I just don't get it

What is the deal with facebook?


After months of prompting from my two oldest sons, I decided to join facebook. At first it was really cool . . .
. . . because about two days after I joined, my sister-in-law had her baby and so I got up-to-the-minute (well, almost) updates on the baby's arrival. That was really cool!

But everything else has been, for the most part, pretty darn boring. I suddenly have all these messages from "friends" that I only just barely (the barest of barely's) know. People who know my name from school, whose names I remember, but that I was never more than aquaintances with. But I am their "friend" now--like a new charm on their bracelet. And I've heard about all their daily stuff--from having to go to the doctor several times in a week (although I don't know why) to being so sick with a stomach bug that the bathroom can't stay clean, to how angry they are with their husband, to which type of dog they like the best. And not only that, but I get to hear from their friends too, through comments on their one-line posts.

Then there's all these quizzes (how sexy is your name), and games (food-fight!) that are, basically, phenomenal time-wasters. I already waste enough time on the computer without the help of facebook.

I do have to admit, I kind of like the "Kidnap" game. Mostly because I play that one with my family--my kids, my cousin, my in-laws. And I don't mind hearing from my relatives--kind of like it, in fact. But even from them you rarely get much information. I guess mostly you get to see that people are still alive.

The whole thing is only marginally interesting.

I suppose I am just too self-centered for facebook, because I find my life far more interesting than learning that the girl who moved out of my ward four years ago has been having diarrhea and throwing up all weekend.

Go figure.

Rub-a-Dub-Dub . . .

. . . FOUR girls in a tub!

Uh-oh! Sounds potentially bad, but this isn't that kind of website!

When I went to school at Utah State University I shared a dorm room with four other girls. We got along pretty well, on the whole.

One evening, when I was tired but not ready for bed, I announced that I would be taking a bath before bedtime (since the five of us shared the bathroom, the announcement really was necessary). Stacey said that she wanted a bath before she went to bed, and since she had an earlier class than I did the next morning, she should go first. We bantered back and forth a little, and somehow it evolved into: "Wouldn't it be funny if we all got in the bathtub together?" So Stacey, Jessi, Regina and I put on our swimsuits, put our hair up, grabbed some bubble-bath and hopped in; Lisa said she'd forego the bath and take our pictures.

Stacey, Me, Regina and Jessi

Well we didn't have enough bubble bath to make a good, foamy tub full of bubbles, so we started pouring in our shampoo. Then the dish-soap. Finally I remembered a big, family-size box of generic-brand laundry detergent that I'd just gotten. So we poured some in and it foamed up very nicely. During the next two hours we used up all of the detergent, except for maybe about four to five cups.

After our goofy photo session was done we drained the tub and then all took turns showering off. Ironically Stacey and I, who wanted the baths in the first place, ended up being the last to shower--first Stacey and then me. (I ended up going to bed past midnight.)

Oh dear! We both got a rash, and then had dry, itchy skin for weeks!

Moral of the story: Never take a bath in laundry detergent.

Needing a Change

Do you ever feel restless? Tired of the way your life is? Do you ever just really, really want a change? I've been feeling this way for a while. But I have gritted my teeth and been still about it out of love for my husband, who likes things the way they are.

Yes, I am getting tired of my hair.

Now, I like the curly-girl stuff. In fact I love my curly hair. But I think it's time for a new do. I've had my hair short, long, and in-between; curly, straightened, wavy; red, dark brown, blond highlights. This is what I do when I get restless--I change my hair.

So, here are the ghosts of hairstyles past:

And here are some things I think are cute:

I like this, but it might be too styled for my lazy hair habits.

This is kind of a "wild thing" look,
but I know my hair would do it.

I love the shape of this in the back, but how much work would it take to make my hair do this?

And I really like this one, and I think my hair would do it, too.

I have an appointment to get my hair done on September 30--Wendy is out of commission until then. But when I go, what should I do with my hair?

Cowardly?

"You have plenty of courage, I am sure," answered Oz. "All you need is confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is in facing danger when you are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty." - L. Frank Baum, "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz."


My question is not whether you do things that you are afraid to do. The question is this: "Do you do things--scary or not--if you don't already know, somehow, that you can do them?"

I have been called "brave" and even "amazing" because I demolished and rebuilt a room, or just because I removed and replaced a toilet without having ever done these things before. But I had seen my dad and brothers do these things; I could picture myself doing them and I knew I could do them. People are impressed that I sew or cook or play the piano well. But I know I can do these things; I'm not sure that it's so astounding for me to do them over and over again.

On the other hand, I don't play ball. I am afraid of objects flying at me; I am afraid of looking like a dork on the ball field. I can tell myself that playing ball isn't a matter of life and death, it's not essential to my salvation and so it doesn't really matter if I do it or not. (Of course, replacing the toilet is probably not essential to my salvation either--although slightly more necessary in the here and now). But really, I don't see myself playing ball. I don't want to. I don't know if I'd be good at it (actually, I really doubt that I would).

OK. It's not that I think playing ball is the ultimate test of how cool I am--this is just the first thing that came to mind.

But think of this question in any aspect of life--of doing or not doing. If you envision yourself doing something, does just that make you then be successful at it? Or would you really be just as clumsy at it, or afraid of it as you are now? And is it cowardly to not try . . . any thing?

Strangers in a Strange Land

We went to church in the Murfreesboro Ward the next day. When we walked in the door we were greeted by the bishop, "You must be the Norths." That was nice. Apparently word had gotten around that a new family from Utah, with two boys, was moving in and we were made to feel very welcome. It was a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, to see that the church was the same there as in Utah--even down to the song that we did sing with the choir that afternoon. (I found out later that a family of teenage girls in the ward were hoping our sons would be a little older. When she saw us, one of them leaned over and told her mom, "See. I told you they'd be babies.")

We had this family picture taken about three weeks
before we made the big move.

When the meeting was over Rob Fortney, a member of the ward, introduced himself to us. He said that as he sat in his pew, and saw Bruce and me holding our two boys and singing with the choir, he felt very strongly that he should invite us to live in his house while we waited for an apartment to open up to us. He also invited us to dinner that night. At church that afternoon, I hadn't realized that Rob did not consult with his wife Kim before inviting us to move into his house. But she told us, "When Rob told me he'd invited you to stay with us, I just thought, 'Emma and Joseph always had other people living in their own home, and cared for them.'" And there was no question of whether or not we could stay; they simply opened their home to us. We lived with them in their little, two-bedroom home for two weeks.

The next day Rob took Bruce to the school to get signed up for his classes, and he took him to a temporary-employment agency to get signed up on their list too. Kim was working, and while everyone was gone I put Jason in his stroller, took Michael, and walked over to a little strip-mall to look around. While we were there some man just walked right up to me and started complaining about the railroad or the train schedules or something like that. It was a little weird. We soon found out that people in the South are just like that. They will walk up to a total stranger and start up a conversation as if they'd known you forever.

And usually they were very kind and friendly. Southern Hospitality.

talking with our neighbor, J.J, at the Tremont apartments

When we got into our apartment we tried getting a new fish. In fact, we tried ten times; Michael came up with names for ten goldfish and they all died one way or another. With one of them we learned that there is so much natural chlorine in Murfreesboro's water that it would kill a fish. But mostly they all jumped out of their bowl--the last of them disappearing under a chair and dying there. (I get up in the morning, check out the fish bowl and holler, "Where is Jabba-the-Hutt?!") After ten fish, we gave up.

We spent nine months in that apartment (long enough to have Lindsey), and then bought a trailer-home when our lease was up. The trailer plus the rental of the lot (in the nicest park in town) cost us the same as our apartment rent did. But we had the bonus of a place for our kids to run around and play. The trailer looked like an old tin-can on the outside, but it was cute and comfortable inside.

Lindsey and me; our tin-can house is in the right-hand corner behind us

People in the south were astonished at "how many" children we had. When I had two little boys and was pregnant again it was excusable, "Ohhh! You've got ta get your gir-el." But when I had two boys and a girl and was pregnant again, I got some pretty strange looks. And when I had four children with me, in the flesh, I got lots of double-takes and, "Surely those are not all your children!" And there was even one little girl in a grocery store who was so amazed, that she counted my kids over and over again and announced to anyone who could hear that "she has four children! Count 'em! One - two - three - four! Four kids!"

We were right, smack in the Bible Belt. Religion was on billboards everywhere, from the church that announced "Over 816 Saved" (and changed their count weekly), to "Smile if you love Jesus" on the Salvation Army marquee, to "God's Love Served Daily" at a diner in town. A common conversation-starter would be to ask, "What's your home-church?"
One day I was at the Wal-Mart cafeteria with Michael and Jason and two nice little old ladies sat at the table next to us. Michael was flirting with them (he was three) and one of them said to him, "Whay-er did you get those beautiful, brown eyes?" She was tickled when Michael said, "Jesus made them." She beamed and said, "Yes, that's right," to him, and to me, "You are teachin' him right." If only she knew I was a Mormon!
A few years later I was at the grocery store with my four children, and I came across this very friendly woman who complimented me on my beautiful family. I ran into her again a little later, and then a third time, when she asked me if I had a home church. I told her I did; The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. She wasn't familiar with that one, and asked where it was. I told her where the church was, but that still didn't ring any bells. Finally I told her I was a Mormon. And suddenly she didn't know what to say to me. I'm sure I sprouted horns right in front of her face. When I saw her again in another aisle of the store, she didn't know what to say to me. I wonder if she thought I was teachin' them right?

Then there was the delightful southern accent. After a few weeks in Tennessee a member of the Relief Society asked me how I was adjusting. I said I was still getting used to the accent, then I realized that in the south I was the one with the accent! I soon found out that a grocery cart was called a "buggy," while the thing you push your baby around in is a "cart." And you really do refer to a person or a group of people as "Y'all," or even "All y'all." We also got called "Yankees" a few times (but only as a joke).

a rainy day in Tennessee

It rains and rains and rains in Tennessee--which is why it might really be the "greenest state in the land of the free." But it is so hot and so humid there that rain was a real relief. And the rain in Tennessee wasn't freezing cold like it usually is in Utah; you could go out and play in it all day. Well, we Utahns did; I had a little boy come and tattle to me once, that Michael had been playing out in the rain and he was going to catch a "hay -ed" cold. He was a little shocked when I told him that I knew Michael was playing in the rain and it was OK. The warm, humid climate was probably why there were so many bugs there as well. Yuck!

Halloween--one of these pizza guys is not in a costume. Or is he?

Almost as soon as we got to Murfreesboro I started writing and writing and writing letters home. I've never done well away from home, and I so needed contact with my family. I lived for letters from home, but didn't get many. Finally we just learned to live with astronomical phone bills, since I called my sister or my mom two to four times a week. Bruce went to school full-time and then delivered pizzas all hours of the night to earn a living for us. I was so lonely and so scared at first that I called the airlines in tears almost every night for the first few months to see what it would cost to go home. I knew that if I just took off Bruce would follow me back; but I also knew I would never do that, and that we would get through this.

And we did. It got a little easier--thanks to the calls home, the great people in our ward, and the hope of graduation coming up. I know a lot of really difficult and even bad things happened to us while we were there, but mostly I don't remember them.
No.
I do remember them, if I think about them I can even still feel them; but they are not foremost in my mind. I remember, but I don't often think of them.

And now here we are. Back in the mountain desert of Utah, with eight kids (count 'em--eight!) Was it an experience for our good? I think so. When I think of being in Tennessee, I mostly remember our friends there, and the struggle to get through school, and graduation. So much of it was so new and so strange. I can honestly say it was hard; even in looking back the difficulty of it hasn't diminished.
But it was good, too. It's good.