The Christmas Spirit

Christmas is certainly the most glorious day of the year, but it's also perhaps the most exhausting, especially for moms. Last night, before I fell into bed and crashed into a deep, rejuvenating sleep, I made one final glance at the Facebook world. My friend Elisa posted as her status: "I don't want to go to bed because then Christmas will be over." I understood. I felt exactly the same. I was so tired, but still, I wasn't quite ready to give up the day. It had been lovely. Because it was on Sunday, we altered our normal routine just slightly. Instead of waking up and immediately gravitating to the tree, we relaxed a bit, ate some Costco muffins, and got ready for church at 11:00.

Our Sacrament Meeting was music only; the Primary children sang a couple songs, a mom and daughter played a piano duet, and the choir sang five songs. I had the privilege to sing in the choir. Keep in mind that I am not a particularly good singer. I love to sing, especially Christmas music, but I couldn't carry the alto part by myself to save my life. So the only way I can do it is to stand right next to a strong alto and follow her. As I stood next to Jana yesterday, I thought about the symbolism of that situation. Alone, I could not possibly navigate through the alto part correctly. But with Jana beside me, singing the part right in my ear, I did okay. And so it is with life. Alone, we are helpless to navigate our way through the complicated highs and lows, but with the Savior by our side, singing the part in our ear, we can do it.

The rest of our day was filled with laughter and all the traditions developed through the years. We started opening gifts around 1:00 pm, one at a time, from youngest to oldest, as always. It took about three hours, but even so, it went by too fast for me. As always, I made every effort to slow the process down, reminding people that "Once it's over, it's over!" It seemed everyone was happy with his or her gifts, but more important was the joy and love that filled our home. It's refreshing when the kids are just as excited to see what others receive as they are to open their own gifts. The most ironic moment was when I gave Shulamith a Nook e-reader and she gave me a Kindle. Great minds!!

Since we got a late start because of church, by the time we were finished, it was time to get dinner under way, so we could make it to the movie theater. A movie on Christmas is a long-standing tradition in our family. This year we saw "Mission Impossible." Most of us liked it (Gerald and Isaiah did not, but they are extremely picky about movies), and the suspense was sufficient to keep this very tired Mommy awake.

I slept well, but I won't lie; it was a little sad this morning to leave the day and the season behind. But life moves forward, and there are still the Boxing Day sales ahead of us just as soon as Shulamith wakes up. I just now logged onto Facebook and found this poem that my friend Rebecca posted. May I share it with you as a conclusion to the season:

The Christmas Spirit, by Ann Weems

The Christmas spirit is that hope which tenaciously clings
to the hearts of the faithful and announces in the face
of any Herod the world can produce
and all the inn doors slammed in our faces
and all the dark nights of our souls,
that with God all things still are possible,
that even now unto us a Child is born!

Deja Vu - Part II or We All Have to Do Hard Things

It seems this season is full of deja vu experiences. Back in April, I thought maybe my days of attending piano recitals were over. It was Eli's senior recital, the final one after eight years of lessons. It was lovely in every way, but yes, there was a bit of nostalgia in the air as well. I knew Eli would continue to play, and he has, but I also knew the days of preparing for these types of performances were over. He would not be majoring in music in college; he would continue to play simply for his own and others' enjoyment.

Seth had occasionally expressed some interest in piano, but not enough to cause me to pursue the idea. I only put kids in piano if they really want to be there. I'm not the least interested in fighting the practicing battles. No way! You don't want to practice; I don't want to pay for lessons. End of story. However, when we came here to Utah, Seth was not able to continue playing the trombone. His school doesn't have an elementary band program, unfortunately. He was disappointed enough that I suggested the possibility of piano, and he was enthusiastic. That was in September, and it has taken me three months to find a teacher and get him started.

At his recital Wednesday night, he played "Good King Wenceslas" after only three lessons. He is catching on fast. It comes naturally to him, just like playing the trombone did. I think he has an aptitude for music, and I hope he can pick up the trombone again next year at middle school. Isn't it fun to do the things we are good at? Isn't it a joy when learning something new comes easily? But I would also ask, is there any value in doing the hard things too? We all have to do hard things. That is part of the reason we are here. But it takes real courage to voluntarily attempt new things, when those things are challenging. I wonder, though, if we grow more from the steep learning curves.

Along with starting piano lessons this month, Seth also joined a recreational basketball team. His primary teacher invited him to join. Her husband is the coach. I was apprehensive to say the least. Activities that require physical skills, strength, and coordination do not come easily for Seth. Basketball is no exception, but it has been a pleasure to watch him work so hard at something that is such a challenge. He has had three games so far, and each week he improves so much. Most of the boys on his team have played before, and without question, all of them have more natural aptitude for sports than Seth, but he continues to push forward and do his best. I am proud of him.

His willingness to do the hard things has inspired me as well. To be honest, I am fairly content to stay right in my comfort zones avoiding those things that are difficult. Ask me to give a talk, teach a lesson, lead a discussion, write a blog post. No problem. Those things are easy. And fun! Seldom, though, to I jump out and try the really hard things, but after the New Year, I'm determined to do just that. I've decided to make a quilt for Shulamith's baby. I know, I know, you are all thinking to yourselves, "Oh, Terrianne, that is a disaster just waiting to happen." And yes, I've thought exactly the same thing. I've never so much as sewed on a button or made a hem. Never. I'm not sure I even know how to thread a needle.

However, when we lived in Washington, my best friend there made these beautiful baby quilts by hand. She did not use a sewing machine. This is good because I don't happen to own one of those, nor do I have the remotest idea how to operate one. But Joanne used to buy these cute quilt panels at fabric stores. Then she'd buy bottoms in solid matching colors and this white fuzzy stuff to put in between to make the quilts thick and soft. Then she would pin it all together and hand stitch all over the various patterns on the front of the quilt. I watched her do this with dozens of quilts, over and over. One time she was making one for her daughter Mandy, and she told me to do a few stitches, so Mandy would know I had worked on it too. And I did! I really did.

So I'm going to try this for Shulamith. Because here's the thing: If Seth can play basketball, I can sew a quilt. We all have to do hard things.

Deja Vu

In December, 2005, I distinctly remember saying, "We need to make this the best Christmas ever!" Luke was preparing for his mission, and we knew he would be gone the following two years. I was so excited to do everything possible to make it absolutely perfect in every way. I shopped. I wrapped. I planned. I decorated. I decked the halls and trimmed the tree. Then I shopped and wrapped some more. I even baked cookies, which for me is quite amazing. I was so ready for the best Christmas ever.

Then the stomach flu hit our house. Three days before Christmas. And could everyone just get sick at once and be over it? Oh no, of course not. That would be too convenient. Day by day, one by one, people went down. Eli started throwing up first. Then Isaiah the following day. Then 5-year-old Seth the day after that. By Christmas Day it was Luke's turn. Blah! Somehow, Gerald, Shulamith, and I managed to evade the nasty bug, but those boys were four sick puppies. Goodness! I remember waiting for Gerald to get home from work late at night on the 26th, and declaring with the utmost sincerity, "If another person starts puking, I'm leaving!" Fortunately, no one did. Was it the best Christmas ever? Probably not. Was it a good one despite the flu bug? Yes, yes it was. It takes more than the stomach flu to ruin my favorite day of the year. We were together, and that's what counts.

So this year, I'm having a deja vu experience. Eli is preparing to submit his mission papers, and I'm pretty sure we won't have him here with us the next two years. Everything in me wants to say, "We need to make this the best Christmas ever!" But I'm scared to even think it.

Why Do Students Cheat?

Not to dampen anyone's Christmas spirit, but this is a serious question. Why do students cheat? Is it because they procrastinate so horribly that it's impossible to do their own, original work? Is it because they see college classes and merely a means to an end, and anything they can do to reach that end is okay as long as it gets them there (i.e. "the end justifies the means")? Is it because they are so desperate for a grade or for their scholarships that they will go to any lengths, even compromising their integrity, to get them. Or is it because they have no integrity and are seriously lying, cheating, plagiarizing pond scum? No, no, no....forgive me. That is absolutely not it. I promise!

I'm just a little frustrated. Hardly anything angers me more than intentional plagiarism. Especially from students at a school with an Honor Code that demands total and complete honesty. I have tremendous patience with accidental plagiarism. Of course I do. My students are learning. In many cases, this is their first experience writing essays with research, citations, and APA-style documentation. It's hard. It really is. Whoever dreamed up APA style was not a sane person. He or she had severe OCD, I'm pretty sure. The system couldn't be any less intuitive. So yeah, I get that students will struggle to remember every single in-text citation. They might miss some quotation marks along the way, thinking they are paraphrasing when their text is far too close to the original not to be a direct quote. They might forget to italicize magazine titles on their reference page or, heaven forbid (!), they might capitalize the words in their articles' titles. Yes, I get it. APA is hard.

However, when students go online and purchase term papers and then copy/paste huge sections of those papers into their essays, with no in-text citations and no mention of the source on their reference page, THIS IS NOT AN ACCIDENT! This is blatant cheating. It disrespects me as the teacher, it disrespects the course, and it disrespects the entire college. It makes me both sad and furious, simultaneously. I had one such incident this past week. I knew instantly that the writing had to be plagiarized, but it took me a full hour to get to the bottom of it, time that I do not have at this point in the semester when I have dozens of honestly-written essays to read and grade. Ugh! Because my college has a firewall blocking these stupid sites that sell term papers, I had to call Gerald and ask him to search for the source at home and then email it to me. Not that he has time for such things, but I had no choice.

Okay, venting over. It's done. And I will not let it ruin one more second of this glorious season. But it has left me pondering the question: Why do students cheat?

Friendless in Salt Lake City

Incurable romantic that I am, I loved the 1993 movie "Sleepless in Seattle." Not only was I hopelessly lost in the love story, but I also enjoyed that it was set in one of my favorite cities in my 2nd home state of Washington. Somehow, my random thoughts today (friends, I've really graded one too many essays, including a plagiarized one that made me so very sad) led me to the title for this post: Friendless in Salt Lake City. It's not as bad as it sounds. Let me clarify.

Shulamith and I often lament that we have no friends here in Salt Lake City. I have some seriously wonderful friends; it just happens that none of them live here in the valley. Shulamith and I joke about how other women get together with friends for "Girls' Night Out" or for lunch or to exercise or to go shopping. But we have only each other. Then we tell ourselves how we're sure we have way more fun than those other women anyway, so it's all good. And we laugh.

But today, it occurred to me that the jokes we make about this subject, as with most jokes, are founded in a certain degree of truth. I was looking on Amazon.com to find a few final Christmas gifts to order. Keep in mind, no one love to shop more than I do. Shopping gives me a rush like no other, but by "shopping," I mean IN STORES. I like the whole shopping experience, which cannot be paralleled staring at a computer screen. However, there are always a few items that my videogame-addicted sons request that are far less expensive when purchased online. So here I was looking for these particular items, when it occurred to me.....

Where will I have them shipped???

You see, my snoopy sons are way too curious to just let a package from Amazon.com go unnoticed if they happen to be home when it arrives. No, I don't think they'd go so far as to open it; they know how seriously I take Christmas presents. But they would certainly pick it up, consider the sized and weight, and try to figure out what's inside. Even that much snooping is not okay with this Christmas mom, so in the past, I have opted to have my online orders shipped to one of my friends. For a few years, I had them shipped to Celeste. She loves Christmas so much that she was excited when my packages arrived, even though they weren't for her.

Then she moved to Texas. This was not good. For so many reasons, this was not good. Oh Matt, could you possibly rethink this whole thing and maybe bring her back to this side of the country? Please!

The year after Celeste left, I had my online Christmas packages shipped to Lindsey. That worked great too. For one year. Then she moved to Rexburg, Idaho. Granted, this was not nearly as awful as Texas, and now that we're here in Salt Lake City, she's even closer than when we were in Billings, but not quite close enough to have my packages shipped to her.

Last year, I had my packages shipped to Mandy. That worked fine as well, but then she moved to Sheridan, Wyoming, and we moved here. Which brings us to yesterday when I was shopping at Amazon.com and came to the part where you have to type in the shipping address. And suddenly, it became crystal clear to me; I truly have no friends here. Yes, I have some acquaintances, people I say hello to at church or at my school. But I don't know a single person in the Salt Lake area well enough to ask her if I can have my gifts shipped to her house. Not a single person. I have only Shulamith, who lives downstairs (same address), so that won't work. Guess I'll just ship the items here and pray the boys aren't home when they arrive.

Friendless in Salt Lake City. Yep, that's me!

What If We Can't Make It through This Week?

So this morning, I'm sitting in my 10:00 a.m. writing class, and this text come in from Shulamith: "Mom, what if we can't make it through this week?"

Ack!

"Don't say that," I quickly text back. "We just have to make it."

With so many in our family directly involved in education (either as students or teachers), we find this week to be a bit sketchy. We are tired. We are stressed. For each of us, the pressure is on, in one way or another, to somehow endure to the end of this week, so that we might relax a bit and enjoy this glorious season.

For Shulamith, it's a matter of keeping 22 excited kindergartners busy and on task, when in reality, they are far more interested in speculating about what Santa might be loading onto his sleigh than remembering what sounds the blend "fl" or the diagraph "sh" make. Anyone who's ever taught children this age knows they are crazy hyper the week before Christmas vacation. And Shulamith? Well, she's just tired. And pregnant. And very ready for a break.

For Isaiah, this week involves a major oral presentation, demonstrating his computer-generated Lego robot. His partner built the robot, and Isaiah programmed it. In addition, he has one other semester project to complete and a trigonometry final exam. Along with all this, he receives constant requests for last-minute tutoring sessions from the first-year computer science students, who need his help to finish off their own semester projects and prepare for finals.

For Eli, this week means the conclusion of his first semester of college. He has done well. College was a bit of a shock for Eli. "You mean I have to study? Really?" But he has risen to the occasion throughout, and now just needs to prepare for one last final (math), and he'll be done. Finish strong, Eli. You can do it!

For Mathew, I am not as specifically informed about the content of his week as I am for my own children, but I'm pretty sure he has a final or two at the very least.

Lastly, for me, this week means essays, essays, and more essays, all of which need to be graded and returned to students. Is it possible to drown in essays? This is a serious question. And even once they are all graded (it will happen!), there is always the sadness for those students who, for whatever reason, didn't do their jobs. I don't grieve over the ones who dropped out early in the semester, but those who continue to attend but don't hold up their end of things sufficiently to meet the standard and earn a passing grade leave me feeling helpless. Was there something more I could have done to ensure their success? Probably not. But still.

My eyes are sore from reading papers. My neck and back are sore from carrying my backpack full of papers. My brain is sore from processing papers. And Shulamith says, "What if we don't make it through the week?"

Oh my dear daughter and friend, we will make it. We absolutely will. And when Friday finally comes, let the party begin!

A History of Ornaments

Each year at Christmas, Gerald's mother gives us a Lenox china Christmas tree ornament. They are very beautiful and each one different. Many are snowflake patterns; others are angels. A couple are bells. One is Mary holding the baby Jesus. We have lots and lots of these lovely ornaments, so many that we don't have room for them on our tree.

You see, in addition to these china ornaments, I also have ornaments of my own, many reflecting important events in our family and tracing a history of memories. I have the first one I ever bought, a "First Christmas Together" ornament from the year we were married. I have "Baby's First Christmas" ornaments for our five children. Those we place vertically down the front of the tree, and each year, Shulamith complains that hers doesn't have a picture but is just a "stupid ball." (Truth is, only Luke's and Eli's have pictures). She tells me every year that ALL her kids will have picture ornaments, and I'm pretty sure they will.

I have "New House" ornaments for each of our past homes, which reminds me that I need to find one of those this year to commemorate our new Utah home. I have ornaments to remember family vacations, significant events, and kids' activities (including a cheerleader dressed appropriately in the Mt. Vernon High School colors green and white). I have a few ornaments that have been gifts from my students and one tiny, burgundy ribbon and lace ornament that my sister-in-law Monica sent years ago, a gift from her tree to mine.

Then there are the kid-made ornaments. Yeah, I'm not the best mom when it comes to saving those, but I do have two that Luke made: a yellow ceramic bell and a glittered pine cone. Apparently, Shulamith made the same pine cone, but I no longer have hers. When she complains about that each year, I tell her it's because Luke's was so much prettier.

I have many other random ornaments that have little significance except I just like them: ornaments representing "Phantom of the Opera" and "It's a Wonderful Life," blown glass ornaments from a bazaar when we lived in California, a bell from "The Polar Express." There are many more than this, dozens and dozens. And then there are the Lenox china ornaments on top of all these. Last year, I put all of them on the tree, every last one, but I have to admit it was really too much. You know the saying "you can't see the forest for the trees"? Well, in this case, you couldn't see the tree for the ornaments.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to leave any off. I love them, all of them, both my own and the Lenox ones from Vi. So this year, we came up with a brilliant solution. Shulamith has a little tree in their apartment downstairs, but she only had one ornament, the "First Christmas Together" PICTURED ornament I gave them last year. So I gave her all the Lenox china ornaments for her tree. Combined with all white lights, it is truly stunning! And my tree, while still covered in ornaments, is not quite as overdone as last year.

Now I'm going to attempt to add pictures of both our trees to this post. This part is hard for me. If you can see the trees, you'll know I succeeded.

In Honor of My Native American Heritage

My grandma, who was 1/2 Chinook and 1/2 Quinault Indian, used to recite this poem to me every Thanksgiving:

In fourteen hundred and ninety-two
Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
And on the bank an Indian stood
And said, "There goes the neighborhood!"

I sincerely hope no one is offended by this, but each year, I smile as I remember her and this little poem. You see, those of us who are younger don't really remember a time with such blatant discrimination as my grandma experienced. I don't know exactly what year she was born because she lied about her age so much that none of us really knew (Go Grandma!), but if I were to guess, I'd say she was probably born around 1915 or so. I know she was divorced when my mom was five, and then she married my grandpa sometime around 1955. He was the President of the International Woodworkers of America (IWA), a labor union with regional offices throughout the United States and Canada.

Each year, the union had a convention in one of its five regions, three in the states and two in Canada. Shortly after my grandparents were married, a convention was scheduled for the southern states region. Sadly, there wasn't a hotel anywhere in the southern states that would allow them to stay because my grandma was Native American. My grandpa was a true pioneer in his search for social justice, not to mention his authority as President of the union and his love for my grandmother. He told the southern region that the IWA would not hold a convention there until this atrocious discrimination ended. And so it was.

I wish I knew more details. I wish I'd listened better when these stories were told. But I was so young. My grandfather recorded his life story before he died, and I have a copy. I think I will dig it out and read it again. Meanwhile, indulge me the luxury of thinking about my sweet grandma today and remembering her reciting this funny little poem.

Thankful

Several of my Facebook friends have been posting as their statuses each day in November something they are thankful for. Though I don't do this myself, I have enjoyed reading them. Some nice examples:

Rachael is thankful for sunshine. Of course I think sunshine is highly overrated, but I'm glad she likes it. She is also thankful for vaccinations. Me too! People in many third-world countries would give just about anything to have the protection for their kids that we do because of vaccinations. And she is thankful for Sundays. I used to like those a lot more before this primary calling, but the good news is that no calling lasts forever, and each Sunday that goes by is one Sunday closer to when I'll be released!

Elisa is thankful for her two sons who have grown up to be fine young men. I can say the same thing about my three oldest sons (Seth is still growing...) and, of course, my beautiful daughter. Elisa is also thankful for electricity. In Billings, we would often have power outages. We really have no idea how much we take the miracle of electricity for granted until we are left without it.

Sandra is thankful for friends who call, take meals, and keep her kids when she is sick. This has been an extremely difficult pregnancy for Sandra. Of course, it will all be worth it once this beautiful little girl finally makes her way to earth, but in the meantime, she is making her mommy miserable.

Anne-Marie is thankful for her mom, "the best mom you could ever ask for," she writes. Enough said.

These are just a few of my favorites. So what am I thankful for today? Let's see.

I am thankful for mild Salt Lake City winters. Goodness, by now in Montana, I was already freezing, and I wouldn't get warm again until May.

I am thankful that Eli will arrive on the Salt Lake Express shuttle tomorrow at 9:30 p.m. Can't even tell you how excited I am to have him home for five days.

I am thankful for Christmas decorations in the mall. My spirits are lifted just walking through the door.

I am thankful for the traffic jams in the mall parking lots. I know, right? But you see, I just love "everything Christmas," even traffic jams.

I am thankful for Christmas music playing on two radio stations here in Salt Lake City, so I can almost always find a song I like. The one exception was a day last week when one station was playing "Santa Baby" (ugh!) and the other was playing "I Saw Mama Kissing Santa Claus" (double ugh!). But this is not the norm. Generally, the problem is deciding which of the two songs I like better.

I'm thankful for our lovely home and for the Webster-Monsons who live right downstairs. It is a dream come true.

I'm thankful for a 40-pound Boxer puppy, who thinks she's a lap dog and who, no matter what, is always crazy excited to see me.

I'm thankful for my students at LDS Business College. This past week has been a killer in terms of essays to grade, but now that they are finally done, I can once again be thankful for this job.

I'm thankful for Kneader's Restaurant and Bakery, both for their incredible French Toast and for the pies they will bake for my family this Thanksgiving. What a help they are to people like me who don't know how to make pies.

I'm thankful for the healing power of the Atonement, which makes possible what seems impossible.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Legacy

I have never thought of our family as having much of a legacy. We don't have a pioneer heritage. As adult converts to the Church, neither Gerald nor I can trace our ancestors back to the Saints who so courageously pulled handcarts across the plains in order to escape persecution and to seek the religious freedom on which our nation was established. As far as I know, we don't have any relatives who did that. We are first-generation Mormons, the first members of the church in our respective families. I've thought, on occasion, that perhaps we, ourselves, are the pioneers. Maybe it's our mission to lead the way for our posterity. But a legacy? I've never felt we had that.

Until today.

Today was the Primary Sacrament Program in our ward. It was Seth's eighth and final Primary Program. Did you hear that sigh? That would be me, lamenting the fact that in another year, I'll no longer have any children left in primary. No, I'm not ready for that, not at all. But ready or not, he will turn 12 in June and be ordained a Deacon and rightfully take his place in the Young Men's Program. Today, though, he was still a primary kid. Thank goodness!

Seth's part in the program came near the end. He gave a talk on the subject of missionary work. He did a lovely job; all my kids are good speakers. He talked about his oldest brother, Luke, who served in the Oregon Portland Mission from 2006-2008. He talked about his "newest" brother, Mathew, who served in the very same mission at the very same time! And he talked about his big brother, Eli, who is currently working on filling out his papers in hopes of submitting them next month in preparation for his 19th birthday in March. Finally, he talked about answering his own mission call one day in the [very distant!] future.

As Seth spoke, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for these great examples in our family. I began to think that perhaps we do have a legacy after all, or at least the start of one. We have begun a legacy of honorable missionary service. How many more missionaries will come from our family and our extended family? I have no idea. Many, I would guess.

So though we may not have a pioneer heritage, I am thankful for the personal legacy we are building. Thank you, Seth, for your talk today which reminded me of this.

Two Words

Two Words: Christmas Music

Playing

On

My

Car

Radio

TODAY!

Okay, I understand that many people, maybe even you, don't like Christmas music this soon. "It's too early," many people feel. We should wait until at least Thanksgiving. Otherwise, perhaps Thanksgiving will be over-shadowed entirely. I get this. Really, I do. I understand. But this year, well, it's been a tough week. I'm really tired. I'm stressed. That makes it hard to sleep restfully, which makes me even more tired. Vicious cycle. And I just love Christmas music. So much. It brings me so much joy. So today, when I got in my car after teaching my Friday classes and jumped on the freeway into horrific traffic, imagine my excitement when I turned on the radio and found continuous, glorious Christmas music! It was exactly what I needed. I am thankful to 106.5 here in Salt Lake City for pretty much making my whole day. This lovely music will continue all the way till Christmas.

Add to that the extra hour of much-needed sleep we get this Sunday night, and I feel better already.

Halloween

I almost titled this "The Worst Halloween Ever" in honor of Seth's sentiment two years ago here or last year here. Seth loves Halloween. I love it because he loves it. This year, I'm pretty sure he had an equally wonderful holiday as the previous two years, and for that I am grateful. But for me, it was just a terrible day. Seriously. Sucky. Day. In every way. I almost decided against blogging the holiday at all; generally, I try to be positive in these posts, lighthearted, happy, upbeat. It's difficult right now to be any of those things. However, I've read criticism of what is lovingly known as the "Bloggernacle," a group of blogs by LDS women (mainly), who write about their lives, their families, and their faith. The criticism is that their blogs are just too happy. No one can be that delighted all the time, especially with the mundane circumstances of daily life. While I don't exactly think of this blog as part of the "bloggernacle" (I write about religions topics only occasionally), I wouldn't want to be accused of sugar coating my life in these posts, never dealing with anything less than perfect.

So here I am, two days after what was probably the worst Halloween ever. I'm struggling. It was even hard to keep my spirits (pun intended) up long enough to be "scared" by Seth's Scream mask with the blood circulating through the face, or to walk with him throughout our neighborhood as he collected a pillow case full of candy. It was hard, but I did it. And he had fun, and that's what counts.

In attempt to end this post on a happy note, may I tell you a non-Halloween story that will make you laugh? Last weekend, Shulamith and I kidnapped Seth and took him to Las Vegas for the live show featuring last season's finalists from his favorite show "America's Got Talent." Yes, I hate the grammatical construction of that show's title, but I enjoyed the performers, and Seth followed the show regularly all season. After the performance, we were sitting at Planet Hollywood waiting to order our very late dinner, when Seth returned from the bathroom. He declared: "That bathroom was so weird; it didn't have any stalls. It only had kernels. "

It took us a second or two to make sense of his comment, but once we did, we could not contain our laughter. Are you laughing already?

Happy Birthday to Me!

I've never before written a post about my birthday, mostly because there's never been anything to write. My birthdays are generally pretty boring. Sometimes Isaiah or Eli (whichever one was working at Albertson's at the time) would bring home a cake from the bakery. I've been most appreciative of those cakes, even though by the time I see them, a slice or two has already been eaten. "Mom, it's your birthday cake, but we just couldn't wait." That's just about the extent of my birthday celebrations.

Until this year!

A week ago on October 20th, Shulamith planned the most amazing birthday ever; it lasted the entire day. I don't teach on Thursdays, and she had the day off for Utah Ed. Association (or something like that), so we were totally free. And we took full advantage of that freedom. We slept in until 8:30 and then headed out to one of our favorite breakfast spots, Park Cafe. It's a tiny, locally owned establishment, and all the food there is incredible. We always get the "French Toast Foolishness," which consists of fluffy eggs, lean pepper bacon, home-style potatoes, and of course, delicious french toast.

From there, Shulamith surprised me with a facial. Neither of us had ever had one before, and let me just say that I highly recommend the experience. Imagine soft creams, exfoliating scrubs, hot steam, and warm towels draped across your face, one after the other. Mmmmm. It was sweet.

We took our newly cleaned and moisturized faces to a movie next, "50/50." It had excellent reviews which proved to be spot on. A lovely film. After the movie, we headed to the mall. It's not a girls' day out without shopping, right? I found a cute skirt at Down East, light pink with ruffles, for only $14.99. Score!

After shopping, we met up with Mathew and Seth for dinner at Red Robin. I'd been dieting for the four weeks prior to my birthday, and more than anything, I wanted a burger and fries. It was so good; you don't even know.

Then we took off for my next surprise. Shulamith had tickets for "Thriller," a dance show on the U. of Utah campus. That was a treat for sure with excellent, excellent dancing.

On the way home, I felt a bit sad that our day was soon to be over, but when we arrived, I was surprised once again. Matt had bought an ice-cream cake from Cold Stone, complete with candles in the shape of question marks. Isaiah was even there. Perfect!

Happy Birthday to Me! Thank you, Shulamith. I will never forget that day.

Rhetoric Rant - The Fourth Installment

Greetings from the world of dangling modifiers, comma splices, sentence fragments, errors in pronoun-antecedent agreement, faulty parallelism, and misspelled words. Can you tell that I just finished grading my first set of essays for this fall semester? Along with these major issues (I call them the "horrible crimes"), there are also the misdemeanors, the smaller mistakes. Don't misunderstand. These are still important, and we all need to understand them. They just don't break down writing to quite the same extent the horrible crimes do. One such misdemeanor is the chronic misuse of the apostrophe.

So let's talk apostrophes, shall we? When do we need them? And when we need them, where do they go? The two times we use apostrophes are (1) in contractions and (2) in possessive nouns. I'm not going to waste your time (and mine) dealing with contractions. Most people get those right without any help from me. And in formal writing, we prefer to avoid contractions anyway.

So what about possession? It's fairly simple. We put an apostrophe in a noun when it owns or possesses the following word in the sentence. On which side of the "s" does the apostrophe belong? It depends on whether the noun is singular or plural. I'm going to copy/paste a section of a post from two years ago called, "Whose Bright Idea Was This?"

Typically, how do we know where to place the apostrophe in a noun to indicate possession? It depends on whether the noun is singular or plural, right? Yes, almost always. In singular possessive nouns, the apostrophe goes inside the 's,' and in plural possessive nouns, the apostrophe goes outside:

"The girl's bike" means ONE girl.
"The girls' bikes" means more than one girl.

Simple.

EXCEPT.

There are a handful of nouns that are irregular (and I mean ridiculously irregular) in the way they form their plurals, and they happen to be some of the commonest nouns in the English language: man, woman, child, person.

One man, but two.....men. One child, but two....children. One person, but two.....people.

And this is the stupidest one of all: One woman, but two....women? Whose bright idea was this? We change the pronunciation of the first syllable, but not the spelling. And then we change the spelling of the second syllable, but not the pronunciation. How utterly insane. Can you imagine being a foreign student and trying to figure this one out?

It would be so much easier just to say "two mans, two womans, two childs, and two persons." And if I were grammar queen, that's exactly how it would be.

As for possession, because these words (men, women, children, and people) are already plural without an 's', the apostrophe goes inside the 's' when they become possessive. Sorry! I know it's confusing. My students think so too.

So there you have it, the basic rules of apostrophes in possessive nouns. It really is easy, but even so, mistakes are everywhere!! One that bugs me the most is when people use an apostrophe in the word "parents." I see this all the time on Facebook, and it about makes me nuts, so let's clear it up once and for all, okay? Here is what I often see:

"I'm going to my parent's house for the weekend."

Ugh! What is wrong with this? You tell me. How many parents are we talking about in that sentence? Yeah, most likely two. If a person had only one parent, he or she would almost certainly say "my mom's house" or "my dad's house." We generally do not use "parent" in its singular form. Therefore, because there are two parents, the apostrophe belongs on the outside of the "s," like this:

"I'm going to my parents' house for the weekend."

Can we now say we've solved this problem forever? I really hope so. Similarly, I often see these signs on the outside of houses, announcing the last name of the family living inside. They look something like this:

The Smith's or The Anderson's or The Johnson's

Now a good argument could be made that these signs need no apostrophe at all (my preference) because they don't show any possession. So just leave the thing out. Others would argue that because the signs appear on houses, what is implied is "The Smith's House," and thus the apostrophe is needed. Okay, fine. I can live with that. What I can't live with is the apostrophe appearing on the inside of the "s," meaning only one person named Smith lives there, when it's actually a whole family. If you insist on the apostrophe, at least get it in the right place:

The Smiths' or The Andersons' or The Johnsons'

That's it. End of rant for tonight.

Charity

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to do one of my most favorite things. I got to speak in Sacrament Meeting at church. Those of you who are unfamiliar with the structure of our church should know that because we do not a paid clergy, the "sermons" (which we call "talks") each week are given by members of the congregation. Everyone gets the chance at one time or another. And I love it when it's my turn! Sometimes I joke that I missed my true calling as a Protestant pastor (hello, Rebecca!). They get to speak every week and they're paid to do so. Could it get any better than that? Okay, back to the topic. When we left Montana, several people warned me that I shouldn't expect to have the opportunity to speak in church very often once we moved. Utah wards are huge, I was told, and sometimes years go by and you don't get to speak. Ack! How awful that would be. Fortunately, that is not the case in this particular Utah ward. We've been here just two months, and I already got to speak yesterday. Hooray!

My talk was on charity, and I've decided to share it with you here. Those of you not interested in church-type stuff might want to skip over this particular post and stay tuned for the next one, which is likely to be a rhetorical rant about the horrible misuse of apostrophes, a subject that has been making me crazy lately.

Charity

Though I speak with the tongues of men, and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as a sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

And though I have the gift of prophesy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Charity suffereth long, and it kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemingly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh not in evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth.

Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

In Paul's letter to the Saints at Corinth, much is required. The way I read it, no matter how smart we are, or how many languages we speak, or how much faith we have, or even how sacrificial we are, without charity, it is all for nothing!

Next, we hear all about what charity is and what it is not:

It is kind, long-suffering, without envy or pride or selfishness. It is not easily angered, and it never rejoices in evil. It bears, believes, hopes, and endures all.

IS ANYONE ELSE FEELING WOEFULLY INADEQUATE HERE??? I don't know about you, but I don't come remotely close to being a person with charity, the way Paul describes it here.

I'm not always kind. I'm certainly not always long-suffering or patient. Just ask Seth! I struggle with pride. I sometimes envy those whose lives seem easier or more glamorous than mine. I get angry, and sometimes I even rejoice in others' misfortune. The Germans call that “Schadenfreuden,” and yep, I'm guilty...sometimes.

So how we can be people of charity? How can we transform the natural man within us to become the charitable people Paul describes in his letter to the Corinthians? Is it even possible?

The answer is yes....with help.

As with everything else, we are fairly hopeless on our own. But with the Savior by our side, relying on the healing power of his infinite atonement, we CAN demonstrate true charity, the pure love of Jesus Christ.

Perhaps the first step in the process is recognizing who we're really dealing with in our everyday interactions. Surely, understanding the individual worth of our fellow human beings will help us to love them more fully and treat them more kindly.

M. Russel Ballard once said

“Brothers and sisters, I believe that if we could truly understand the Atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ, we would realize how precious is one son or daughter of God. At the heart of the English word atonement is the word one. If all mankind understood this, there would never be anyone with whom we would not be concerned, regardless of age, race, gender, religion, or social or economic standing. We would strive to emulate the Savior and would never be unkind, indifferent, disrespectful, or insensitive to others.”

Elder Ballard teaches that if we truly understood what our Savior was willing to do for us, every one of us (you know...those we like, and those we don't. Those we enjoy, and those we find challenging), we would never be unkind, indifferent, disrespectful, or insensitive. Indeed, we would have charity.

We learn in the Doctrine & Covenants that the worth of a soul is great in the sight of God. But does that mean all souls? Even the annoying and rude ones? The homeless? The incarcerated? The mentally ill? With the savior's help, can we come see all people as the beloved sons and daughters of God that they are? I hope so. I hope I can do it.

The second step is similar to the first. To have charity for others, perhaps we also need to understand and appreciate our own individual worth. I'm often awed by the talents of others. I joke that the day the Lord handed out the talents, I was probably sleeping. I really love to sleep. And I sort of missed out on so many of the wonderful gifts that I observe in others. I'm a terrible cook. Again, just ask Seth. I don't know how to bake or can or sew. I know nothing of gardening, I can't do crafts, and I have zero athletic ability. I don't play any musical instruments, and I can only sing if I stand right next to a strong alto to carry the part.

But brothers and sisters, do you know who I am? Do you know who I am? Why, I'm Heavenly Father's kid; that's who I am. And really, that's the only thing that matters. I am a beloved spirit daughter of God, created in his image and with his divine potential. And on those days when I really believe that (and it isn't all the time), that's when I have the true capacity for charity. When I see myself and others the way God sees us, charity is not only possible, but inevitable.

Lastly, charity requires that we endure all things, or as we've heard so many times, endure to the end.

I’m reminded of a great analogy by John Bytheway. He compares a mule with a horse. A mule is a good beast of burden, strong, etc.,..until it doesn’t want to be. Once a mule decides it’s tired, it lies down right where it is, and nothing can move it. Hence the idiom, “Stubborn as a mule.” Compare that with a horse. A horse will run until it literally falls over in exhaustion. A horse will not quit the race despite obstacles that might move him temporarily off track. A horse endures to the end. One day, each of us will stand before our Heavenly Father, the divine father of our spirits, to account for our lives in mortality. Did we show charity? Did we endure?

With the Savior by our side, our moderator, our intercessor, our paraclete, the best lawyer we could ever ask for, we will stand before him. I wonder, will he look us in the eyes and say, “Oh, you might have tried, but you fell short here, and you didn't quite make the grade here, and you failed big time there, and there.” Or do you think instead, if we've tried our best and allowed the atonement to make up the difference when we’ve fallen short, he might look at us and say, “You ran like a horse. You ran like a horse. Well done, thou good and faithful servant: enter thou into the joy of the Lord.”

Brothers and sisters, charity never faileth. May we see the others in our lives as God sees them, recognize our own incredible worth, and run like a horse, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Rediscovery

Have you ever given up a part of yourself so gradually that you didn't really notice, only to rediscover years later that part of you that was lost? That is the best way I can describe what happened to me recently.

As a kid, I dearly loved dogs. We had poodles mostly. My mother had a white toy poodle named Snowy when I was very young. When she had puppies, we kept one, another white one whom we named Flipper. After he was gone, we were dog-less for a few years, until I was in middle school. I wanted a new dog more than anything, so much so that I staged a month-long campaign right before my 13th birthday. I posted signs all over our house that read, "I want a dog." I added the word "dog" to my dad's grocery shopping list. I left notes for him in his car and on the milk carton in the fridge and on the bathroom mirror. To be honest, I really didn't think any of this would work. Both he and my mom maintained emphatically that we would not be getting a dog.

When the day of my birthday arrived, I was all prepared to be sufficiently complacent about whatever my present was. I wouldn't be rude, but I certainly wouldn't be happy. I remember sitting on the couch in our living room, my dad across the room in his chair. He said something like "I know how much you wanted a dog, and we're sorry, but it's just not going to work out right now." As I prepared my despondent look, I noticed something small and black buried deep in my dad's lap. A closer look revealed a tiny, toy poodle pup just eight weeks old. I don't believe I had ever been happier or more surprised than I was in that moment. I took this little bundle of fur in my hands, and all was right with the world. Her name was Misty, and she was all mine.

My love for dogs continued as I grew up. I remember wearing a t-shirt in college that said, "Have you hugged your dog today?" I assumed that as an adult, I would always be a dog owner. I assumed wrong. When I got married, I quickly learned that my husband did not share my love for canine creatures. He really has little use for pets of any kind. He grew up on a small farm, and in that world, animals are good for only two things: food and labor. You raise them to eat, or you keep them because they serve some purpose. They kept cats on this farm to kill the mice, but they didn't even give them names. To me, pets (especially dogs!) were part of the family. Gerald had zero understanding of such a concept. While I never made a conscious decision, I guess on some level I must have decided that as long as Gerald would let me have as many children as I wanted, I would live without a dog.

And so I did. For many years. During that time, I didn't think about it much. It's as if that part of me was lost, but so gradually that I didn't notice. Little by little, I forgot how much I loved dogs. I enjoyed petting other people's dogs, but I never considered having one of my own. Then, about 11 years ago, we were given a Dachshund puppy by our then best friends. I'm not sure how I managed to get that one past Gerald; I think Joanne simply gave her to Shulamith, and there she was! Little Chloe was adorable, but she turned out to be the most difficult dog on the planet. I am SO not kidding about this. I don't even have the emotional energy to go into the gory details, so you will have to trust me. Whatever you're thinking, it was most certainly worse.

We had Chloe for 10 years, and that experience buried my love for dogs deep beneath my consciousness. Moreover, since Gerald's opinion of these animals was only reinforced by our time with Chloe, I never imagined I would own another dog. And I still don't....technically. But pictured above is Kitty, Shulamith and Mathew's 5-month old Boxer puppy. Although she is not my dog per se, she lives in my house, runs in my back yard, takes me for walks (definitely not the other way around), and cuddles with me daily. I love her. It's like the dog lover inside of me has found its way back. That part of me that was temporarily lost has been rediscovered.

Utah Reflections and Peach Jam

It has been just about 11 weeks since we signed the papers for our house, and Seth and I moved permanently to Utah. At the start, Isaiah was here with us, until classes at Westminster began and he moved on campus. About the time he left, Eli came to Utah and spent three weeks with us until classes at BYU-Idaho began, and off he went as well. I was feeling sad about having only one child left at home. Way too close to the empty next. So not ready for that! Fortunately, it did not last long. Just a week or so after Eli went to Rexburg, Shulamith and Mathew moved into our downstairs apartment. Whew! I now have three kids home again. Much better.

This leaves only Gerald left in Montana, and that's becoming a tough situation. We thought it would be very short term, but now, after 11 weeks, it's not feeling so short. Our family has been separated for short periods before; just before Eli was born 18 years ago, the three older kids and I were in Washington for four months before Gerald was able to join us. And again, when we moved to Billings seven years ago, Gerald went first, and the kids and I stayed in Washington for five months as they finished the school year and we worked on selling our house. The difference between those two times and now is that there was always an end point. We knew for sure the situations were temporary. In the first case, we knew Gerald would join us in Washington before Eli was born, no matter what. In the second case, we knew the kids and I would go to Billings by the time the new school year began. But in our current situation, we can't guarantee an end point. Gerald cannot move to Utah until he finds a job here. It feels very indefinite. That makes it hard for everyone.

Other than that, however, we really do love Utah. We love our house and its location. We love our neighborhood and our ward. We love the two shopping malls that are just ten and twenty blocks from us, respectively, in separate directions. Seth likes his school, his primary class, and scouts. He misses Ethan but has made some new friends here. We love having Shulamith and Matt with us. Life is good, and if we could just get Gerald here, it would be nearly perfect.

At times I have to remind myself where I am, that I really do live here now, that it's not just an extended vacation. And at times that part is an adjustment all its own. You see, for the past seven years (since Shulamith first came here for college), Utah has been my party place. I've visited dozens of times, many of which have even been recorded to this blog. Like here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. Okay, you get the point. I've been here tons of times, and until we moved here, all those times were total party. Just the word "Utah" stirs images of restaurant meals, shopping malls, movies, and more.

But now we live here. It can't be one constant party. I have to do all the normal, everyday things. Like laundry. And dishes. And grocery shopping. And yard work. I have to clean the house and pay the bills and gas up the car and set an alarm to get Seth up for school. And I have to do all these things right here in my party place. I won't lie; it's a bit of an adjustment. We still eat a healthy share of our meals in restaurants. We still go shopping and to movies. But those things are deeply embedded into the regular routine of living. I love Utah, and I'm delighted to call it "home," but at some level, it will always be my "party place."

Okay, in case you're wondering about the peach jam part, a new and exciting element has been added to my life since moving here, thanks to Mathew's mom, Dawn. She is an amazing woman, who does all sorts of things about which I am utterly clueless. She's seriously a gourmet cook. Like really. Everything she makes is crazy delicious. And she knows how to sew clothes and can fruit and make jam, activities that are total mysteries to me. My mom always said about such things: "Why compete with Smucker's?" and while I don't know for sure the answer to that question, I want you to know that a couple weeks ago, I went over to Dawn's house and helped her make peach jam. Don't fall out of your seat. Don't have a heart attack. I'm serious. I really did this. I'm not sure how much "help" I was; I felt much like a young child learning to read or swim or ride a bike, helpless to do anything without direct instruction and supervision. Dawn was incredibly patient as she, over and over, reminded me what we needed to do next. The end result was multiple jars of the most yummy peach jam ever.

And here is the moral of this story. If you want to taste some of this delicious jam, you will need to come to Utah. It is right here waiting for you. You know who you are. I'm waiting right here in Utah, my party place, with my delicious peach jam waiting to share.

Charmed

Do you ever feel charmed? Do you have days in which one little thing or another brings an unexpected smile to your face and makes you thankful you got out of bed? These moments need not be hugely significant in the grand scheme of life; nevertheless, they provide a sweet second of joy that makes us grateful to be who we are and where we are right now. I had two such moments today.

First, in my College Composition class, students were gathered into small groups of 3 or 4 and asked to prepare a presentation to teach the rest of the class a particular grammatical concept. All of these presentations were done well. Students worked hard to sort out their grammar issue and explain it to the class. Following each presentation, I added my two cents because I always have something to add when the topic is anything grammar. One group, however, surprised me with its presentation and made my otherwise lovely day...well, even lovelier. They began their presentation on the proper usage of commas with coordinating conjunctions by singing a rap. I wish you could have seen and heard it live, but here is the text:

We are here to make some noise
We are the mighty FANBOYS
We're not about a lot of drama
We're just getting rid of unnecessary commas!

Ha! I'm still entirely amused by this. I'm smiling right now as I remember it. It was classic.

Next, I came home to my Seth, who often has charming tidbits of wisdom to offer in a tone only he can create. Today was no different. He was rambling on about various things and found himself talking about a boy who lives in our cul-de-sac and who sometimes walks home from school at the same time Seth does. He proceeded to take that line of thought in a new direction which led him here:

"That boy is a little annoying. He talks constantly. Sort of like you and Shulamith. You two never stop talking when you're together. Pretty soon you're both going to lose your voice. Then what will you do? I guess you'll both have to learn sign language so you can keep talking to each other constantly. But you won't be able to teach for at least a month because your students don't know sign language."

Charmed. Yep, I was today!

Rhetoric Rant - The Third Installment

Just so you know, this post is the result of a direct request from my friend Rachael, so I'm not sure it qualifies as a true "rant." My other two "rant" posts, here and here, sprang from my immense frustration over some grammatical error that I'd witnessed all too often in the recent past. I was actually considering doing a post on apostrophes next because they are constantly misused, but Rachael requested a post on commas, and I surely won't ignore an actual request from a reader. So here goes...

First and probably most important, you must ignore some erroneous babble you might have heard in the past from well-intended but sadly mistaken English teachers who told you to use a comma whenever you just happen to feel like pausing or taking a breath. Let us be crystal clear about this: commas have nothing to do with respiration! Nothing.

Whew. Now that we've settled that, we can move on. The reason commas are tricky is that there are certain grammatical constructions that require commas, other grammatical constructions that prohibit them, and still other grammatical constructions in which commas are optional. I apologize for this. I ask you not to kill the messenger. I only report the rules; I did not create them (even though my last name is Webster). Let's deal with each category separately. I won't have time or space to cover every single possible use of the comma, but if we deal with the most common situations, we'll know what to do nearly all the time. Moreover, I will leave out discussion of the ridiculously obvious situations (between cities and states in addresses, between the day and year in dates, etc.) because everyone knows about those, right?

Category #1 - Constructions that require a comma
1. Use a comma following two prepositional phrases that begin a sentence:
On hot summer days in July, I love to go swimming.

2. Use a comma following a coordinating conjunction (for, and, nor, but, or, yet, so) if the conjunction divides two independent clauses (complete sentences):
I got paid today, and I can't wait to go shopping.

3. Use commas to set apart non-essential elements in a sentence:
My friend, who has three young children, is coming to visit soon. (It might be nice to know that this friend has three young children, but that information is not necessary to show the reader which friend I'm talking about. Therefore it is considered non-essential and must be set apart with commas).

4. Use a comma between a subordinate clause and an independent clause in a sentence when the suborninate clause comes first:
Because she tried to swallow a bee, Kitty woke up this morning with hives covering her body.

(Oh, and for the record, whoever told you never to begin a sentence with the word "because" was, of course, dead wrong as you can see from the sentence above. Just be sure that when you do, the subordinate clause is followed by an independent clause, so you don't have a fragment.)

5. Use a comma following a conjunctive adverb (therefore, consequently, however, thus, moveover, also, finally, anyway, etc.) that introduces a sentence:
I got paid today. Therefore, I can't wait to go shopping.

Category #2 - Constructions that prohibit a comma
1. Do not use a comma before a subordinating conjunction (for, and, not, but, or, yet, so) if what follows the conjunction is not a complete sentence:
I got paid today and can't wait to go shopping. (Compare with Rule #2 in Category #1.)

2. Do not use commas to set apart essential elements in a sentence:
My friend who is wearing the red ribbon in her hair is named Juliet. (In this case, the clause "who is wearing the red ribbon in her hair" identifies which friend I'm referring to and is, therefore, essential to the sentence so not set apart with commas. Compare with Rule #3 in Category #1.)

Category #3 - Situations in which a comma is optional
1. Use commas to separate items in a list. The final comma before the conjunction is optional. (Note: I like it there. I think it eliminates all sorts of terrible confusion; however, it is optional.):
I have lived in Oregon, Washington, California, Montana, and Utah. (Comma after "Montana" is optional, but I recommend it.)

2. If a a sentence has an independent clause followed by a subordinate clause, a comma after the independent clause is optional. (Compare with Rule #4 in Category #1.):
Kitty woke up this morning with hives covering her body because she tried to swallow a bee. (Note, a comma after the word "body" is optional, but I don't like it there, so I left it out.)

Those are the most common issues with commas. Hope that helps, Rachael.

Enjoy your breathing, everyone. Just don't confuse it with comma usage.

Suspense Films - Part 2

My last post brought many lovely comments. Thanks, everyone! One of the most suspenseful parts of my life happened, uh, let's just say a few years ago. I was a young bride (I'm still young but probably don't qualify as a bride anymore) and pursuing my career in education. I had goals. Serious goals. I would be a principal by the time I was 30 and in upper-level administration by 40.

Then the most amazing thing happened. Luke was born. I realize that the birth of a child is an everyday occurrence. It happens every second of every day in all parts of the world. To others, this event was not spectacular. For me, however, it was the single most defining moment in my life. Absolutely everything changed that day. I looked down at my tiny infant (okay, he was 9 pounds 12 ounces, but to me he was tiny), and he looked up at me. And the whole earth stood still. It felt as if time no longer existed. Worries, cares, troubles were not. In that moment, everything was absolutely perfect.

It was clearer to me than anything in the past had ever been that this was my destiny. This was my calling in life, more important than anything else I would ever do. TV talk show host Dr. Phil has remarked about his wife Robin: "She was put on this earth to be a mother." Me too! After Luke was born, I couldn't wait to see who would come next. And next. And next. And next! I was blessed to feel that same perfect joy four more times. Each time, I wondered how it could be as wonderful as previously, but it always was. This morning, as I walked Seth to school, the sun shone on our faces and the cool breeze rustled our hair, and I said a silent prayer of thanks for this child, who allows me the opportunity to continue to do what I love most. He is 11. How many more years will he want me to walk him to school? Not many. In fact, this is most probably the last. But for now, he really does. And I'll take it. I'll totally take it.

But let's go back to those career goals. What happened there? I quit teaching when Luke was born (no way I was leaving that precious baby with anyone else) but continued my pursuit of a master's degree. That turned out to be one of my wisest decisions. It wasn't easy. It took me a full five years, little by little, and by the time I finished, Luke was 4 and Shulamith was 2. That degree has made it possible for me to work in education on a very part time basis, teaching college-level writing classes here and there. While I no longer had the least desire to become a principal or even to teach full days, I still loved English, especially writing, and I enjoyed sharing my love for writing with others, particularly adults with genuine interest.

I had opportunity to teach writing classes at Skagit Valley College in Washington and most recently at Montana State University in Billings. As we prepared over the last year to move to Utah, people sometimes asked me, "Will you get a job there?" My reply was "Oh, I hope not!" That was partly a joke. What I meant was that if I chose to teach in Utah, it would need to be just exactly the right situation, and I doubted I would find that. But you know how these suspense films are; our predictions are usually wrong. Very soon after we moved, I learned of an opportunity at LDS Business College. LDSBC is part of the church education system along with the three campuses of Brigham Young University (Provo, Utah; Rexburg, Idaho; and Laie, Hawaii) and the numerous seminary and institute programs around the world.

I am both honored and excited to have been hired to teach writing part time at LDSBC this fall. I will teach MWF from 10:00 am - 3:00 pm., so I can get Seth off to school and be home just about the same time he is, and I can be home all day on Tues. and Thurs. Like I said, it would need to be just exactly the right situation. Our classes began this week. I have delightful students who seem eager to commit to a semester of hard work, teaching, learning, and fun.

What will the next chapter of my suspense film bring? I have no idea. But for now, this is good. This is all very good.