Emma, Jase, and Hanna

My three favorite children (other than my own, of course) are Emma, Jase, and Hanna. They are 6, 4, and 20 months, respectively. Last week, I had the pleasure of spending a couple hours with them while Lindsey went visiting teaching. As Emma and Jase and I sat on the couch watching Hanna attempt to jump rope (which was plenty entertaining enough), Jase proceeded to take another jump rope and tie me up. He wrapped rope around both my feet and then around the couch. The following conversation ensued:

Emma: I love your necklace, Terrianne. It's so cute.

Me: Thanks, Emma. I love it too. Gerald gave it to me. It has a mom holding a baby. It reminds me how much I love my children.

Emma: You have five children, right?

Me: Yes, I do. The oldest is Luke. Do you remember him?

Emma: Yes.

Jase: I like Luke!

Emma: Then there's Shulamith, except she's not in your family anymore because she got married.

Me: Oh, Emma, Shulamith is still our family. She got married, so now she lives with Matt, but she is definitely still in our family. Next comes Isaiah. Do you remember Isaiah?

Emma: Yes I do.

Jase: I don't remember Isaiah.

Me: Well, we'll have to bring him over, so you will remember him. He was gone at college for quite a long time. And then there are Eli and Seth. Of course you know both of them very well.

Emma: Yeah (giggling), I like to chase Seth!

And then, out of the blue...

Jase: Well, your children are sure gonna miss you. Because you're tied up to this couch forever. You'll have to sleep here and eat here.

Me: Really, I'll have to stay tied up here forever?

....Pause.....

Jase: Are you prayin'?

Me: Ah, no.

Jase: Maybe you should be.

Me: You mean I should pray that I can somehow get untied from this couch?

Jase: I'll just do it for you.

At which point, he folds his arms, closes his eyes, and begins to pray....

“Dear Heavenly Father. Thank you for this day. Please bless the food to nourish and strengthen our bodies. And please bless Terrianne so she can get untied from this couch. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

A Decade of Joy

Seth and best friends Ethan and Tommy swim at The Reef indoor water park to celebrate the day.











Yesterday was Seth's 10th birthday. As he kept reminding me, he entered into the DOUBLE DIGITS. I know it's true, but that doesn't make it any easier to believe. You see, it really seems like just the other day that he wasn't here yet. We had our four other children fairly close together, and for quite a while, we thought we were done. But then, when Eli was 5 or 6, I began to wonder if there wasn't one more child waiting for us. The thought didn't go away. I expected Gerald to totally shut me down with this train of thought, but he must have known on some level as well because he was entirely sold on the idea. So on June 14, 2000, when Eli was 7 years old and Luke was 15, Seth came to Earth and to our family. What a blessing to us all!

I remember the day I went into labor. It didn't seem to be convenient for anyone. I had been up all night with definite signs of pre-labor when the phone rang at 7:00 a.m. It was the school. One of our kids was out of lunch money on his account, and could I please come in and pay because it was too late in the year to charge. "Ah, I would, but I'm actually in labor right at the moment," which abruptly ended that conversation. I believe they went ahead and fed my child. It was also Shulamith's 8th grade graduation, which I would ultimately miss. My mom brought her by the hospital, so I could see her in her dress, powder blue to match her eyes. She was beautiful as always.

My labor was also inconvenient for the hospital, it seemed. Mt. Vernon is a small town, so when there are no mothers in labor or recovering, they close down the maternity ward entirely. Such was the case that morning. They had to open it up for me and ask an OB nurse to stay past her regular shift time in order to help me. Here's the irony. Teenage pregnancy is rampant in Mt. Vernon, and the nurse who was asked to stay had this to say: "I'll do it as long as it isn't another teen mom." Well, no problem here! I was what they politely call an "AMA patient." That stands for Advanced Maternal Age and applies to anyone having a baby at age 35 or over.

Seth's birth was positively lovely. My other four children were born without pain-relieving medication, in other words: natural childbirth (Read: excruciating pain.) Let me make this clearer. In all four cases, I felt as though my back was about to break in two, and I prayed it would, because in that moment, I'd gladly have lived the rest of my life paralyzed just to escape the present situation. There is a myth that mothers forget all this once their babies are born, but a myth is exactly what that is. I remember. In contrast, with Seth, I had this amazing, blessed procedure called an epidural. I highly recommend it. Enough said.

After Seth was born, they let all four of his siblings come right in. Isaiah and Eli (ages 9 and 7 respectively) helped give him his first bath. All four kids took turns holding him. Our family was complete, and we all seemed to know it.

The ten years that followed have sped by faster than I could have ever imagined. Some people have told me that having a baby later in life would keep me young. I'm not sure I agree. I suspect I would have "kept" young all on my own, with or without Seth. I'm just that way; I ardently refuse to join the "older generation" whatever that is. However, Seth has provided me the opportunity to continue on with primary functions, elementary school activities, play dates, sleepovers, all the things that go with having a young child. And I love that. Every bit of it.

He is a remarkable child, in my opinion. I always said I wanted strong-willed children who know their own minds and feel free to express themselves. I got my wish with all five, including Seth. He has had to contend with people much older than himself his whole life, and he does it quite well. But emotionally, he is still nine. Okay, ten. His sense of humor is still that of a 10-year-old. In closing, let me illustrate that with the following conversation we had just yesterday:

Seth: Can I just live with Shulamith and Matt forever?

Me: Only if Dad and I die.

Seth: Well then, could you hurry up and do that?

The View from the Left: Part 3

A Democrat in the LDS Culture: Part 3 of 3

I have been asked on occasion how it is to be a liberal Democrat and a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The only response I can give is, “It's good, and it's good.” After all, it's good to be a Democrat, and it's good to be a member of the LDS Church. So the combination must be great, right? And it is. It absolutely is. But that doesn't mean it's always easy. Sometimes, it feels a little lonely. I am certainly not unique in my political/theological perspective. There are other LDS Democrats here and there, even serving in public office such as Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid. There is even a Facebook group of which I am a member called “The LDS Left.” I am not alone.

But let's get real. The truth is that the great majority of the membership of the LDS Church, at least in this country, is politically conservative. Most support Republican candidates. And it's even more skewed in that direction in traditionally conservative states including Montana. For the record, is hasn't always been so. I'm told that in the 1950s, most Latter-day Saints were moderate Democrats. That surprises me (I was not quite on Earth yet myself), but that's what they say. From moderate Democrats to conservative Republicans in just 50 years! How did that happen? I'm not sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say a militant reaction against the “hippie movement” of the 1960s and the conservative politics of former LDS Church President Ezra Taft Benson likely played large parts.

Whatever the reasons, today, most Mormons are Republicans. And since I am blessed to be on Earth today, and not in the 1950s, I am faced with the challenge of how to handle it. For the most part, it isn't that difficult. The Church, itself, is politically neutral. Each election year, a statement from the First Presidency on political neutrality is read over the pulpit in Sacrament Meeting in every ward and branch in the country. I am only paraphrasing, but this beautiful statement affirms that the Church takes no official position on individual candidates. It states that Gospel principles are to be found in the platforms of BOTH major political parties. Church leaders do not tell the members how to vote; they simply encourage them to do so, to actively participate in the political process. The statement counsels members to study the candidates and issues, to pray about them, and to decide which candidates' positions are most closely in line with Gospel principles. Woo hoo! That's exactly what I do, and if in doing so, I happen to come to conclusions that are different from 95% (only guessing here) of the members, so be it.

Generally speaking, there is not a lot of political talk at church on Sunday. It's more likely to come up at activities during the week. Our 17-year-old son Eli recently noted, “All my Young Men leaders hate President Obama. They're always ragging on him.” I asked him what he says in response. He said he told him he likes the President and that in the 2012 election, he will be old enough to vote for him, and he will! Go Eli! Occasionally, I'll receive group emails from members who assume that I'm politically conservative because I'm Mormon. One time a few years ago, I received such an email. It was instructions on how to defend the decisions of President Bush against any opposition I might run into. Gerald said, “You aren't going to be able to just let this go, are you?” Of course not! I replied with a polite but straightforward note explaining why I opposed most of President Bush's policies and how I was hopeful to have a Democratic President soon. Thankfully, I got my wish.

Recently, Luke sent me a brand new “Obama 2012” bumper sticker for my car. I seriously think I may be the first Montana resident to have one. I went right outside and proudly displayed it on the rear window of the van. A week or so later, Gerald asked me if I'd had any response to it. Only one. And this one makes me sad. To backtrack, I currently have two callings in my ward. First, Gerald and I co-teach the Gospel Doctrine class, a calling we both dearly love. In addition, a couple months ago, I was called as a Ward Missionary to help the sister missionaries serving in our ward. I dearly love this calling as well; I didn't get a chance to serve a mission myself, and hardly anything is more fun than going out teaching with these amazing, young sisters. My one comment about my bumper sticker came from Sister Buchanan. She and I are kind of soul-mates; we're both directionally challenged, Facebook junkies, and avid bloggers. She told me there's a potential investigator family they met and are hoping to teach, and she wants to take me over there. Great! Then she told me why. Apparently, these people told the missionaries that they might like to learn more about our church except they can't. “Why not?” the sisters asked. “We're liberal. We're Democrats. We wouldn't be welcome in your church,” they replied.

Ack. This is so not good. We must do all we can to dispel this awful myth. Of course this lovely family would be welcome in our church. Liberals are welcome in the Kingdom. Jesus loves Democrats too; in fact, were he on Earth today, I'd like to think he'd be one himself. After all, who was the best example of feeding the hungry, caring for the poor, and providing free health care to all? I haven't had the chance to meet this family yet, but I hope to meet them soon.

Meanwhile, as a Democrat in the LDS culture, I'll continue to nurture my testimony of the Savior, vote my conscience, and hold on tight to my perfect right to be both an active Democrat and card-carrying Mormon.

The View from the Left: Part 2

Passing On a Legacy: Part 2 of 3

My grandpa was also a strong believer in the value of education. He and my grandma lived in a high-rise apartment overlooking Portland State University. He would hold me in his arms, and together we'd look out the window at the college campus. “Tannie, you see those kids there. They are getting an education. And that is important. One day, you will go to college and get an education. It's the one thing no one can ever take from you. They can take your money, your home, your possessions. But they can't take your education.” I would fantasize about living with my grandparents and attending Portland State University. What a perfect life that would be! My grandpa died when I was 12, and by the time I went to college, my grandma had moved from those apartments. I did not attend PSU, but I did go to college. And to graduate school. And much of my commitment to education, both for myself back then and for my children now, is due to my grandpa's influence.

The night I met Gerald (well, maybe not the actual night, but very early in our friendship), we somehow found ourselves on the subject of politics. I don't know, perhaps it was the five bumper stickers supporting liberal candidates and issues that adorned my old beater car at the time that instigated the conversation? In any case, I was pleased to learn that he shared my political perspective. You see, I could marry someone with different values in some areas of life. I could even marry someone of a different religious faith (which was the case for us at the time, although not now). But marry a Republican? Never!

I would like to think that now, as a grown woman, my politics are my own. I really do study the issues and the candidates, and I embrace the values of the Democratic Party almost all of the time. I would like to believe that this is the same conclusion I would reach even had I not been raised in the family I was. But I can't be sure. Regardless, we seem to have successfully passed on our political tradition to our children, at least to the oldest three. Eli and Seth are not yet politically active, but Luke, Shulamith, and Isaiah clearly are. One of my fondest recent memories was in the fall of 2008. Luke signed himself and me up to canvass for Presidential candidate Barack Obama. Luke had only been home from his mission (LDS) a few months, so as we set out canvassing door to door, I remember telling him to be careful. “Remember what we're doing,” I warned. “When they answer the door, be sure NOT to say, 'We're missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.'” We both laughed at that thought and spent a lovely morning together. President Obama didn't take Montana, but the race was closer than anyone would have predicted early on, and I'd like to think part of that was due to our efforts. Shulamith, also, is unashamed to voice her liberal views, especially on social issues about which she feels strongly. And Isaiah is perhaps the most politically-informed 19-year-old I know. He was too young to vote in 2008, but he looks forward to supporting Democratic candidates in the upcoming midterm elections. My grandpa would beam with pride at his great-grandchildren.

The question remains: How do we form our opinions on significant topics? Do we do so independent of our upbringing? Or are the teachings of our childhood so permanently impressed upon our souls that we cannot escape them? I'm not sure. I suspect it varies from person to person. For me, it's likely more the latter, and if that's the case, I have only this to say: Thank you, Grandpa! I love you. Just like a tree that's planted by the water, when it comes to the very basics of politics and social justice, I shall not be moved.

....To Be Continued...

The View from the Left: Part 1

Labor Leader and Mentor: Part 1 of 3

I am often intrigued by how people's opinions are formed and how they evolve over time, particularly opinions on significant topics such as religion and politics. How much of what we believe was ingrained in us as children by our parents and other key adults, and how much is the result of our independent experience as we grow, ponder life, and seek to make sense of the world?

I was thinking about this a few days ago after a brief conversation with Gerald. Let me backtrack. A few months ago, the satellite radio in our van malfunctioned, the apparent result of a loose connection. Gerald said it would be an easy fix, but it was still three months before that happened. In the meantime, I was stuck with regular AM/FM stations, and in Billings, that means either Christian or country. We have little else. I like some Christian music, but I'm not a huge fan. On the other hand, I grew up on country--the old stuff--Waylon and Willie, George Jones, Johnny Cash. Consequently, in the past three months with no satellite radio, I've become somewhat addicted (can a person be somewhat addicted?) to contemporary country music. I've learned the words to all the songs. I sing along when I'm driving and pretend I'm on stage at the Grand Ole Opry. Yep, I'm hooked!

Here's the problem. Gerald HATES country music. With a passion. He hates everything about it: the tune, the lyrics, and most especially, the nasal twang. It grates on his every last nerve. The other day, I picked him up from work, country music playing loudly in the van. “Ugh,” he complained, “You should have been born a Republican.” Now those of you who know me well will understand that this was a supreme insult. Me, a Republican?!? Not in this lifetime. Or the next. Or the next. You see, I was born a Democrat. In every sense of the word, it is as if the Democratic Party is the life blood that flows through my veins; it's as though it's genetic. But why? Exactly how does that happen?

I am an adult woman, independent, free thinking, highly opinionated, and in full possession of the agency to choose for myself. I can study political issues and candidates, and I do. I can come to my own conclusions and vote my own conscience, and I do. And when I do, I find myself voting a straight Democratic ticket almost 100% of the time. Why? Because those are the candidates whose views most closely match my own. I am liberal and proud of it. However, I have to wonder if it might have been different had I been born into a different family. Of course, I'll never know; what I do know is that from infancy, I was taught the values of my parents and, more importantly, my grandparents. I was taught to be a Democrat.

My maternal grandfather was 17 years older than his wife, so by far the oldest of my four grandparents, and he died when I was just 12, long before the other three. In those 12 years, however, he left the most notable impression on my young, emerging personality than possibly any other adult in my life. He was a labor leader. As a young man, he worked in the logging camps of the Pacific Northwest, under horrific, inhumane conditions. In time, he united with co-workers to fight these conditions, forming a union called the International Woodworkers of America (IWA), and he eventually became its president. With but a fourth grade education, my grandpa led this union for over three decades, dined with U.S. Presidents, and attended the inaugurations of both John F. Kennedy and Lyndon B. Johnson. He was my hero.

On the night I was born, he was presiding over an IWA convention in Canada. It was tradition for attendees at the convention to sing the familiar labor song, “We Shall Not be Moved,” replacing the words “The union is behind us” with “Al Hartung [my grandpa] is our leader.” That particular night, though, he instructed the entire convention to sing the song, using my name instead. Over 500 convention delegates stood and sang

“Tannie is our leader, we shall not be moved.
Tannie is our leader, we shall not be moved.
Just like a tree that's planted by the water,
We shall not be moved.”

(Note: Tannie is a contraction of my name, Terrianne. My grandpa called me Tannie from the day I was born until the day he died. I like it a lot, but it never really caught on with others. So feel free to call me Tannie if you want to.)

I, of course, was totally unaware of this serenade in my honor, but I heard about it many times as I grew up and met his IWA associates. My tutelage as a strong labor Democrat didn't end there. I remember sitting on my grandpa's lap as a young child singing “Solidarity Forever, The Union Makes Us Strong” to the tune of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” It was years before I realized that this particular song had different words for most everyone else. “Why are those people singing about their eyes?” I would ask my dad. “Don't they know the right words to 'Solidarity Forever?”' Even today, it's hard for me to sing the “Battle Hymn.” We're supposed to do it in ward choir next month.

So the political world was introduced to me at a young age. I remember as a little girl when George McGovern ran for President. My grandpa came over with a McGovern campaign button and pinned it on my dress. “This is who we're supporting for President, Tannie. He is the candidate of the working man. He upholds important social values.” Sounded good to me. From that point on, I wore my button proudly and told everyone I knew to vote for McGovern. Too bad I didn't know enough people. My grandpa was also close friends with then U.S. Senator Wayne Morse. Senator Morse happened to share my birthday, and several times, I had the honor of celebrating that day with him. Indeed, I was raised to be a Democrat.

....To Be Continued...

The Summer Job

Ah, the summer job. Each year, as summer approaches, college students everywhere begin to wonder where they will work once school ends. They need to find employment in order to help pay next year's tuition, but in most cases, they only have three months to work. For obvious reasons, most businesses aren't interested in hiring and training someone who will work only three months. Still, the student needs a summer job, so he or she will likely do just about anything (legal and moral, of course) that will secure some summer income.

I clearly remember facing this dilemma myself after my freshman year at Willamette University. I was heading home to Portland for the summer in need of a job. So important was this to many of us Willamette students that I remember my friend Tim calling me after I'd been home only a few days. "Hast Du schon Arbeit gefunden?" he wanted to know. Now keep in mind, Tim and I had just completed our first year of Elementary German. We loved communicating auf Deutsch, but we weren't very good at it. I'm not sure if the above sentence is grammatically or syntactically correct (Lorrie? Patty?), but I knew exactly what he meant. "Have you found work yet?"

Luckily, I had! In fact, I had found what turned out to be the most perfect summer job ever. Knowing I'd only be in Portland three months, I decided to apply at a temporary agency called Manpower. After a typing test and brief interview, I was hired. My first assignment was with the City of Portland Department of Street and Structural Engineering. Right after I took down the necessary information, I hung up the phone (yes, back then we actually had to hang up phones), and my dad said, "That is a wonderful assignment. You will love working for the City." Indeed, it was. And I did. I answered phones and did light typing (yes, on a typewriter). It was fun and easy, and the work environment was delightful. I got long lunch and coffee breaks and met many great people. It was a good summer, and when it came to an end, my boss said the magic words: "Be sure to call me next summer if you want to work here again. I won't be under obligation to Manpower, so I can hire you myself and pay you considerably more than they do." YES! So that was the end of my search for summer employment. Happily, I returned to the City of Portland each summer through college.

Not all my kids have been quite so lucky. Luke was. He landed a job at Whitman after his freshman year and was able to work and live on campus through the summer for free. I hated it that he didn't come home to Mt.Vernon, but the job was good, and he acquired many valuable computer skills. Shulamith came home to Billings the summer after her freshman year at Westminster and immediately began pounding the pavement in search of a job. After submitting countless applications, she was hired to host at Ihop. No, it wasn't the most glamorous job ever, but it was money, and by her second summer there, she was able to serve (rather than host) and earn those amazing tips. No, Montanans aren't good tippers, but Ihop gives its servers tons of tables at once and then turns them quickly, so she made decent money.

Now we have Isaiah, home from his first year at Westminster. His boss from his high school job called and asked him to come back, but sadly, we don't have adequate transportation for him to go to St. John's on the West End every day. He needs a job here in the Heights, close enough that he can walk if need be. As a result, he applied at Walmart, the closest business to our house. After three interviews in two days, he was hired as a cart pusher. I probably don't need to point out that this isn't exactly Isaiah's dream career path, but it is a job, and it will provide some money to help us finance next year at Westminster.

Ah, the summer job. Whether it's as a secretary in a government office, a host at a restaurant, or even a cart pusher at Walmart, every college students needs one.

Learning Curve

I knew there would be a learning curve. After all, this is not the first time I've upgraded my cell phone. I suppose I've had at least six or seven different phones in the past ten years, maybe more. And each time, there's a learning curve. Each time there's a period of adjustment as I learn to navigate the different features of the new phone. But honestly, I'm just not very good at learning curves. I like to be able to make things work right now. When they don't, I am easily frustrated.

This time, I decided to get a Droid. It was either that or the newest Palm, which would have been easier because I already had a Palm, but the Droid was appealing as well. Ultimately, Gerald found me an amazing promotion that allowed me to get my new Droid for just $19.99, so the decision was made. Droid.

The day it arrived, Eli put in the battery and charged it. The next day Gerald activated it and transferred over my calendar and contacts from my Palm. The next day, he got my ring tone, the sweetest Alan Jackson tune "Remember When." If you don't know this song, you should definitely google it and listen. It's hard core country, though (which Gerald abhors), so he told me if I choose another country tune for my text ring tone, I'll need to find someone else to download it. Lindsey? Nah, I'm pretty sure he isn't serious, but I haven't chosen a song yet, so right now, when a text comes in, it defaults to this low-pitched, drawn-out voice: "DROID."

The next day, Gerald transferred over all my music. The only major thing left to do is install an application that will allow me to transfer over my "memos" which include a variety of important information which I need almost daily. Then I'll be totally set. Well, except for the learning curve.

Yeah, about that. The first couple days I was totally grumpy. Like seriously in a bad mood. "I just need this to work. Right now. And I want to know how to do all these things, and I don't want to have to read about it in a stupid manual." In desperation, I went to the mall and bought a hard plastic case for the phone, so in the event that I threw it across the room, it wouldn't break. Thus far, I've exercised sufficient restraint, but the phone is in its protective case just to be safe.

There's a debate in the field of education about whether students learn better by trial and error, that is by making mistakes, or if they learn better by doing things right the first time. I'm pretty sure there's not one right answer to this question. It likely depends on the situation, the specific skill involved, and the individual learner. But I can surely answer this question for myself. I do not learn best by trial and error. I do not learn best by making mistakes. I just get angry. Really angry. I am a perfectionist; I like to do things right.

After a week, though, I believe I'm mastering the learning curve. I think I actually like this phone. It has many fun features. One of my favorites is the front screen which changes color depending on the time of day. In the morning, it's a bright blue with green grass blowing in the wind. At sunset (well probably at sunrise as well, but I'm in summer mode, so I'm never awake for sunrise), it's a lovely red/orange with the grass fading in the shadows. At night, it's a deep dark blue with white stars. I'm finally able to text okay, not with the speed and accuracy I had with my Palm, but I'm getting better every day, so there's hope. I'm still not fully adjusted to the calendar application (I'm just SO used to the Palm system), but I think I'll adjust in time.

Last week, when I was grumping over this thing, Shulamith said, "You are so funny. Why are you so grumpy over a phone? Can't you just remember that it's always like this whenever you get a new one, and you know you'll figure it out eventually?"

Sounds reasonable, I suppose, but I'm just not good at learning curves.