the busy heart

Conference napping, starting young. Every six months, Mormons listen to what we call General Conference , which means, theoretically, all 14 million of us gather and listen to talks by church leadership. There's a physical meeting in Salt Lake, and the rest of us watch it in our chapels and, increasingly, over the Internet on our various devices. It's four 2-hour sessions (with a bonus session for men), and it fills up the weekend. Six months ago, I was literally two days away from having a baby, and let's face it, I slept through most of it, despite my efforts to stay awake. I'd sit down for a moment, pull it up on my iPad, and immediately zonk out. I got some really solid sleep in during those conference sessions, and I don't begrudge my former self a bit of it. Today, with my baby on the outside, I didn't nap, though she got a pretty solid one in (see above). During the first part, I deep-cleaned my bathroom (party!) while she played with her baby do...

I like Easter, I've decided. There's less hubbub surrounding it, so there's no use spending oodles of money and traveling across the country for it, and it's easier to make it a quiet day. And easier to think about its religious significance, if you're so inclined. Which I am. But when Sunday dawned, I confess that church was the last thing I was interested in. Sam was sleeping soundly, and though the day looked sunny and gorgeous, and Henrietta and I were in our colorful Easter Best, I was so full of dread as I drove to church that I frightened myself. I felt like weeping. Maybe it was because just the previous Sunday I had attended with a whole bunch of my family, but it seemed a particularly lonely thing to be doing. Let's be honest: sometimes I don't want to go to church. Especially lately, with 9am meetings, and a new ward (because of our move) that I don't feel super close to, and a squirmy baby who doesn't want to nap when there are all so...

I'm particularly fond of her wee crossed feet. Henrietta is teething. There have been indications of teething for months, but now we're into some pretty fussy territory. I'm not sure that what we did Sunday night could be categorized as sleeping, and last night wasn't much better. She's quicker to cry in general, and by afternoon she's pretty much spent, which she expresses by screaming. I realize we're lucky that this is fairly unusual behavior. Tonight as I was trying to get her sleep, I sang to her, and I realized how grateful I am to have a repertoire of songs from my Mormon upbringing. I make up a lot of songs during the day, inserting her name here and there, rhyming sweet with feet, that sort of thing. (Sam has a killer song about her comfort rabbit, Elroy. I need to get him to record it for me.) But when she's upset, when she needs the big guns, I go for the hymns. I often sing her "Come, Come, Ye Saints" (which Sam also requests ...

Late one night I came downstairs in my pajamas, excited, asking Sam if I could just read him a little bit of something. He was still up, tending his fire, watching a movie that he kindly paused so he could listen. At which point I read him more than a little bit. I read him most of an interview with Laurel Thatcher Ulrich , a woman who is actually a dear friend from my ward in Cambridge. She's famous, in part, for penning the sentence that shows up on bumper stickers and t-shirts all over the place: "Well-behaved women seldom make history." She won a Pultizer Prize and a MacArthur Fellowship, she teaches a killer Sunday School lesson, and she's my hero. Anyway, I had gone to bed worrying about how I would do everything I wanted to do, how I would do something that mattered to me and also take care of my baby. It was in the thick of my posts about figuring out working and motherhood, and it was such a relief to read her interview, which answered pretty much everythin...

[I'm worried about this post. It's pretty close to my heart. I wrote it weeks ago, but I keep putting off publishing it. And then in quiet moments I’ll think of it and feel, again, like I need to say it. So let's all put on our generous hats, shall we?]  One Christmas I came home to visit my family and realized that my oldest niece and nephew were growing up. They were twelve, I think, on the cusp of teenagehood, and I realized I was terrified for them. They were (are!) such awesome and good kids, and I was excited for them, in a way, but also scared. That was when the world got complicated for me, and I don't think I've ever quite forgiven the world for becoming so. When I say I was scared for them, I mean I was nearly trembling. It was almost a physical reaction, a slow-motion "Noooooo!" in my head, willing them away from the cliff of further development. I just got called into the  Young Women's program , the organization in our church for g...

Two bits of my writing to check out today. I have a post up on Feminist Mormon Housewives on the tricky business of deciding my last name . (That second link will give you my post.) I'd love to have you check it out and weigh in on your own decision and how you feel about it. There's a hoppin' discussion going on over there! Also, I'm a finalist in the Mormon Artist Blog's Mormon Lit Blitz contest, and today it's my poem's turn to be up. (Again, second link will give you my post.) Soon there will be a chance to vote for your favorites and I hope you'll throw your hat in on my behalf, but for now it's just reading time. You should also check out the other pieces. They're a great snapshot of contemporary Mormon lit, which is a vibrant little world. I'm particularly fond of the piece for Day One-- Marilyn Neilson's poem, "In Bulk."

Sometime earlier this year, I got an email from Tyler Chadwick, who asked if he could include several of my poems in Fire in the Pasture: Twenty-first Century Mormon Poets , to which I said, um, yes yes you may. The book is out now, and I just got my contributor's copy this week, and I have to say that it's beautiful.  I don't mean that my poems are beautiful, I mean the book itself, as an object, is gorgeous.  If you're so inclined to see what's going on in contemporary Mormon poetry (and how could you not be?! ;), I recommend this book.  On a related note, if you're more interested in seeing what Mormon fiction is up to (and again, how could you not be?! I hope it's clear I'm kidding ...mostly), Dispensation: Latter-day Fiction was a great read.  In all seriousness, I can say that Mormon Literature goes well beyond Jack Weyland.  There's some really good stuff out there.  If you're interested in recommendations, shoot me an email.

It's been awhile, yes. Does anyone else get afraid of their blog sometimes? Feel exposed/vulnerable? Maybe it was all the sadness I had inside me. It's hard to write something when all I really, really had to say was, "Wow, I'm so sad." And. "Wow, I'm still so sad." I don't feel sad now. I don't know if it's the warmer weather, the longer hours of daylight, having a week off school, the 2500 we're getting back for taxes, or what. But I suddenly have energy and interest and even, gasp, joy. Thank goodness. I pray and pray that it sticks to my ribs. Went to a Relief Society activity, a birthday celebration. It was actually quite lovely and I ate strawberries and grapes and talked to people. I remembered that talking to people, like teaching, is so much about asking good questions, getting other people to talk, listening. I've been scared of engaging in real conversation because I'm so fragile lately and I don't wa...

Dumping snow, now. Maybe, just maybe, we'll have another day off school tomorrow. And then I can stay home and get really bummed out again. I LOVE doing that. In other minor news, last night Sam and I went to CVS to pick up a prescription. When I was backing out of my parking spot, I stopped short because there were three missionaries walking behind me. One of them held up his hand, and I was convinced he flipped me off. CONVINCED. Horrified, ready to scold the naughty young one, I threw open my door and yelled, "Excuse me, but did you just flip me off?!" You should have seen the fellow shudder, cringe. I thought he would weep. "No no! I was just holding my hand up to say thank you!" I apologized, told him I was LDS, hence my concern. For some reason this incident was wildly funny to me. I don't know that the poor missionary felt the same way. Oh, and, I slipped on the ice again today. This time I landed on my side, which is also cushy. It ...