Opposites Attract?

They say opposites attract. Judging from my experience, that is probably true. At least to some extent. Gerald and I do have a few things in common. We both loathe grammatical errors. It's a curse, really; we are often so distracted by errors that we can't enjoy the content of what people are speaking or writing about. We also share a nearly identical political perspective. This is very good for a marriage, I might add, when the two spouses are as politically minded as we are. Most importantly, we've always agreed on our parenting decisions. Our parenting style is different from most people's, so it's a blessing we see eye to eye.

All that said, though, we are very different people, more so than we are the same. I am an extrovert with a capital "E." I am energized when I'm around people, the more the better. I don't much like to be alone. Gerald is an introvert and can exist happily all by himself. That is not to say he doesn't like people. He does. He's equally fine with them or without them. He has worked swing shift for the past 8-1/2 years, 7 years in Billings and the year and a half we have been here in Utah. That means I've been alone with a varying number of kids, five evenings a week for the past 8-1/2 years. I don't do "alone" very well. In Billings, I developed close friendships, so I had lots of connections and really never felt lonely. I haven't been so successful doing that here,  but I have Shulamith, so it's okay.

Another clear difference between Gerald and me is our interest in the outdoors. Gerald loves the outdoors, especially when mountains are involved. I don't dislike the outdoors exactly. I love outdoor shopping malls, for example! Gerald doesn't like any shopping malls, even outdoor ones. As I said, he likes mountains. I think mountains are okay, but hiking in them is hard. He thinks it's fun. Hmmm. Over the years, I have figured out a way to enjoy hiking in mountains. I would like to share this, in case any of you marries someone who likes mountains rather than shopping malls You're welcome. This is the key: Tell yourself that if you hike miles and miles uphill in mountains, you can eat anything you want that day and not worry about it because you will certainly burn all the calories you consume.

This did the trick for me anyway. Because another way Gerald and I are different is that I live to eat, while he eats to live. It's just a different way of looking at food. No judgment here. Gerald is perfectly happy eating left over, low-fat food that wasn't even very good the first time around. As long as it satisfies his hunger, it's all good. Not so for me. I am forever dreaming of the next time I get to wander off my "plan" and eat a juicy Smash burger or a large McDonald's fries. And when was the last time I got to be so decadent? Why yesterday. Because we went hiking in mountains. Shulamith and I told Gerald that so long as he carried Swen in the backpack, he could choose a hike as steep as he wanted. Then we proceeded to purchase Cheez-It crackers, striped shortbread cookies, Reese's Pieces, and trail mix (because that is healthy, right, despite the large proportion of M & M's)?

And off we went...

It was a beautiful day for a hike in up Bell's Canyon near Little Cottonwood. The trail head was just ten minutes from our house. Can you see why Gerald loves living here so much? No, not Shulamith. Not Isaiah. Not even Shulamith and Isaiah put together. Mountains. Mountains that are practically just out our front door! We really did have fun, and every foot we climbed, all 700 of them, we reminded ourselves of all the calories we were burning and all the food we could eat as a result. Gerald doesn't care about food, but he does care about geocache. Is that what you call the stuff you find when geocaching? I don't even know. The whole hobby makes little sense to me. You search and search for tiny items that are worthless, just for the thrill of finding them. And you call them "cache." Which to me sounds like "cash." Really? Because "cash" to me means real money with which I can buy real clothes. Never mind. Gerald looked for a couple caches, but found neither. Baby Swen riding on his back needed to keep moving in order to stay happy. Gerald is determined to take Seth back there soon to find those caches!

Now you might be wondering why there are no pictures of Gerald here. Well, except this one:

It's simple. As opposite as we are, we apparently have yet one more thing in common. Vanity. Who would have guessed? Everyone knows I'm the most vain person on earth. I scrutinize all photos of myself before I allow them to be published anywhere, and I carefully delete all crappy ones. But Gerald? No, not Gerald. He doesn't care about such things, right? Wrong. When I asked him to put the hike photos into my drop box, so I could access them for Facebook and my blog, he did. But several were missing. Which ones? All the ones with him in them. Shulamith took at least a half dozen pics of Gerald and me during the hike, but not one of those was put into my drop box. When I asked why, Gerald replied, "I didn't look good in them." The one above is the only one he sent me, so there you have it.

Opposites attract? Usually, yes. But not when it comes to vanity.

"I'm not as pretty as Justin Bieber...

And I don't dance as well as Justin Timberlake.

But I've been around longer than the two of them put together!"

So proclaimed Mr. Jon Bon Jovi, as he rocked the Energy Solutions Arena in Salt Lake City last night. It was pretty much epic.

,

And I was there. Oh yes I was! It all began a few months ago when my friend Lindsey sent me a text: "Do you like Bon Jovi?" Yes. Yes, I do. Why? Her sweet husband, David, had given her tickets to the concert, but it was still uncertain who would go with her. It would have been fun for them to go together, but if that didn't work out, she was inviting me. Well that would be pretty cool. But I didn't really get my hopes up; I thought since David bought the tickets, he should probably go with her if at all possible. In the end, it wasn't. Okay, maybe it wasn't technically impossible, but it was definitely impractical and highly so. The concert was on a Wednesday night here in Salt Lake, and they live in Rexburg, where Emma and Jase had school, both Wednesday and Thursday. Then there are Hanna and Olivia, who also need to be cared for. It would have been a giant hassle for David to come.

Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  :-)  :-)  :-)  :-)  :-)

Lindsey drove down from Rexburg yesterday afternoon, and we left almost immediately for a yummy dinner at Cheesecake Factory. Then we hopped on Trax and headed downtown. It was freezing cold, but nothing could dim our excitement. We found our seats, but it would be quite a long wait for the concert to begin. It was scheduled for 7:30, but increased security slowed down the process. It wouldn't actually start until well after 8:00. We decided to go find some matching t-shirts to memorialize the night. 

That took a long time as well because two ladies in front of us spent 20 minutes (not even exaggerating) to decide what they wanted and in what sizes and then, in the end, they didn't even buy anything! Grrrr. Back in the arena, there was even more pre-concert excitement. To our left, down a few rows, it appeared someone was ill. Several security personnel were gathered around, along with the medical team. But then it looked like two people were sick. How could that be? How could two people become sick at the exact same time, sick enough that they would need six security folks and two medics? I was confused. Soon it became clear that these two weren't really sick, but intoxicated, like really drunk, and security was attempting to remove them from the arena. And they didn't want to go. It took a while, but finally the security staff was able to get them out of their seats and help them stumble (literally) up the stairs.

And once again, I found myself asking the question, "Why do people drink?" I mean what is the point? Can it possibly be worth it? Can it be worth it to lose control of one's judgment and behavior? Can it be worth it to make a scene and then possibly not even remember it the following day? Can it be worth it spend serious cash on Bon Jovi tickets and then not even get to enjoy the concert? I don't get it.

Anyway, all that excitement used up time, and at about 8:10, Bon Jovi took the stage and for the next couple of hours, held the audience captive in the palm of his hand. Many there were die-hard groupies. The band had only to play one note, and they immediately knew the song and were ready to sing along, word for word. It reminded me of me last summer at the Neil Diamond concert. He has like a million songs, and I know every word to all million. I'm not as familiar with Bon Jovi; I mostly know the big hits like "You Give Love a Bad Name" and my favorite "You Want to Make a Memory," which he sang, along with his other ballads, on a catwalk extending into the audience. It was my favorite part of the concert. 

After such an incredible performance, it wouldn't take much effort on my part to become one of the legit groupies. I was totally engaged the entire evening, which is a good thing, considering what he does to audience members who aren't. While he was out on the catwalk, one girl in the front row was texting on her phone. He totally stopped singing and sat down right in front of her:

"Are you texting?" he said. "Really? I'm up here trying to make a living, and you are texting during my concert?" Then he took her phone and starting reading her text messages to the audience. It was beyond hilarious.

Thank you, Lindsey and David, for a fabulous evening, one I won't ever forget. 

"I'm not as pretty as Justin Bieber...." Ahh, I beg to differ. Eye candy doesn't get any better.

If you can change a baby,...

...you can change a tire. Or so they say. I am here to tell you that is a bunch of crap (pun definitely intended). Lindsey, Shulamith, and I are all mothers. I have five children. Lindsey has four. Shulamith has one. Among the three of us, we have changed literally thousands of diapers. We are quite proficient at the process. But none of that prepared us for this:

Yep, that's what we were faced with Saturday, just as we exited the highway on our way to Idaho Falls for a fun-filled girls' night out. David had graciously volunteered to stay home with Lindsey's kids. I had left Seth home in Utah, so we had only Baby Swen with us. Visions of shopping malls, delectable food (particularly chocolate), and copious amounts of Diet Coke danced through our heads. (Okay, yes, Lindsey drinks regular Coke; don't hold it against her.) But only seconds after exiting the highway, we found ourselves stranded by the side of the road with a shredded tire and no idea what to do about it, three girls totally clueless about the art of tire changing.

Lindsey called David, who immediately began to seek a solution, but keep in mind he was in Rexburg with four kids and not even a car seat for Baby Olivia because it was in the van with us. I texted Gerald, who told me Shulamith should know how to change a tire because she had to do it to pass Drivers Ed. Nope. Pretty sure I signed off on that requirement without making her do it. I had the same requirement when I took Drivers Ed, and I didn't do it either. Note to self: Make sure Seth actually learns to change a tire when he is old enough for Drivers Ed. 

After a time of sitting in the van not sure what to do, Shulamith and Lindsey decided to get out and try to locate the tire-changing equipment, while I stayed inside with Swen. Have I mentioned it was bitter cold outside? Yeah, that part of the country is seriously F-R-E-E-Z-I-N-G! And windy? Oh my goodness! They were brave and valiant as they faced the elements, but after several minutes, they still couldn't figure out how to remove the jack. I'm pretty sure just about anyone could figure out how to remove a messy diaper from a baby. Stupidest analogy ever! After not too long, however, a couple stopped to help us. The guy seemed to have a little better idea what to do than we did, though in reality, not a lot. Still, how nice of them to stop. We felt blessed. He and his girlfriend (wife?) tried to help us for about a half hour. He managed to remove the jack, and we got as far as lowering the spare tire, no small task, from under the car. Here is Lindsey turning the jack handle:

 Shulamith and I sat in the car feeling pretty helpless.

About then, another Good Samaritan pulled up and stopped. I believe in karma. Gerald always stops to help people in need. Always. I don't. Aside from being female, which sadly brings certain safety concerns, I would have absolutely no idea how to help anyone with any car-related issue. Now if you ever find yourself stranded by the side of the road, and your baby needs a new diaper...  Never mind. This particular Samaritan just happened to be employed by Big O Tire. Within minutes, he had the van jacked up, the tire changed, and everything put back in place. Bless you, dear stranger, whom we will likely never meet again.

And we were off. It was clearly more adventure than we anticipated, but it was over. No one was hurt. Imagine if it had happened while we were still on the freeway. We never made it to the mall, but we did enjoy a fabulous dinner at Texas Roadhouse, complete with plenty of Diet Coke. Good times.

If you can change a baby, you can change a tire. TOTAL CRAP.

Confessions of an Adjunct English Instructor

Yesterday was the final day of my semester. Another one down. Here at LDS Business College, we don't have spring break, so we finish before practically everyone else. It's a long haul between President's Day and now with no breaks, but I think my students would agree that finishing this early makes that all worth it. I woke up early yesterday morning and started baking cupcakes. I know, right? Me... baking? But yeah, I did. I have around 75 students, so I needed a lot. They have worked hard, many of them very hard. My class is not easy because writing is not easy. I tell them this on the first day; most don't believe me. By now, they do. Those who are still standing have put forth tremendous effort in the past 14 weeks. The deserve a cupcake.

As this semester ends, I find myself reflecting. If I'm counting correctly, this semester completes my 20th year teaching as a part-time adjunct instructor at the college level.There are some wonderful advantages to being an adjunct:

1. I get to be home raising my children while still, on the side, do something I also love. Some semesters I teach only one class, sometimes two. Last fall I had four (way too many essays...ouch!), and this semester I had three. I've taken entire semesters off, here and there, when I've had a new baby or another commitment that made working impractical. This flexibility is not possible in most jobs.

2.  As an adjunct, I'm not expected to attend boring meetings or serve on meaningless (or even meaningful) committees. The full time folks get to do all that; I simply arrive, teach my classes, and leave.Yep!

3.  Because I'm not burdened down with administrative duties (see #2 above), I can devote more time to teaching, to my students, to helping them develop their writing skills.

4.  I earn a bit of money, not a lot, but a bit, so I can support my two favorite hobbies: shopping and eating in restaurants.

Of course there are also some downsides:

1.  Job security. Yeah, there's none. Adjunct faculty are hired semester by semester; we are always considered temporary employees. The number of classes (if any) that we are offered each semester depends entirely on enrollment. Enrollment varies. It especially varies at colleges connected with the Church, which just lowered the age requirements for missionaries. Ha! I'm teaching just one 3-credit class this summer, which is totally fine with me. Good thing Gerald supports the family. In a couple years, when all these hundreds of brand new missionaries come home, they will need to get educated, and our enrollment will likely sky-rocket. Meanwhile, not so much.

2.  Money. Adjunct faculty members are paid only for the hours they teach, not for preparation or grading. For us writing teachers, this is bad news. Way bad. In writing classes, students need to write. There's just no other way. I've watched my friend and colleague who teaches nutrition running her tests and assignments though a scan tron machine. It takes her literally less than a minute to grade assignments from an entire class. In my world, if I can get through one essay in 20 minutes, I'm doing great. More often they take 30 - 45 minutes each.

Still, adjunct teaching has been a great opportunity for me. Once Luke was born, I really only wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I'm not very career minded. That said, I do love to teach, especially college students. I love helping them develop their writing. I love showing them it's possible to do things they never thought they could. Admittedly, I do better with the good students, the ones who care, the ones who work, the ones who take responsibility. They are the ones who see the incredible growth.

As we celebrated the completion of a successful semester yesterday, one of those excellent students come up to me to say goodbye. In the middle of cupcake eating and conversation, he relayed the following story:

"Just today, everyone was talking about registering for next semester's classes and what to take. When the subject of English 101 came up, people started discussing what teacher to take it from. Someone asked me who I had for 101, and I said that I have you. Then someone else said, 'I've heard she's really hard.' I spoke up right away and told everyone the truth: 'If you want to take the easy way out and just slide by, writing the same way you've always written, just getting through, you might want to take someone else. But if you want to really learn something, if you want to see change, if you want your writing to be better when you leave than when you came in, then I recommend you take Sister Webster."'

And that's exactly why I keep doing this.

It's not just clean; it's General Conference clean!

I grew up in a spotless home. I'm not exaggerating even a little. My mother spent hours every single day cleaning our house (well, more precisely, our apartment); we moved around constantly, so all but two of our 21 residences were apartments. Nevertheless, my mother saw to it that every one of those homes, whether large or small, was in pristine condition at all times. There was never so much as a popcorn seed beneath a couch cushion or a crumb behind the refrigerator. The only person I've ever known who could rival her cleaning ability was my dad. Nope, I'm not kidding. He was equally meticulous. So between the two of them, plus my mom's natural decorating abilities, all 365 days a year, 24 hours a day, our home looked like a picture from. Better Homes and Gardens.

As a wife and mom myself now, I face a bit of a quandary. Whether the result of growing up in such a clean house or my inborn tendency toward OCD, I really love my house to be clean. But no, I would never spend as much time cleaning as my mother did (and still does). I have few memories from my childhood that don't include her with a dust cloth in one hand and a can of Pledge in the other. I am not she. I don't scrub my bathrooms daily. I don't move all my furniture (even the piano!) to the center of the room in order to vacuum behind it, and then put it back in a totally different arrangement at least once a week. She does. I don't. Still, I like my house to be clean. All the time.

In that desire I am a lone soul. I am an army of one, fighting against a much larger and more powerful force (aka my family). I live with a group of people who do not share my desire for a clean, orderly home. I'm not sure it's accurate to say they "like" clutter, dirt, and chaos, but they certainly don't dislike it enough to do anything about it. Therein lies much personal frustration. I couldn't possibly keep up with their constant mess-making unless I made housework a full-time, 40+ hours/week career, and even then I might not be able to do it.

So I've had to learn to compromise my standards. Big time. I don't like that, but I can't change it. I can't change them. Rare are the occasions that I feel fully comfortable in my house; most days I tolerate much more dirt and clutter than I like. I clean what I can and try to ignore the rest. It's far from ideal, but I haven't come up with any better solution. However, there are some days when I muster the energy to clean under all their mess and restore that glorious order that calms even my worst anxiety. It's a beautiful thing. Then, to maintain that clean, I'm forced to be on continuous hyper-drive, either reminding (nagging?) people to pick up after themselves or doing the work myself. I probably do a little of each.

When are those occasional days? Major holidays mostly. I will have a clean house for Christmas. And Thanksgiving. I would normally add Easter to this list, except last week I was up to my eyeballs in essays and simply couldn't do it. Then there are two additional weekends, besides holidays, when I insist on having a clean house. Those are the first weekends of April and October, when my church holds its semi-annual General Conference. I am a self-professed "General Conference junkie." During those weekends, I spend 8 full hours in my house, in front of my TV, and you better believe I'm gonna do that in a clean, orderly house. No compromise.

So this past week, I've been working daily to achieve the standard of clean necessary for me to enjoy conference, and I've been nagging people along to make certain there was no regression. It's been tough but worth it. My only mistake was saving the bathrooms for this morning, before the 10:00 a.m. session. You see, I really don't like to feel resentment when I'm watching General Conference. And I really resent cleaning gross bathrooms that are only gross because various people (none of whom are young children, by the way) do not clean up after themselves. I'd like to be able to tell you that I manged to clean both our bathrooms this morning without any resentment, but I'd be lying. Fortunately, I finished around 9:00 and had a full hour to recover.

I grew up in a spotless home. And though my own home may never look like my mother's, today it met my standard of clean. So if you would like to drop by tomorrow, please feel free. You don't even have to call first. Because my house is clean.

It's not just clean; it's General Conference clean!