his mouth, (or had our six foot "garden snake" slithered through his window...things really are bigger in Texas). Regardless, she has a definite grace and beauty about her. We decided not to spray her and let her catch some of our critters herself.

Then she started to shrink. I despaired over this, actually. Her grand presence slowly diminishing in her three and a half foot web. She cocooned a batch of her darlings and now withers. She won't see them grow up (and neither will we, for although we appreciated her one existence, her millions of posterity can scatter elsewhere...). She's made me think about motherhood and what it means to be a parent. Reproduction is a way to begin the ritual of dying. It is casting a hope for the future, but it's also acknowledging that we can't last, and they can't last, and at last the last can't last. She sacrificed herself completely and now we glance in awe at her hollow image.

I don't mean to say that motherhood is depressing or draining; it's beautiful, but parenting requires that we give of ourselves thread by thread for the love and sake of those we create.

Amazing boundless creation.

Levi Tells Me He Hates Moving

I tell him I'm sorry. I say more but I packed any way--which is confusing and frustrating and makes eating and sleeping more difficult. He hasn't let go of his binky or his special car blanket for over a week. Poor kid.

Suddenly, Levi has an increased interest in everything--including cloves. He clung to the little container until his knuckles were white. Finally I had to put it back in the box, and he screamed until his dad came home.

But--now we're in Kansas. After driving through Wyoming with its oil wells, wind turbans, beautiful plateaus and wind. After driving through Nebraska with its green fields of corn and the zillions of moving trucks and semis passing on the freeway. After driving until one in the morning because staying at a hotel when Levi won't sleep there is just not efficient when he'll fall asleep in the car.

So here we are! Enjoying family and looking forward to discovering our new place on Tuesday. Who knows what it will be like--but we're just glad we have somewhere to go!

Additionally,

Levi is excited to be a big brother. We're due mid-January and like to hope that 14 weeks along is safe to share our news. We'll call her Venice Christine (a real, not just an embryo, name) until proven otherwise.

12 week photo shoot: you can see her little appendages! 

You (I) Know You're (I'm) Pregnant When...

1. Well, the first clue is obvious: plus, when you're already waiting to miss your period and watching it intently, you figure it out pretty fast.
2. It's not the first pregnancy. What they say is true. At two weeks the pants already felt constricting. Wear them anyway.
3. You start spilling on yourself, on your child, on anyone that is around at least once a day. Don't count the times that aren't too obvious--it's reassuring.
4. Vomiting becomes a humorous family activity. Your toddler pats you on the back as he laughs. Your neighbors start wondering if you're bulimic.
5. Please don't talk, or think, or plan anything to do with food. Even now, nothing sounds good. Water. Water is good. Why do waffles suddenly smell like cookies?
6. Except for those few weeks when all you wanted was pizza.
7. It takes you all day to plan dinner (see 5). It took a week to plan an elaborate barbecue chicken dinner, and it takes all day to put it together with your last pieces of chicken, last bit of barbecue sauce, and last rice. Forget to turn on the oven. Of course, you don't notice for 4 hours when the chicken has probably gone bad. Your husband hugs you and tells you the budget can expand for a dinner out.
8. Constant bloody nose.
9. You mimic your one-year-old's schedule, with more naps.
10. You cry just thinking about Finding Nemo. The dad. The little fish with a hurt fin. The mom. The thousands of dead babies.
11. You dream of miscarriage at least twice a week, nightmare otherwise, and wait, hoping not to lose this lemon sized baby.
12. You open the dryer to find wet towels from three days earlier. Oops.
13. You still differentiate between the dream world and the real world--but now it's worse. It demands bodily action. When the wind blows through your window at 5:30 a.m., somehow you're convinced that deathly harm has befallen your son. You leap ("fly" in your husband's words) up, but crash into the door frame rather than gliding through the door, and collapse on the floor. This is probably a good thing, since you would have passed out from moving that fast otherwise. Once you figured out that your face took the hit and not the rest of you, and that your son continued to sleep on peacefully--the swollen lips were just laughable.
14. You start to enjoy your 3 a.m. bathroom break because you are oh so happy happy happy for this little child.

Another Family Party

Is that a peacock?  

 Dads and the boys

 Sisters

Levi wants to be a fish. So much that his cousins wouldn't swim with him. 

This is fun

Here's a review of a journal my work was in. I'm mostly tickled about their praise of Catherine Curtis. Her work is definitely worth following--poignant, hilarious, wonderful. 

http://lunaparkreview.com/sometimes-dark-always-honest/

Women of Covenant

"We are going to do something extraordinary." --Emma Smith

""Let your first business be to perform your duties at home. But inasmuch as you are wise stewards, you will find time for [other] duties because these are incumbent upon us as daughters and mothers in Zion...By seeking to perform every duty you will find that your capacity will increase, and you will be astonished at what you can accomplish." --Eliza R. Snow

"I think visiting teaching is the most important work we do in the Church....I feel I really know a woman only when I enter her home. In this way I can serve her person-to-person. I have tried not to suppress any inclination to generous word or deed." --Camilla Kimball

"We should recognize that ideals are stars to steer by; they are not a stick to beat ourselves with." --Barbara Smith 

I love Relief Society. Last week I finished reading Women of Covenant: The Story of Relief Society. I loved it; it's amazing how my appreciation of something, even something I already love, can increase when I know its history and evolution. In my personal involvement in Relief Society I have seen miracles as women work together to help one another and seek to compassionately serve and grow. I bought this book almost five years ago when serving as secretary in my singles ward RS, but have only been able to skim through it until now. Since then, I've experienced the joy of visiting teaching--and the sorrows you can share with women who become your sisters. I've seen the effort that goes into creating meetings that uplift and build. I've participated in funerals, quilting, babysitting, and music. Mostly, this book helped me remember that Relief Society is really about providing relief to our families, to each other, to the Priesthood, and by doing so becoming more Christlike. Thinking about Relief Society really just makes me want to hug people and say, "Come with me." 

Three Days of Celebrating Independence!

Because July 4 was Sunday, Idaho Falls hosted the parade and fireworks on Saturday, then "observed" the holiday on Monday. 

We believed the paradewould be a 30-45 minute number, but it extended to 3 ½ hours! At the intermission, Levi put his arms around my neck dived into my shoulder and conked out. That has never happened! The poor kid slept through most of the marching bands, streams of cars and floats, and even the fire trucks with the sirens and horns. He woke up just in time to urinate all over the two of us. That’s comfort for you. Our cute matching red and white tops with dark blue jeans lost effect because the high temperature on July 3 was 71 and we wore sweatshirts. I shivered, Wes rejoiced then sweated. Because the parade took most of the day, we skipped the Farmer’s Market and other riverside festivities, which was fine. That night we stepped out to the sidewalk to see the fireworks; we couldn’t hear the music they were synced to, but it was beautiful to reflect on the excitement fireworks inspire and how they symbolize the many lives and efforts that have been sacrificed to make and maintain this country.

Monday (and part of Sunday) we spent the day with Wesley's sisters--eating hot dogs, hamburgers, pasta salads and then exploring Kelly Canyon. Beautiful! It was wonderful to be out in the land that we celebrate--to look out over the river, trees, and enjoy the dust and sweat of being outside. Levi loved it.

As we’ve approached this July 4 I was grateful to celebrate it on the Sabbath. I often wonder why I was born here rather than fill-in-the-blank. I wonder if I appreciate the small liberties I have—and the large ones for that matter. I think it is easy (for me) to criticize the results of imperfect people instead of rejoicing in the good that does go forth. I am grateful for those that are willing to lead this country; I’m grateful for the people who sacrifice themselves, in the military and otherwise, for this land and its ideals. I’m grateful that there are those who still believe in freedom and want what is best for America. I realize that perspectives and politics can trip this up occasionally (often), but how wonderful it is to be in a place that we can voice those perspectives and work together to create something greater. Patriotism doesn’t fall in party lines. Patriotism requires that we refocus when necessary and rise to the challenge of our times with as much grace as possible. Ultimately, to be truly patriotic, I think we must rely on the Lord and His plan. I love my land of liberties and I’ve realized this week that one of the main reasons is because it was established on the hope and goal of religious freedom and thus enabled the Restoration of the gospel. It is a promised land of liberty. Acknowledging my liberties always leads me to the awe I have in the atonement and the great liberty Christ offers to all of us—perfection, purity, unity, and an inheritance with our Heavenly Parents. His liberty does not demand boundaries of land or body, but reaches our whole souls if we allow it. How amazing that is. God be thanked for the matchless gift of His Son. 

Comment! Wedding Pictures!

My beautiful baby sister will marry a strapping (tall) and sweet young man in a month. Their photographer has already done their formal session (she must be busy!). They receive a free 8 X 10 after so many comments on her blog. So check out Megan and Drew and comment!

http://www.momentsbykellee.com/blog/

If nothing else, the pictures are fun to look at. Such gorgeous people.

Reverence

is more than just quietly sitting. But folding your arms is a start. We pray at every meal. We pray before bed. We pray first thing in the morning. We pray in between. Levi and I prayed a lot this week as Wesley traveled (drove) to Nebraska, South Dakota, Iowa, Montana, and finally back here. The two of us went and stayed with the grandmas and grandpas because it made Wesley more comfortable. One morning when Levi wanted an early breakfast I opened my eyes after praying and this is what I found. Since then he's been a regular arm-folder, but not necessarily during or through prayer.

I've been a little lowgy for a while, which drives me nuts. When my body demands a slow day my brain and hands turn wild screaming, "Release me! Release me!" I've been creating classes in my head, thinking up writing prompts I don't follow, and filling out applications I probably won't send in. When I'm down physically I start to go crazy; boredom and I rarely enter the same room. Being the mother of a one-year-old it's almost impossible to be bored, and yet I'm still afraid of it. Afraid that I'll rut, loose my goals and priorities, and then loose precious teaching moments with my sweet boy. Thankfully, I married a man who helps me grasp my moments of reverence and refocus. Thankfully, I married a man who celebrates my quirks and understands my imperfections. And thankfully, I married a man who can look me in the eye and say, "Cassie, stop saying stupid things. We're fine." And then I remember--oh! We're much more than fine.

Happy Birthday Levi!

 Our little bug is one year old! How did this happen? All day Friday I watched the clock, thinking, "At this time last year my water broke..." "At this time last year my nurses switched..." "At this time last year we welcomed our first baby and were surprised to find that he definitely wasn't Zerin!" "At this time last year Levi came out of the NICU" "At this time last year I was so buzzed I could only drink cranberry juice and swoon all over Wes and our sweet baby."

Well, a year has lurched by us and I'm still swooning.

Even though he was peaked out sick on his birthday we

enjoyed ourselves by doing really fun things, like taking an extra bath, making the bed, eating hamburgers with the neighbors, going to Coldstone, playing catch, singing songs, and giving lots of slobbery kisses (no wonder we're sick!). He tried strawberries for the first time in the last few weeks and is hooked. While sick he wouldn't eat many solids, but he grabbed at the strawberries (even when he saw them in the fridge)--so we made a strawberry shortcake, celebrated, and went happily to bed.

In reflecting about this last wonderful year, I'm ashamed at how often I've complained, you know, tired, woozy, impatient, tired, tired, tired. There is a point where you (I) have to analyze the world a bit more closely and say, "My stars! I have a beautiful healthy baby! He loves me and I adore him. My husband is devoted to us and when we ask what our ideal life is we remember that we already have it!" Despite becoming a bit sleep deprived over the last year, waking up even a zillion times a night with our son is better than not having him. And one day he'll be 35 with his own baby and he'll wish he could crawl in his parents' bed and hide to get some sleep. Then I'll smile, give him a big squeeze and tell him how gorgeous his child is.

Until then, though, I'm happy to have a cuddle bug  who can throw anything like a maniac, loves books, and is always willing to appreciate music and his surroundings.

What a blessed mommy I am.

Why I Love Wyoming