The One

I met Mike two days after my nineteenth birthday. It was the fifth day of my second semester at BYU. It was a Friday.

Our meeting came about because I was starting a new job. Many weeks before, my religion professor had called me on the phone and asked if I would like to work as one of his TAs. I was surprised and flattered because I really liked this teacher and couldn't imagine a better job than working for him.

But I was also deep in the throes of homesickness. I felt like I was drowning and didn't know how I could possibly add one more thing to what already seemed like an overwhelming schedule. (Looking back, I probably did take too many credits for my first semester even if I didn't take into account all the time I spent feeling miserable and sorry for myself.)

Brother Williams (at BYU, we call all our religion professors by "Brother" or "Sister") needed the new TA to start right then (I think it was mid-October). Sadly, I told him it wouldn't work for me until the beginning of the new year.

December 2003 - With Brother Williams

Gradually the homesickness wore off, and I really began to regret my decision to turn down an amazing job offer. I told Brother Williams if he ever had another opening, I would love to take it.

Amazingly, at the end of the semester, he told me he was hiring another TA. (How amazing this was, (that he had not one but two openings within a couple months of each other), I didn't realize until I'd worked for him for some time and saw that those positions did not open up easily. I think it was meant to be.)

I went to his office during the first week of classes. Brother Williams showed me some things but kept saying, "Come in on Friday. Mike will be here then, and I'll have him show you how to set up the grade books."

So it was on Friday, January 9th, that I met the other TA, Mike, for the first time. He was friendly and nice. He was patient as he explained the program and guided me through the basics. We worked for a few hours together and got everything set up for all of Brother Williams' classes.

And then, just as we were about to turn off everything and go home, Mike accidentally deleted everything we had worked on all afternoon. 'I don't know what he did, but I was so glad it wasn't me!

When I got home, I called my mom and told her I had met Brother Williams' other TA. My mom anxiously asked, "Is he the one?" (You can tell she was still getting used to the fact that I had left the nest.) "I hope not," I firmly answered.*

But, it turns out, Mike was the one.

And nine years ago today, on a beautiful spring morning that later turned cold and snowy, I married him.

Brother Williams took full credit for our marriage (he had told Mike to date me) and attended our sealing in the Mount Timanogos temple.

 April 28, 2005 - Brother Williams and his wife are in the front row on the far left

 I'm even happier with that decision now than I was then.



 *My adamant reply that Mike was not the one had absolutely nothing to do with how much I liked him (I must say I was rather smitten right from the start) but rather had to do with the fact that I was, as already mentioned, just barely nineteen.

KidPages: Number One Sam

Last year, we fell in love with Greg Pizzoli’s The Watermelon Seed. It was simple; it was funny; it had just the right amount of unpredictability. 

So when I saw that he had a new book coming out this spring, I couldn’t wait to read it . . . um, to my kids, of course. Not just to myself. Please. 

Sam always wins. In speed, turns, and finishing races, he’s number one. Always. Until one horrible day when he finishes behind his good friend,  Maggie. He is devastated.

Before the next race, Sam can think of little else besides regaining his title as number one. The race gets off to a poor start, but Sam is determined and is soon in the lead. But then, without warning, he is confronted with a choice. And that difficult choice helps Sam realize sometimes you don’t have to win to still be number one.

Although very similar in style to The Watermelon Seed, Number One Sam is grounded by a stronger moral message and consequently not quite as funny. By “stronger moral message,” I don’t mean that it was heavy-handed in any way; only that there was more to think and talk about afterwards than just whether or not swallowing a watermelon seed is a good idea. We love funny books, but we also love serious books if the subject matter is treated in a fun and engaging way. Now that we've read both books, it seems Greg Pizzoli can handle either genre within the realm of his unmistakable style.

His illustrations are simple but distinct. They have a subtle, retro feel about them. I love the way he uses limited color and patterns. One of my favorite pictures in the book is when Sam loses. It goes from being yellow and sunny to blue and depressing. The contrast is striking.

At first I thought this book was just going to be about being a good loser—a good topic for kids (and adults), no question. But then, it ended up being about so much more than just how to handle a disappointing event, and the turn of events was fantastic. 

This book has only cemented our affection for Greg Pizzoli. He can count us among his loyal fans, and we will read anything he writes.

Many thanks to Disney-Hyperion for sending us a copy. Rest assured that all opinions are my own.

Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville

This is one of those books I probably never would have read at all if it hadn't been praised in another book I was reading. Although written in the 90's (my childhood era), I had never heard of it. Which isn't that remarkable since dragons have never held any sort of appeal for me. But none of my five brothers had ever read it either, and that seemed a little unusual since fantasy was definitely their favorite genre.

Still, in Calm and Compassionate Children, Susan Dermond mentioned it with only a handful of other favorites in her chapter about books and reading, so I figured there must be something special about it. And even if I don't love dragons, my sons do, so it seemed like it would be a fun read-aloud.

Jeremy Thatcher is in sixth grade. He's always had a passion for drawing and thinks this might be his year to finally win the spring art contest (in spite of his patronizing and unsupportive art teacher, Mr. Kravitz). However, if Mary Lou has anything to do with it, he won't have time to work on anything. She has a major crush on Jeremy and is determined to kiss him; he is just as determined to avoid her.

One afternoon, as he makes a mad dash for safety, he finds himself at Mr. Elives' magic shop. He has never seen the store before, and he finds it filled with all manner of strange and exotic things including a round egg of constantly changing colors. Jeremy feels strangely drawn to the little ball, and Mr. Elives sells it to him for a quarter, which seems like too good of a bargain to pass up.

Jeremy takes the egg home and finds instructions included for how to hatch it. He follows all the outlined steps and then watches in amazement when a tiny dragon pokes her arm and then head through the shell.

But caring for a dragon is complicated, and Jeremy soon realizes that things are going to become very difficult (especially since the dragon is invisible to most people). However, Jeremy rises to the occasion and in the process develops courage, gains confidence in himself, and realizes just how strong the bond of friendship can be.

This was a fun story, but I have to say that since I went into it expecting some sort of unknown children's classic, I was a bit disappointed. It felt exactly like the dozens of other books I read during the 90's. It wasn't that the material itself felt dated (no references to cassette decks or anything like that); more just that it all (plot, characters, writing) seemed rather unexceptional. This makes it sound like I think nothing exceptional came out of the 90's, but I really just mean it's kind of your average, run-of-the-mill, middle grade novel, the kind that are displayed for a few months and then get lost for years in the library stacks.

Aaron and Maxwell went back and forth between loving it and then becoming disenchanted. I think this had more to do with some of the content than the story itself. Obviously, they loved all the parts with Tiamat (the dragon), especially when she escaped Jeremy's room and flew to the school where she blew hot smoke on Mr. Kravitz's foot. But they really couldn't relate to the adolescent relationship between Jeremy and Mary Lou (first he hates her, then he decides she's not so bad, etc.). This was my fault for choosing a book about a boy in sixth grade rather than second grade.

Now that we've finished it, I can honestly say we enjoyed it (we didn't have to force ourselves to read it or anything like that), but if I were going to write about books and reading and include a list of my favorite children's books, this one wouldn't make the list. However, I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to 8-12 year-olds (who generally prove to be a less critical audience). Also, there are more Magic Shop books by Bruce Coville starring other main characters, so they might be just the thing if you're needing to keep an avid reader well-stocked.

Thoughts on a Late Monday Night

I can't tell you how depressing it is to get onto Goodreads and see my current status for the year: 7 books behind schedule. I thought I was setting a reasonable, attainable goal when I said I'd read 60 books this year, but it looks like I'm going to have to step it up a bit. Luckily, I'm almost done with four books, so that should help my numbers a bit.

Speaking of depressing: when someone asks if you were due yesterday and you have to tell them you're not due for six more weeks, that's depressing.

Bradley hardly ate anything for dinner tonight (in spite of lots of coaxing from us and in spite of not having a big afternoon snack). By bedtime, he was pleading and begging for a little snack. I think he orchestrates such things on purpose so he'll have an excuse to stay up a little longer. It didn't work tonight though.

I forgot how difficult it is to get my kids to bed on time when the weather is gorgeous. It seems like a crime to make them come inside. And for what? Just so they won't be little monsters in the morning? Big deal.

I'm a little worried our laundry situation might become perilous after the baby is born. Already it seems like it multiplies overnight; and do you know how much extra laundry a baby creates? We might be drowning soon is all I'm saying.

The boys all got a book for Easter. So far, Randy Riley's Really Big Hit is winning the popularity contest. Baseball, robots, and fireballs. What more could three little boys ask for in a story?

I'm teaching Maxwell's preschool group tomorrow. We're going to be learning about recycling. It's made me aware of how bad I am at recycling little things (like yogurt containers).

It's Charlotte Brontë's birthday today. I guess I should have saved my Jane Eyre review.

Because of Him

I've been thinking about what I could share on this beautiful Easter Sunday. My testimony is simple, but I feel compelled to share it nonetheless.

I believe that Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer. I believe that He is your Savior and Redeemer, whether or not you accept Him as such.

Because of Him, I can overcome my challenges, repent of my sins, and be filled with charity and love for others.

Because of Him, I have a reason to live a better life each and every day. I have a reason to try a little harder.

Because of Him, I have hope for the future and a desire to see the good in others.

Because of Him, my life is filled with light and peace and happiness.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

I'm assuming that the plot of Jane Eyre is familiar to most of you, but if it isn't, be forewarned that I will allude to certain important details. This book is a treasure, and you wouldn't want me to spoil it, so if you haven't read it, I beg you to stop reading this post right now! 

The first time I read Jane Eyre was seven or eight years ago. I had just finished up a semester at BYU and was looking forward to some long overdue fun reading. Mike suggested Jane Eyre (believe it or not, it's one of his favorite novels), and I was soon engrossed in the story.

But Mike wouldn't let me read in peace. He kept badgering me with questions: "What's happening now? What did you think about that?," etc. etc, until I finally got so fed up, I asked, "Do you just want me to read it to you?" 

He did, and reading it with him made the plot twists and character development even more enjoyable. I can vividly remember the Saturday morning when we woke up and decided to read a little before we got up for the day. We must not have had anything pressing to get to because we ended up just staying in bed until we had finished the book.

When my book club decided to read Jane Eyre, I knew enough time had passed that I wanted to reread it. I'm so glad I did! I was surprised with how much I'd forgotten. Basically, only two things had stuck with me: sweet Helen from Jane's days at boarding school and Mr. Rochester's deranged wife (it's pretty hard to forget something like that even with four pregnancies trying their hardest to wreak havoc on my brain cells).

I find it funny that I could so clearly remember where I was when I finished the book, but I could remember absolutely nothing about the ending itself. It was so delightful to get to enjoy all the surprises of the book the first time and then get to enjoy almost all of them again a second time (bless you, pregnancies).

The story is told from Jane's point of view, as a sort of memoir or autobiography. She begins with her childhood, dismal and tragic due to being left in the care of her uncle's wife, who cares nothing for her and finds every opportunity to chastise and punish her. Then she is sent away to Lowood (a religious boarding school), and despite its being founded on principles of extreme self-denial, Jane finds it a bright and welcome reprieve. There she meets Helen and Miss Temple, both of whom shape and nurture her in profound ways. When she reaches the age of eighteen, and Helen and Miss Temple are both gone, she realizes Lowood has nothing else to offer her, and she applies for a governess position at far away Thornfield Hall.

It is several months before Jane meets the master of the house, Mr. Rochester, and when she does, she is surprised with how easily she forms a friendship with him and how much she enjoys spending time in his company. But Thornfield is full of secrets, and when the floodgates suddenly burst open and Jane discovers all, everything she believes in is threatened, and she discovers just how strong she really is.

And now, I'm finding myself at a loss for what to say next. In the midst of my profound love for this book, my thoughts are reduced to, "Jane is awesome. Jane is awesome. Jane is awesome . . . ," but that does little to convey why I admire her character so much.

Actually, as much as I admire Jane, it's really Charlotte Brontë who holds my esteem. Wow. I cannot believe she wrote such a strong female character in the mid-19th-century. She lets us see Jane's most personal and poignant thoughts. She doesn't let Jane be bullied (and she gives us three very different examples of aggressive, controlling men--Mr. Brocklehurst, Mr. Rochester, and St. John). She makes Jane independent and kind, strong-willed and compliant. She creates, in my opinion, the ultimate feminist. (This article in the Huffington Post, shared at book club by my friend, Holli, lists the reasons for Jane's awesomeness much better than I ever could.)

For all that praise though, Jane is far from perfect. She has a temper, and she is wont to complain about the injustices she sees in her life. Because of this, she is not only a character we can respect and admire but also one we can relate to. Over time, she overcomes many of her childish tendencies and becomes the kind of person who can leave behind the love of her life (plus food, shelter, and other necessities) in order to hold fast to her strong moral convictions. Here are a few of my favorite quotes describing Jane's strength of character:

"I was experiencing an ordeal: a hand of fiery iron grasped my vitals. Terrible moment: full of struggle, blackness, burning! Not a human being that ever lived could wish to be loved better than I was loved; and him who thus loved me I absolutely worshipped: and I must renounce love and idol. One drear word comprised my intolerable duty - 'Depart!'"

When Mr. Rochester asks, "Is it better to drive a fellow-creature to despair than to transgress a mere human law, no man being injured by the breach?," this reply follows, "This was true: and while he spoke my very conscience and reason turned traitors against me, and charged me with crime in resisting him. They spoke almost as loud as Feeling: and that clamoured wildly. 'Oh, comply!' it said . . . 'Who in the world cares for you?' . . . Still indomitable was the reply: 'I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself. I will keep the law given by God; sanctioned by man. I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and not mad--as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there is not temptation: they are for such moments as this . . . "

"I felt veneration for St. John--veneration so strong that its impetus thrust me at once to the point I had so long shunned. I was tempted to cease struggling with him--to rush down the torrent of his will into the gulf of his existence, and there lose my own. I was almost as hard beset by him now as I had been once before, in a different way, by another. I was a fool both times. To have yielded then would have been an error of principle; to have yielded now would have been an error of judgment."

I'll try to resist quoting the rest of the book . . . but only with great difficulty.

I also think this book was far ahead of its time in expressing feelings of passion and love. As much as I love Jane Austen's novels, you have to admit that there's a lot of beating around the bush in them with pages and pages leading up to a two-sentence declaration of love.

Mr. Rochester shows no such restraint, and instead there are pages and pages where he expresses his extreme adoration of Jane, such as, "Jane, you look blooming, and smiling, and pretty . . . Is this my pale little elf? Is this my mustard-seed? This little sunny-faced girl with the dimpled cheek and rosy lips; the satin-smooth hazel hair, and the radiant hazel eyes?" (I love the line that Jane follows with: "I had green eyes, reader; but you must excuse the mistake; for him they were new-dyed, I suppose.")

Or this one: "No--no--Jane; you must not go. No--I have touched you, heard you, felt the comfort of your presence--the sweetness of your consolation: I cannot give up these joys. I have little left in myself--I must have you . . . My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame."

The fact that I'm sharing so many quotes is a testament to how much I loved this book. I feel compelled to save them somehow so that I can find them easily and quickly in the future.

When I read this book for the first time, it quickly climbed to the top of my list of favorites. It stayed there through the years, even as my memory of the plot faded, because of what I remember feeling when I read it. Reading it a second time did not lessen my love for it one whit. I've changed in the years that have passed. My life and circumstances have also changed. But Jane still inspires me. The mystery and passion of the plot still thrill me. And the ending still makes my heart swell with happiness. I think it's safe to say this book will remain a favorite for the rest of my life and that this will not be the last time I read it.

The Princess in Our Front Yard

We planted a tree last week. And a dream 10 years in the making came true for me.

Who knew such a little mite of a thing could fill me with such exhilaration and happiness?

I remember perfectly the first time I saw a flowering cherry tree. I was finishing up my second semester at BYU. Amid the stress of finals, the entire campus bloomed in a breathtaking display of color and fragrance. I honestly can't remember a spring before or since that has been quite as gorgeous to me (whether or not this had anything to do with the fact that I was also extremely twitterpated at the time, I really can't say).

I lived in the dorms at the time (grand ol' Deseret Towers, nicknamed Death Trap because of its unsound earthquake structure and consequently torn down a few years later). One evening I walked out of the Morris Center and stopped still in my tracks. There before me was a princess of unprecedented beauty. The blossoms were big and feathery. They looked like carnations.

 

I was enraptured, and I vowed right then and there that someday just such a tree would reign in my front yard.

Spring 2004 - With Beth, my dear friend (and roommate at the time)

The next spring, I married that boy I was so twitterpated with. After we graduated and moved to Salt Lake, I discovered that the art gallery across the street had a whole row of flowering cherry trees.

Spring 2011 - With 14-month-old Maxwell

Up until then, I still didn't know what kind of tree it was, but I noticed that a family from church had one in their front yard, and one Sunday I asked the mom what it was called. She told me "blossoming cherry," which I faithfully remembered, and it wasn't until very recently that I discovered this variety is actually called a kwanzan flowering cherry.

It would have been nice if the home we bought had already had a flowering cherry tree in its front yard (I'm pretty sure I would have considered it a sign that it was the right house for us). It didn't, but it had the next best thing: a front yard completely empty of trees, a perfect canvas for my dream.

Despite years of talking about this one specific tree, I think Mike was still surprised when we were tree shopping last week and I found a flowering cherry and insisted that we buy it right then and there.

Our biggest dilemma after that was just deciding where in the front yard it should go.

My awesome crew of tree planters

We finally settled on a spot close to the house. In a few years, I will be able to gaze out on its frothy pinkness while I do the dishes. I can't wait.

It probably sounds silly, but seeing that little tree just fills up my heart a little bit. It was such a teeny tiny dream, but it was something I thought about every spring. A year ago, I never thought that in just ten months time, we would own our own home, much less that I would be enjoying the baby blossoms of my baby tree. If such things can happen, what else is possible?