I should probably just give up and write a check

Like many people, I have a love/hate relationship with technology. I celebrate all the advances; really I do. Honestly, I'm not sure how we ever functioned without the Internet or how I ever taught writing without a computerized classroom. I have only vague memories of using the Readers' Guide to Periodical Literature to  research college essays. How utterly laborious that must have been! And then typing those essays on an electric typewriter, praying fervently not to make an error because correcting was so tedious. It's amazing how something so simple as basic word processing has evolved.

So yeah, I'm grateful. I'm grateful. I'm grateful! True story.

But wonderful as it is, oh how I struggle with technology. For me, the learning curve is steep, and it seems like as soon as I figure something out, that "something" changes. Can they leave well enough alone, already?

Case in point: Comcast. Last week, I was on the phone with a rep, getting my bill corrected, and she informed me that we had "old equipment." She would immediately ship me all new stuff, which I should have within three days. Okay, whatever. The new stuff did, indeed, arrive, but now I have no idea how to use my TV remote control. It's completely different from the old setup, and even worse, we seem to be missing some channels we really want.

And then there's this. Our church recently made it possible to pay tithing online, really excellent news. No more filling out forms by hand and writing checks. No more searching the building to find the bishop. No more waiting for the check to clear your account. "This will change my life," I thought.

Until I tried to do it.

I logged on to  my church account. First they asked me to indicte what country I'm from. Then they told me I live in a country that does not accept online donations. Really? Because I'm pretty sure the U.S. would be one of the very first countries to accept them. Then I entered my membership number and some other information, and I was informed that my record does not exist. There is no one with that number and birth date. Great! Now I live in the wrong country AND I do not exist.

I should probably just give up and write a check. But I was determined.

Finally, after spending nearly an hour on this with zero success, I decided to try a different route. I logged on under Gerald's name and membership number. It worked flawlessly. I will just pay our tithing using his account because technology kind of hates me. And I hate it back. At least sometimes.

You might cry a little

The other day a friend of mine became a father. He and his wife welcomed a perfect baby boy into their family and into their lives, and began a journey like no other.

Parenthood transforms us. It lifts us from our naturally selfish states to something better. Something higher. We learn the true meaning of altruism as suddenly, another's needs matter more than our own, way more. We learn that we have the capacity to care in a way we never before thought possible.

The next morning, my own “baby,” the last child of five, who stands 6 feet tall and is a sophomore in high school, rose early and prepared to leave for school. As he grabbed a granola bar and headed out the door at 7:00 a.m., he managed only a few words: “I have choir sectionals before school and rehearsal for the musical after school. Pick me up at 5:00? I love you!”

“Yes, yes, I'll be there at 5:00. I love you too. So much,” I echoed back, as he jumped into his dad's car. I wouldn't see him for another 10 hours. It felt like a long time. In just three short years, if his plans don't change, he will leave me again, this time not for just 10 hours. He will leave me for two full years to serve a full-time mission for our church.

I might have cried a little.

I won't be one of those people to tell this new father, or any of you with tiny ones, to "enjoy every second because the years pass quickly." I won't tell you that. Because I've been there. I've been right where you are, five different times. I know full well that not every second with small children is enjoyable. But the years do pass quickly.

You will blink, and all the sleepless nights and zombie days will be long in the past. Your 15-year-old “baby” will be running out the door to get to choir sectionals, granola bar in hand, saying, “Pick me up at 5:00? I love you!”

And you might cry a little.

The "Perfect Pigeon Pair": Is it really that perfect?

The term "pigeon pair" was new to me until recently. It apparently refers to a boy and a girl as either twins or as the only children in a family. And it's apparently the ideal situation, at least in the opinion of many.

Our first two children created a “pigeon pair.” We had Luke first, then 16 months later, Shulamith. While I was not familiar with this term at the time, I soon learned how “perfect” this arrangement was thought to be. “Oh, a boy and a girl! Excellent! Now you can be done.” It was as if we had done something incredible, brilliant even, by producing two children of different sexes.

But truly, all we did was have two babies. The first time around, I thought I was having a girl. Why did I think that? No idea. In those days, parents did not find out the gender of their baby until he or she was born. We had a boy. He was wonderful. Obviously. The second time, I assumed we would have another boy. Most people I knew with two children had either two boys or two girls, and well, by then I was familiar with having a boy, so that's what I expected.

I was wrong. We had a girl. She was wonderful. Obviously. That's when the comments began. I guess it makes sense that since there are a few experiences parents will miss if they have only girls or only boys, well-meaning folks will celebrate if you happen to have both. But I honestly can't think of all that many. In fact, the one that comes to mind is actually a blessing. If you have only girls, you will never have to attend a Cub Scout pack meeting or Pinewood Derby, both of which are the pure definition "headache." Trust me. I've been to dozens.

Regardless, what I don't understand is the assumption that “now you can be done.” It's as if couples should aim for the fewest number of children possible, as long as there is at least one boy and one girl. If you mange to achieve that with only two, you're a hero!

Not really. I loved both of those first two little babies dearly, but I knew I wasn't done, any more than I would have been had they both been boys. Or girls. I wanted several children, and gender had not a single thing to do with it. Did we ever surprise all those people when we went ahead and had three more wonderful sons after our “perfect pigeon pair.” Ha!

Thoughts?

The three top reasons I love Oregon. Wait, make that four!

Yesterday, on the first of our two-day journey home to Utah, Shulamith, Eli, and I stopped for lunch in Pendleton, Oregon. We pulled into a service station for gas, and instantly, a nice guy in a bright orange vest came up to my car window and asked how he could help me. Before I could answer, another orange-vested guy proceeded to clean my windshield. I asked the first guy to “fill it with medium grade, please” which he promptly did before wishing me a good day as I paid and drove off.

Next, we pulled into a convenience store to grab Diet Cokes and candy bars for the road. The total cost of those items was $7.59, and that is exactly how much I paid, not a penny more. I returned to my car, and as I merged onto the freeway to continue on to Boise, our destination for the night, drops of rain began to fall onto my freshly cleaned windshield.

And I remembered three of the many reasons I love my home state of Oregon.

Though not unique, Oregon is unusual in that it is one of only two states in the country (the other is New Jersey) where self-service gas is not allowed. It is also one of only five states that does not have a sales tax, Montana, Delaware, Alaska, and New Hampshire being the others. Granted, it isn't the only state that has rain, but it's one of the very few states that has enough rain to make a Pluviophile like me happy.

No standing out in the freezing cold in a skirt and high-heels pumping gas, only to have your hands smell like gasoline for the rest of the day. No stopping to figure in your head how much something will really cost after adding in the sales tax. And on the Western side of the state, enough rain that you usually don't have to go more than a few days without it. Then if you add in the beautifully progressive political climate, it's pretty much heaven, if you ask me.

I love Oregon. What is special about your home state that makes you love it?