A Decision Made With His Aide

*Ha ha. I just realized my title rhymes.

I enjoy taking Malia to her dance class every Saturday morning for two reasons: the obvious, being that I love watching my adorable daughter run around in a tutu. The other is the fact that I get to enjoy adult conversation with the other moms. These women, although, come to think of it, I probably don't know any of their last names, have become a welcome social aspect of my week. We come from all different walks of life. Of the 5 of us who generally dominate the conversation, 2 of us are Caucasian, 1 is Hispanic, 1 is African American, and the other is Indian. 3 of them attend a popular Christian Church in the area. The other is an ex-Hindu who now claims to be agnostic. And I, of course, am LDS.

Aside from that, the other thing that I am also alone in is being a stay-at-home mom.

We talk about this a lot. Aside from "the agnostic" who absolutely loves her job, we all want to stay home with our kids, but I am the only one who claims to be able to make it work financially. ("making it work" is obviously a subjective perspective, of course).

A few weeks ago, we were talking about our career paths, and when it came to my "back story," the women seemed a little skeptical. I could sense they weren't quite sure a person would choose staying home over understudying the lead in a hit Broadway show in L.A. It also didn't help that I weigh (fill-in-the-blank) lbs. more now than I did at the peak of my performing age. And it also doesn't help that you're lucky if I even get out with any chap stick on, more or less, looking anything glamorous, to say the least.

People with talent... I should say, people with the talent to perform (everyone has talent of some kind), generally look a certain way, I've found. They usually keep up with the fashion trends; stay in good shape; overall, they keep their outward appearances appealing to the eye of a possible audience. Needless to say, on my average day, I just don't look the part.

But that's not the point of all of this (someday I will learn to mince less words... no I won't. Who am I kidding)?!

Last week, after a month of their prodding, I finally sang for them a small little ditty. And yes, it does feel weird to sing in intimate settings in front of a small group of friends. I much prefer a stage in front of thousands... that's normal, I promise.

They sat quietly for a minute and then one of them said, "Wow. I didn't expect you to be that good."

I was embarrassed, but pleasantly flattered.

Then another said, "Seriously. Why aren't you out there trying to get rich and famous? Your kids will understand someday. You don't want to sacrifice all that. I'm sure there's a way you can do both. "

I told them I knew I was doing what was best for my girls and that I was in the right place for me right now.

But, let me tell you - as often as I feel a little bummed once in a while about the supposed "sacrifice" I'm making to be home with my girls, I am grateful 1,000,000,000,000 times over that I have been blessed with the peace of mind knowing I am doing what's right for my babies. I don't credit myself with that... I don't profess to be some awesome woman who is totally at peace with her decisions. Not at all.

I credit God entirely. It's almost as if He has given some sort of shield to my heart so that, at those moments when certain questions arise again and again (as they always do), I am always overwhelmed with the peace I feel for making the decisions I've made up to this point. I thank God He has blessed me with that, because there ain't no way I'd be able to trudge through this without His calming influence.

Thanks for that , God.

Oh, and P.S. Thanks for these guys.

Didn't We Say "We Would Never Forget?"

I heard someone say recently, that "today is the last day I'll discuss, commiserate, or otherwise mourn the events of 9/11. Seven years is long enough." While I agree that it has been some time, and that moping and mourning about a tragedy does us no good after a certain period of time has passed, but who decides that length of time? And it's different for everyone. Obviously, as I was in a different country during the events of that day, I felt strangely disconnected and wanted desperately to find a way to connect to everyone who was here. There are others (i.e. my Japanese employers) who thought of it as "just another day. Get to work." And then there are those (family members, coworkers, and friends of those lost, public servants) who I think will never forget... and probably don't want to.

But he was somewhat right. I do not want to dwell on the events of the past. I've been trying to develop a better ability to avoid hindsight, for hindsight is always 20/20 vision and can often depress me. However, there is no harm in using the past to learn things. And so, I would like to post an e-mail I sent out 4 years ago on this day. I learned something about myself that day that was a valuable lesson to me. And it's a lesson I am still working on perfecting in my life.

Subject: Lest We Should Forget

September 11th : 3 years later

I didn't even realize that today was going to mark three years since a tremendous tragedy, until yesterday, and that made me feel so ashamed.

I think back to 3 years ago and the pain, loss and tragedy that happened in our country. I think back to 2 years ago and the prayers and remembrances. And even last year, there was a beautiful memorial, telecast all day long. Yesterday I wrote the date on the top of my notes for class: 10 Sept 2004... and that was the first time I realized what day it was soon going to
be.

I was so embarrassed when I realized that I called myself a patriot, and had almost forgotten the day that caused me to turn to that portion of my heart. I felt selfish as I watched a report on the children in Beslan, Russia... over 300... dead.... and hardly anyone seems to care.

I wonder if patriotism can extend beyond a love for our country and become a love for all mankind. I found myself wanting to tell the Russian man featured on a small, seemingly insignificant, CNN report, who had lost his three children and his wife recently in the explosion of a school that it will be okay. "I'm sure you think it will," he might say. "When it happened to you, everyone actually cared."

In remembrance of what happened to us, let's pull outside of ourselves... just this once. Yes, a terrible thing happened to us, and we wailed and gnashed our teeth. Why, when it happens to others, do we not expect ourselves to care the way we expected to be cared about?

Just a thought...

God bless America.... God bless all mankind. God bless us to use His blessing to serve our brothers and sisters everywhere.

That is my prayer on this day : 3 years later. Find a new meaning to patriotism.

And today? I reiterate...

Tagged

Here are the rules:
1. Link to the person who tagged you. (Mindy)
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
5. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

*I have a sometimes immobilizing fear of the dark. It didn't show up until I was about 11 years old when my sister came home from a Young Women's Mutual Activity and proceeded to tell me a story that the YW President had told the girls about an experience with... not nice things... at night. I'm not afraid of murderers, rapists, burglars, etc. But I have literally become paralyzed at times with fear when I allow my imagination to wander into other-worldly evilness. Even still, if it's nighttime and I am up by myself, I will run up the stairs in an alarmingly explosive rate and, no matter how hot it is, I must have some sort of covers up to my chin... as if that'll protect me. Becoming a mommy helped a little as I've become more capable of fearlessly traversing dark hallways to check on my child... but when given just a second to think about other things, I freak out like a psychopath.

*I can be either really efficient or really lazy. I have no middle ground. I have been known to get going on things and not stop to the point of being almost OCD. Or, if I feel like putting things off, I will accomplish absolutely nothing. Example: a couple of days ago I was looking at the future nursery of baby #2 and decided to start doing some organizing. I ended up doing chores around the house for a good 3 hours straight after that and my poor little pregnant body has been suffering ever since. Today? Stared at the computer looking at nothing specific for the entirety of Malia's nap, even though laundry & dishes could use some doing. Baffling.

*From age, oh, probably about 10 until I moved out at 18, I put mini-musicals on in the privacy of my bedroom. I would, literally, rummage through my closet for costumes and actually go through the process of styling my hair and make-up to look like the character and then I would blast a Broadway CD, and lip-sync (yes - even though I sing, I actually lip-synced... hey! I didn't want anyone to know what I was doing)! Sometimes my sisters would walk in on me and laugh. I actually did CATS once... with full-on make-up. I actually brought myself to tears a few times while putting on "Ragtime." I would do the same with my Barbies. My sister Cindy laughs when I tell her how I used to get nervous that she would come in while my nightie-bedecked Barbie sang "Lost & Found" from the musical "City of Angels." Good times.

*I can actually be painfully shy. I swear. Most people have erased any possible memory of me as such because of following experiences of me without seemingly any inhibitions... but if people could truly, actually remember our first encounters, they'd probably realize this is a complete truth. I make David introduce me more frequently than I am willing to do so myself. Honest.

*Sometimes I worry more about whether or not Malia will have a uni-brow or be somewhat obese or have terrible acne than I do about whether or not she will live a gospel-centered life. I don't know why that is. Maybe because I have a false confidence that I will have more control over her agency than her looks? Maybe because I never personally struggled in the testimony department but always felt lacking in the looks department? I'm assuming these fears will shift when she is older and I am forced more so to face them.

*I desperately crave chocolate more on Sundays than any other day. No lie. I think it's because I find that we never seem to have any in the house on Sundays, and darn it! I can't go buy any!

I tag:
Tina
Celeste
Laurel
Jean
Abby
Chrissy

When Trials Become Blessings

Last night, I received a phone call from a newspaper reporter from my podunk hometown. Apparently, 3 of the 15 finalists for this "Wannabe Wicked" competition I'm doing are all from Apple Valley (where I grew up). The other 2 girls still live there. As he was asking me how I got involved in the competition, I was reminded once again of my experience with the show 2 years ago, when I was called back for Elphaba multiple times and found myself turning down any possible "opportunity" for the sake of being a mom to my wonderful Malia.

Some moms probably could've done both.

I am not one of those moms. Here's why -

Colic.

Colic. Colic. Colic.

Malia has been a joy to my life for 2 years now. But... she's 2 and a 1/2. There is a 1/2 a year of her life, at the beginning, where "joy" was the last thing I would've used to describe her. Harsh? Yeah - I know. But until/unless you've been there, you can't really understand.

But this post isn't about how hard colic made my life. I mean, I've dragged that through the mud and back... a few times. Besides, I don't think I need to talk about how crazy it was when pictures can be worth a thousand words:




Ah, the memories...

Last night as I was laying in bed, wide awake due to a wonderful head cold I've recently come down with and baby kicking me like Jackie Chan (so I had some chocolate... so what?) I was thinking back on how well Heavenly Father knows us. His allowing me to go through colic for as long as it was and as severe as Malia's case truly was, well, let's just say He knew exactly what I'd be learning from it.

I've decided to share the amazing blessings that came from the most tramautizing period of my life:

*I learned selflessness. My life was no longer about me. Of course, all mothers learn this lesson fairly quickly... but I think I was given the AP night school accelerated version of the class. All I wanted was to figure out how to improve Malia's life. My life was no longer a priority.

*David & I learned humility. It's amazing the horrendous things you are willing to say to someone you love when you have to do it at 3 in the morning in a voice loud enough to be heard over blood-curdling infant cries. We said sorry to each other... a lot.

*Being willing to apologize to a child. The multiple times I found myself apologizing to Malia for "letting her cry" and for looking at her with disdain and for desiring to physically do things (which I never did, mind you) were very enlightening to me as a parent. I hope I hold onto that perspective as she gets older. I want to be the kind of parent who is willing to step down from my place in order to say I'm sorry when it's necessary. I think children deserve that kind of honesty & humilty from a parent.

*Repentance. To this day I am still apologizing to God for the things I said to him in the wee hours of the night in my deepest, darkest anguish. But, the plus-side is... I think all the practice is making me good at it.

*Understanding what my purpose is. I had every intention of being a Broadway star. Even after Malia was born, I've pursued things briefly here & there. But I am always brought back to "ground zero," which is my little family. No amount of applause or fame could possibly compare to the fulfillment of being needed by my husband and child. There are days I lose that perspective, but I'll be darned if I don't always know it somewhere in the depths of my soul. It is so much better. I don't see it as a sacrifice at all... because I definitely have the better end of the deal. I am a wife & mother. Best. jobs. ever.

*I had to learn to take help. At this point, I want to give a shout-out to the most awesome ladies of the BEST ward in the UNIVERSE... Relief Society ladies of BYU 148th Wymount Ward 2005!!! Can I just say, they took my bitter rantings like a grain of salt. PLUS - they passed around a paper every week where they would sign up to take Malia for one hour every day so that I could find some semblance of peace in my life. I'm touched by it even just thinking about it, now. Those phenomenal sisters looked past my rugged, stubborn exterior and saw a desperate woman in need... a woman who is terrible at allowing people to help her do anything. I've always been far too independent for my own good. They wouldn't take no for an answer. Same time every day, a new sister would show up at my door and whisk the screaming child away. An hour later, they'd bring her back, Malia screaming at the top of her lungs, and the looks of pure apology on their faces were priceless. But they gave me a chance to miss my daughter. That one hour a day, I was given a chance to realize I did actually love her.

God really does know us...

Guilty Confessions

Ok, so there are a few things in my life that I really think I should probably work on a little. These aren't spiritual sins or legal matters (those are personal) :). They're more "silly," so I figured that my blog might be a good way to get them out into the universe so that maybe I would begin to find the willpower to change these things.

*Washing Towels
I really should be better about this. I am pretty sure my mom washed towels at least once a week when I was a kid. But, for some reason, I don't even think about it until a good 2-3 weeks go by and they start to smell funny. I know that sounds absolutely disgusting, and my home is fairly clean... fairly. AND, we have our OWN washer & dryer which I picked out myself and absolutely LOVE. But me and washing towels just hardly ever happens. Well, me & laundry in general. I just don't love doing it. I need to work on that.

*Target
This store is the bane of my existence. I can NOT go into this place without buying something. We have one just kitty-corner from our home and it is a big problem. Sometimes, when I'm trying to think of something to do to entertain Malia, we decide to take a walk... to Target. We're supposed to be on a budget here! But I can't exit the store without purchasing, at the very least, a pack of gum. And even though the merchandise probably stays the same weeks at a time, I still find myself strolling through the home decor and clothing aisles at least once a week. Must stop.

*Do we put Malia in commercials?
Ok, this isn't really a confession so much as a thought. David and I have been amazed since the day Malia was born at how many compliments the child gets on her looks alone. Who knew?! Not only that, but she also has more than enough personality to boot. She is an absolute ham (no clue where she got that...). She will say literally any phrase I tell her to say. She makes faces that associate with 1/2 a dozen emotions on cue. (I'll post pix later). We sometimes talk about putting her in commercials. But we never really get around to the first step. Plus, do I really want one of "those" kids?

*Speaking of Malia...
... she's onto me. I don't know what it is, but whenever I leave the room to shower or do a load of laundry or clean something up, she is content doing whatever I left her to do. But if I am naughty and decide to go browse the Internet for no-good-reason or go into the kitchen to sneak a snack or turn the TV on downstairs to get a peek at whatever trash is currently on, she desperately starts calling for me. She knows when I'm indulging into something I probably shouldn't, no matter how silently I do it. This is a guilty confession because I guess I shouldn't be doing those things... and she's my little Jiminy Cricket.

*Trashy Reality TV
I. am. addicted. And the trashier, the better. All of those disgusting "Celebrity Dating shows" on VH1 & MTV (Flavor of Love, Rock of Love, I Love New York, etc.)? Yep. Seen 'em all. All seasons. Could probably name all the winners. Sad.

*Making OCD lists
I am such a list maker. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. What's bad is that I NEVER actually use them! When I am preparing for something that overwhelms me a little, I sit down and make lists to calm me down and get myself organized. And then I never refer to it! Then I will run across the stupid thing a few days later and think, "Hm. I should've used this." Lame.

Ok, this next one is more a fear, and not really a confession, but I have to get it off my chest.

*I am scared out of my mind for this second baby!
I know the reason,too. Malia's colic was so severe and lasted for so painfully long and caused me so much heartache and spiritual depression that I have no concept of what it's like to actually enjoy a newborn. I know the odds that this one won't have colic are pretty good, and I obviously know what to do otherwise. But my brain has no understanding or concept of what a "normal" 1-6 month old is like. I know them as constantly screaming, never sleeping, nursing poorly, and driving me insane... quite literally. I'm just afraid to do that again, all while trying to raise a 3-year-old at the same time. AND David is working now, whereas, with Malia, he was in school, and I could call him home whenever I was feeling homicidal. I'm just nervous. I'm not great with the unexpected these days. I used to be a much more exciting and spontaneous person. *sigh*

Ok... that's it for now. Ahhhhh... my chest feels not near as heavy...

... not really. Now that you all truly know my foibles and fears, I feel even more overwhelmed because I am now acountable. LOL. How ironic.

A Postive Perspective

On this eve of Mother's Day (ha! Listen to me all trying to wax poetic).... I had some thoughts as I was lying (laying?) next to my daughter at bedtime, while Daddy read "Yertle the Turtle." (sidenote: when Daddy plays Yertle, he sounds a lot like Walter Mathou).

ANYWAY -

I was thinking about how us stay-at-home moms often feel we have to validate our jobs by reminding people of the numerous sacrifices we make, the unglamourous tediousness of it all, and the dozens of shoes we have to fill. We talk about how proud we are to be the mother's of our children... yet, all we can come up with is this lame and pessimistic perspective when defending our place in society.

So, for Mother's Day, I'm going to address all the totally awesome things I experience due to my "sacrifice" of being a stay-at-home. (I quote sacrifice, because, in conjunction with the theme of this blog, I'm approaching it with a positive twist).

BEING A STAY-AT-HOME MOM IS WAY AWESOMER THAN YOUR JOB BECAUSE:

*I'm the boss. I report to no one. Everyone in my house reports to me... well, everyone under 3 feet tall.

*Everything goes where I want it. I am not subject to anyone's organizational standards but my own.

*I don't have to "get ready" for work. I will not be fired because of a lack of work-appropriate attire, make-up, groomed hair.... or showering.

*My lunch break is all the time. I'm hungry? I want to sit down and veg for a minute? Go right ahead.

*Field trips are not only allowed... they're required. And they are often at Disneyland.

*I talk about poop & pee whenever I want and no one shushes me or asks me to watch my behavior.

*I can listen to whatever music I want, whenever I want.

*Running in circles and tickle fights are a daily occurrence.

*Talking to yourself shows brilliance, not insanity.

*I don't have to count on other people to flub on the tasks being done. I do them all myself, which means they get done the way they should.

*I never miss out on the hilarious antics and quotes that Malia produces at an alarmingly productive rate. The kid is pure comedy.

*I get more hugs in one day than any white-collar worker would get in a lifetime... and I usually don't even have to ask.

*When I'm having a bad day and need to cry, I don't have to go hide in a bathroom stall. I just cry. And then Malia asks, "Kiss it better?" And she does. And it works.

*I get to witness the miraculous speed at which a young toddler learns things and absorbs new information. It is truly a miracle.

Ok, so I'm running out of things... not because they don't exist, but because I'm pooped and a little brain dead from all the glorious things I get to do every day. But the most important thing in the whole wide world about my job that I know only Mommies know about:

*I am Malia's most favoritest person in the whole world. And even though I am constantly reminded "that will change," I don't care. Because right now I am. And it RULES!

Singing in the Shower

Ok.... so this may sound really strange, but I've never sung in the shower.

I've heard about it in various sitcoms, comedy acts, popular culture, etc. I've even had friends tell me about experiences they themselves have had while putting on recitals in the acoustical perfection of their bathrooms. But I've never done it.

Here's the thing: I grew up in a musical family. For anyone who knows us, that may seem like a bit of an understatement. My parents are both singers/musicians who put very possible successful careers on the backburner. They had 5 children, ALL of which sing and play a musical instrument... and ALL of which are quite good at it. When it comes to music, there is not an ounce of mediocrity in a single member of my immediate family. We even had a band that performed on all of the major holidays as well as at state & county fairs, local store grand openings, Church functions, and an occasional TV spot. This isn't a joke. We were like the Partridge Family (even better, in my opinion) and we're actually related. We even got paid for these "gigs" (imagine a 7-year-old turning down a birthday party because she had a "gig" with her family... I swear, it's true). Us kids never saw the money, but I'm told it was there.

I'm not just bragging. In fact, in some cases, quite the opposite. I mean, envision your typical sibling rivalries enhanced even more so by the fact that you all share the same talents and are all striving for success in the same area, which isn't going to happen, since we all know the business of the arts is more like a lottery then a true judgement of your ability.

Thus, why I never sang in the shower. When you have to hear your siblings sing and make a general musical ruckus all day long, a moment of peace & quiet in the shower was hard to come by... and very welcomed. Not to mention, I have no doubt I would have been royally mocked... especially if I was making an attempt to actually sing well in the shower. That's just the kind of loving family I have.

Admittedly, I've done a vocal warm-up here & there when I have somewhere to sing in the morning and time is limited. But no actual "singing."

Until today.

And let me tell you. The experience & acoustics are not over-rated.

I was awesome!

Abandonment

This is my Easter blog. I know the title leads you to think, “Are you kidding me?! How morbid is that?!” But, trust me; it’s just a means to an end….

Now, this is going to get kind of deep, so if any of you hate spiritual topics or have a tendency to depress easily or just think I’m always too long-winded (which is quite possibly true) - I’d stop reading now. For the rest of you, carry on.

What does the Atonement mean to me?

Well – the answer to this question has changed at different points in my life. But I want to talk about what it has meant since Malia was born. Most of you are aware (because I talk about it too much) that Malia had colic for the first 6 months of her life. Ok. Wait. She didn’t just have colic. She had severe colic. The kind of colic that had the pediatrician patting me on the head and hugging me whenever we visited. The “screaming-24-7-never-sleeps-more-then-1/2-an-hour-even-at-night-won’t-somebody-muzzle-this-child” kind of colic.

Now, I am the first to admit, at the very least, she was an otherwise healthy, gorgeous child. Other then a brief bout with jaundice at the start, she was perfection. She had all her extremities, senses, and never spent a single night in the NICU. However, lest those who’ve experienced even 5 minutes of colic will disagree, I will say… it was THE hardest period in my life.

As proof of that superlative, I am now going to expose one of the weakest moments in my life. This is an excerpt of a journal entry from when Malia was about 4 months old (it has actually even been edited to protect me from, well, myself):

“I’m at the end of my rope. I haven’t slept in so long. I’ll be honest. I feel as if God has completely abandoned me... I have tried over and over again to practice faith in Him. I am doing everything on my own that I possibly can to help my child – and begging and pleading for Him to fill in the holes. But He refuses. I don’t know why. I am in so much emotional pain and my spirit has never been this weak… ever! ... Why does God just sit back?! I have been told a ridiculous number of times that I should trust my intuition, i.e., God’s inspiration, but I have none!"

What does this have to do with Easter?

When Jesus Christ walked on this earth, He knew things. What I mean is that the veil was so thin, if not even completely gone, for Him. However - there was one time He didn’t have that access… and it was the time He needed it the most. In Gethsemane, He suffered, He sobbed, and He was wracked with pain. You tell me that if there wasn’t one time the Savior desperately needed His Father, it was then. The irony? It was the one time Heavenly Father had to leave Him to Himself. But did the Savior ever accuse the Lord of abandoning Him? No. Of course not. The answer to that is obvious, right? So why is it we, having to suffer only a fraction of that, subject the Lord to such complaints and accusations when life is hard?

Now, we are only human, and I’ve had to remind myself many times since those dark nights, that I am imperfect. In dealing with the repentance process over some of the things I said to the Lord in those trying times, I have had to teach myself to be a little kinder to me…. to realize the Lord knows I was very tired and… well, very tired.

But now I want to speak as the parent, and no longer as the child. Instead of seeing God as my Father and feeling as if I’m a disobedient daughter, I want to talk about Him as a parent and what I can learn about Him now that I’m a parent. Malia is only 2, but I have already experienced those moments when I need to step back and let her make choices and grow and experience.

When she did have colic, the hardest part wasn’t the screaming itself… it was the fact that I could do absolutely. nothing. about it.

How hard must it’ve been when the Savior asked His Father to let the cup pass? And the Father had to sit back and allow things to happen to His own Son that we can’t even imagine? How hard was it for the Savior, who must’ve felt so abandoned? But, even more so, how hard must it have been for the Father to have to watch, in silence?

This Easter, remember all your blessings, and when trials arise, acknowledge that the Savior's death and resurrection are a perfect example of how He can empathize with those feelings. Remember that the Father is not abandoning you. He wants nothing more then to come to you, kiss it better, and send you on your merry way. However, He knows what’s best. He knows that suffering is a part of it. For as He watches you, He suffers too.

Be grateful He knows better.

This is what happens when I think alot

Just thought I would share this little short story I wrote the other day when Malia was sleeping and I was dwelling on my decision to not pursue "the performing thing" for now. I thought many of you would appreciate the perspective... and probably empathize:

THE AUDITION

“I’ve never been so nervous…” I stuttered to the stranger in the chair next to me. I let out an awkward chuckle, wringing my hands. He gave me a polite smile.

“… and sweaty,” I added. Again, a polite smile; but this time, he scooted over.

I decided at that moment that any conversation was going to perpetuate my anxiety and decided to focus simply on making sure that my pieces were memorized. No use ruining my chances before even having the opportunity to be seen. I was doing a comedic monologue -typical for me - filled with sarcasm and slapstick. It seemed to me that was the best way to go. Distract them from any possible mistakes by using my gift for dry wit, goofy faces, and over-the-top antics, I reminded myself. My song was a more dramatic piece, and I could usually overcome any lack of effective emotion by sheer volume.

I looked around the room. There were a lot of girls who looked a lot like me which was interesting. I was so used to being surrounded by the supermodel types for these things. However, the ones here were not stunning, by any means. But they had that quiet beauty. The kind you see in girls who are good-looking enough to make it in the door initially, but then have to compensate for anything they may be lacking with oodles of talent.

“My kind of girls,” I laughed to myself.

My neighbor looked over and laughed. Oops, I hadn’t realized I’d said that out loud.

“I’m nervous too,” he offered. “Not every day you have to go through this big of an audition.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, grateful for the interaction. “And not every day the payoff is so important.”

“Seriously.”

He had a warm smile. I gave a thankful smile back. That was something that was so different about this audition. No cold, jealous stares. No sharing of resumés, trying to one-up each other. Just genuine, good people who were all as nervous as I was.

A name was called.

My new friend stood. “Well. That’s me. Wish me luck?”

“Good luck… er, break a leg? Well, either way, I wish you the best.”

“Pray for me?”

I laughed… but then I realized that was the best I really could do for him.

“I promise.”

I watched him walk into the room, and felt myself get nervous for him. Ugh, I can’t do this. I’m nervous enough for myself! It got really difficult at that point. I felt very alone all of the sudden, and as I rehearsed in my head to pass the time, the lyrics to the song I was going to be singing started getting jumbled, which was weird, because I had it down cold. Come on. You know this. You’ve been preparing for this for a really long time. You’ve got the talent; you just have to be sure you have the confidence.

After what felt like forever, my name was called. I stood up, very nervous. The others in the room smiled and gave me reassuring nods. I breathed in and out, and handed my resumé to the man at the door.

“You don’t need that.”

“Right. Of course.”

When I walked into the room, to my surprise (and relief) my nerves completely vanished. I was overcome with peace. I felt… home.

I stood on my mark and removed my glasses, which had become a habit. I couldn’t see him at the other side of the room, but I could sense he was there. Darn it. Why couldn’t I just ever invest in some contacts?

I gave a big cheesy grin, a typical default icebreaker for me. My cue was played, and I began to belt it out. A fairly flawless performance, I began to feel my confidence coming back, and I finished with precise execution. He seemed impressed and I could feel him nod in approval. The monologue didn’t go so bad either. He even laughed a little, as if he understood me and my quirky sense of humor.

When I was done, he spoke gently. “You are very talented.”

I blushed. “Thank you. Or should I say thank you?”

Then, in a more firm but, somehow, still very gentle voice he asked, “What exactly did you do with all of that talent?”

Here was the hard part.

To my surprise, I started to choke up, not sure if it was nerves or simply the overwhelming importance of the question. I was very afraid my answer wouldn’t be enough. Oh well. Nothing I can do about it now. Here goes…

“Well, a lot, I think. At least, I tried to. I mean, I was by no means a celebrity. And it was hard not to pursue that kind of life. It looked so glamorous and seemed so… in my reach. But, I did play the piano for Church whenever I was asked to. I even volunteered at times they were too afraid to ask. I sang in the choir. I served faithfully in the Primary when called, and even as a substitute. I sometimes choreographed little numbers for the Young Women. I sang in Sacrament Meeting frequently and tried to do so only with the Spirit in my heart. I spent hours and hours at the piano, teaching my children to love music. They do… I think. I mean, it really wasn’t a lot. I didn’t ever really feel completely fulfilled. I always wanted more, but tried to stifle that feeling by serving my family and my friends, and always worried it wasn’t enough; that I could’ve been something more…”

He came closer, and despite my tears, I could see his face, very clearly. At that moment, the fear that I wouldn’t recognize him, or that he wouldn’t know me, vanished. He embraced me, and kissed my head.

“It was enough.”

I hugged Him tight.

“Well done, my daughter,” He said, and with a kind smile, He added, “You’ve earned the part.”

RE: "The Audition"

I decided not to go.

So many of you were incredibly encouraging and there was even the occasional ego boost (thanks for that). Up until Sunday morning, which was the day of the audition, I still had no idea what I was going to do. I was even trying to figure out how to schedule in signing in, then driving back for Church, then putting Malia down for a nap and preparing & popping food in the fridge for David & Malia for dinner, and then heading back, hoping by then they'd be through with Equity auditions and starting in on Non-Equity.

Here's the beauty of Sundays:

Going to Church, I sat through a fairly average testimony meeting. However, amid the droning on of "story-monies" & "lecture-monies," there was a certain girl; someone I didn't know (we've only been in the ward for 2 months... gimme a break). She bore her testimony about the blessing the Church has been in her life as a member (she's just shy of a year... a convert at age 19). That is something those of us who've been members all our life take for granted. I mean, I have never been without the gospel. My "rebellious" phase consisted of a 2 month period during a summer where I watched a few R-rated movies and said a couple of swear words beyond my normal few... scandalous, I know. But it wasn't even her appreciation of the Gospel so much as it was her simple attitude of gratitude in general.

I am grateful God has given me the talents that I have. And I am even more grateful I receive the occasional validation of those talents. But the brief happiness I get from praise, applause, and the rare monetary compensation is nothing compared to the quiet joy I feel when Malia says, "Miss you" when I was only gone for 45 seconds to use the bathroom. Or those moments when Malia is in bed and I bring out chocolate chip cookies for David and he gives me the first real smile I've seen since he came home from a grueling work day.

A simple attitude of gratitude... especially for the simple things in life.

I am, by no means, ever going to be a "star." I have to accept this, graciously... and be okay with this. And count my multitude of other blessings. Yes, admittedly, that "what if" will be lingering, probably for the rest of my life. And in another year or two, I'll face the same dilemma, over and over again. But, ultimately, it's about perspective. And I know Heavenly Father couldn't care less if I ever pursued my professional performing dreams again. But He will care big time if I was there the night Malia had the flu and needed her Mommy more then anything. Or the night that David comes home after one of those days when he's just had it, and needs his companion to buoy him up. If my nights were, instead, filled with adoring fans and adulating applause, then the people who I'm most important to would lose out... just so I could have a few months of "what I want."

I don't want that.

Admittedly, I'll probably be looking for another opportunity like this in a year or so, but at least now I have this blog to refer back to & remind myself. Hopefully it will suffice enough to succor the craving.

...PLUS, David & I were just extended a calling that would kill David off if I wasn't going to be there 100% to perform it with him...

I'm aware that it's ultimately my decision...

... but I always like to get advice from the fam & friends, 'cause lots of times you're just smarter then me.

Most of you know (in fact, with my blabber mouth, it'll be a miracle if any of you DON'T), that I got really close to being offered my dream job/role a little over a year ago. But for those of you who haven't heard about it (again, that would be miraculous), it's STORY TIME!


On a whim, after driving for 3 hours through paralyzed traffic on the 101 in the heart of L.A., a drive that usually only took 1/2 an hour from my house, with a restless 10-month-old fussing in her carseat, I auditioned for what was going to be a brand new production of "Wicked" opening in L.A. I simply walked into the audition, exhausted and irritated... and it didn't help that I could hear my child, who was dealing with severe separation anxiety after the move to California, screaming outside while my sister tried to soothe her. I was in a terrible frame of mind and expected nothing more from the audition then a fun little experience. I sang my piece, and as I was fully prepared to smile, say "thank you," and head on my merry way, the casting director asked me if I knew any songs from the show. At that point, I proceeded to sing 3 more songs in a span of about 10 minutes.

He then asked me if I'd be available for a callback the next day for the part of the Elphaba understudy (the leads had already been cast long before the auditions). In complete shock, I stuttered through an explanation of being a stay-at-home mom to a child bound by a strict sleep schedule and a husband who worked 9 to 5. He said "fair enough" and called his assistant in. "See this girl?" he said to his assistant, referring to me. "She is a mommy with a tight schedule and a busy husband. I need you to take her outside and find whatever time possible that she could squeeze us in tomorrow."

Whoa.

Well, long story short (too late), I showed up at a callback the next morning. There I was, standing in front of a world-famous casting director, the musical director, and the director. At one point, the music director said to me, "All I want to hear on this song is sheer volume. Just do your best to fill the space with as much sound as you can."

Are you freaking kidding me?! Could this be any more perfect for me?

After my callback, which I felt went surprisingly well, the casting director asked me to wait outside. After a few minutes, he pulled me aside and asked me to come back AGAIN. He wanted me to come back the next day to see how well I could move at the dance auditions and to have the producers take a look at me. I could not believe any of this! Well, turned out I had a very important wedding to attend to the next day. I can't go into too much detail, but I felt very strongly that I just couldn't make too many sacrifices at this point. After I said I couldn't make it, he looked me dead in the eye, and asked me about 1/2 a dozen times, "are you sure?" I let him know.... I was sure.... "I think." He said, "Ok. We have your number then."

And that was that. Never heard from them again.

Didn't help that I later realized I hadn't updated my resume and that the phone number I'd listed was from out-of-state before the move, and was no longer mine.

I cried about it once or twice (or 50 times), but eventually came to peace with myself knowing it would have been nearly impossible what with the commute and also that, even though I would be with Malia all day, once her daddy got home, I'd have to jet... and we'd never be together as a complete family.

So, blah, blah, blah.

They're holding auditions in a week. Same bat show. Same bat place.

Do I go?

Do I deal, AGAIN, with possibly facing the decision of sacrificing our simple, humble, totally broke, yet beautiful current circumstances, for a blip of doing what I thought I always wanted? Motherhood is the greatest blessing in the world, and while I wouldn't be giving it up, I'd definitely be putting a strain on things.

.... help...

Good Intentions = Bad Girl

Have you ever known someone who is constantly trying to do the right thing, and it always ends up wrong? I mean, it's almost pathetic how this person overextends themself to be of service, or accepted, or admired, and they almost always foul things up for themselves in the process. These people just can't seem to get it right. But at the same time, it's as if no one knows this about that person. This individual can struggle 24-7 to do things out of the kindness of their heart, and, in the end, they usually end up doing what appears to be nothing but wrong.

Maybe some of you think you don't know a person like that. But, if you know me.... then you do.

Whenever people ask me to describe myself in one word, they usually smirk as if they know what the word will be. I guess they might be thinking, "Spaz" or "Goody-goody" or even "Eccentric." But I have always thought that there was one word that encapsulated my life struggles more then any other word out there.

"Misunderstood."

You know, this may seem a bit personal for a blog. It may be more of a diary-with-a-lock-that-I-stow-between-my-mattress-for-safe-keeping-&-self-insight type of entry. But there's a reason I'm putting this out there. The reason is this:

I have found in my life that I have hurt more people then I ever intended. How do I know this? Because I have hurt people, and I've intended to hurt zero. So, if you do the math, then it's there, plain as day. Characteristics of mine that are blatantly obvious are "loud" and "sarcastic" and "outgoing" and "need to be the center of attention." These things combined spell "D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R." But I have more subtle characteristics inside of me that are in constant juxtaposition to these. I am actually painfully shy at times and acutely aware of the needs of those around me. When all of these things combine, you get someone who uses her sarcasm and loudness to try to appease the spirits of her friends. I.E.? I usually hurt someone's feelings.

I hate this. I don't know how to fix this. All I know, is now that it's out there in the universe, maybe the universe'll send me a hint or a nudge.... something to help me fix it.

Until then, here's an infinite supply of "I'm sorry"s being thrown out to all of you for the next million times I am intending to show you love, and I flub it up somehow.

/sigh

A Man of God who walked with men

My senior year of high school, I was asked to bear my testimony in my home ward. It was a basic testimony of all of the crucial elements of the Gospel. But then I made a statement that caused the congregation to roar with laughter. "I love President Hinckley. He's just so cute, I can't stand it! I want to pinch his cheeks."

I didn't think much of that statement until one of my Young Women Leaders approached me after Sacrament Meeting and asked, "Isn't that kind of, I don't know, blasphemous?"

I all of the sudden felt really embarrassed. My intentions were not meant to be sacrilegious or disrespectful in any way. I really did think he was adorable! And I meant it with the utmost of respect.

I don't really know how to put into words exactly what I felt for President Gordon B. Hinckley. The reason is because there was something I appreciated about him beyond his prophetic calling. There was a certain thing that drew me to him; I felt connected to him.

It was his sense of humor.

I remember sitting in a temple prep. class with David when we were engaged to be married and hearing the teacher say something scriptural about the inappropriateness of loud laughter. At that point, I knew I was doomed.

But the character of President Hinckley beyond and outside of his duties as God's mouthpiece and the Leader of the Church, was inspiring. For me, it meant that much more that he would playfully joke.... right over the sacred pulpit at General Conference. I was grateful that maybe I wasn't so bad. The greatest living man on the face of the earth had a funny bone as well. So maybe I was okay.

He was so much more then a Prophet to me. He was an example of someone who loved life and enjoyed life. Growing up, I knew that it must be okay somewhere to actually have fun in your life while also living the Gospel. I was convinced that it couldn't all be drab and dull. He was proof to me that I was right. I was relieved to think that while I had failings elsewhere, my humor and wit wasn't necessarily one of them.

I can't selfishly justify, however, that he should've stayed longer. It was his time. He had accomplished more then enough. And in my mind, I like to entertain the possibility that when he saw his precious Marjorie for the first time since her passing, that after a long and loving embrace, she glared at him and teased, "What took you so long?"

President Hinckley did so much for the Church. He built countless temples. He was an incredible force for missionary work. He utilized the media in a positive way for the reputation of the Church. He gushed over the youth and reminded them of their special calling. He showed devotion to women and mothers. He was tireless in his international efforts. He was the epitome of a man driven by the work of God.

But, for me, personally?

He made me feel okay about being me.

And for that, he will be forever missed.

Was I really that bad...?

Today, when David got home from work, we went as a family to Disneyland for FHE. (Yes, it is a nice little thing, having annual passports and taking a ten minute drive to the Happiest Place on Earth).

As we were walking down Main Street, U.S.A. just before closing time, the music gave me flashbacks to a much different time in my life. I told David about how every time I visited Disneyland in the past, that the music on Main Street usually prompted me to act like I was in a parade.

"You mean, you would wave to random people?" he asked.

"No, I mean, I would start dancing like this."

And I began to dance down Main Street in a very lively, characterized manner to the turn-of-the-century ditty playing overhead. And for the first time in, oh, I don't know.... maybe my entire LIFE.... I was actually embarassed by myself! I can remember when I was younger, being so hyper and full of energy. Truth be told? I think I'm quite boring now. I find my self saying to people, "Oh, I've calmed down a lot," and they will look at me in shock and say, "You were worse?" People who haven't known me for years seem to be convinced that I am still a bit of a psychopath.

So, it got me to think. Was I really that insane? I mean, let's be honest. I was obviously hyper enough that I could eat more junk food in a day then most people average in a week, and still weigh only 100 lbs., which is obviously a gift I no longer possess, but STILL. I've come across some very energetic, allbeit, annoying individuals in my life. And I have to wonder.... could I have had a lot more friends had I toned myself down a bit?

I probably shouldn't be posting this on the world wide web, because I know many of you will be thinking, "Oh, praise the heavens! At least the woman isn't in denial!" But it's something I have to wonder. I've met some hyper folks in my life. I couldn't possibly have been one of the worst.... could I?

So I was a happy kid. So what?!

God Cherishes the Stay-at-home Mom

I've been pondering this a lot lately; especially since we've been living in California for over a year now, and it's so fiercely expensive. I may offend people, but I don't care anymore.

It is pure evidence that Satan wants to attack the family unit more then anything when mothers are no longer staying home. I am not commenting on the people who need 2 incomes in order to survive. I am more then empathetic to that situation. It's those who say, "Well, we couldn't afford our home if I didn't work," and they live in a 3,000 sq. foot home with a pool and a 3-car-garage! MOVE! Is it really more crucial to have a better home then the Jones' then it is for your children to be loved more then the Jones' kids?!

Anyone who knows me is more then aware of my desire to be out in the work force, whether it be performing or teaching. I feel as if I am a fairly creative person who, when given the outlet, explodes with enthusiasm to explore it. People who are close to me have heard over and over again how close I was to getting my dream job when we first moved here to CA. It was LITERALLY my dream job. And it paid well. And I could have stayed home with Malia during the day and then traded shifts with David as I worked nights. But as I thought about it, I imagined our daughter remembering her early years without ever seeing Mommy and Daddy at the same time. Not to mention the fact that it wouldn't allow for the possibilty of more children for a long time. So, I turned my back on the opportunity. And for a while, I was bitter. I felt like I had made an incredible sacrifice and I questioned it for a long time.

A few months ago, I pursued my dreams again. This time, instead of being offered the opportunity, I was flat-out rejected. I was concerned with how I would take it if that were to happen. I don't handle rejection well when it comes to my talents because, for the most part, I am rarely rejected. This rejection brought me an overwhelming feeling of relief. The moment they said "thank you" and I turned to walk to the car and head home, I was overcome with a calm, peaceful feeling. Something inside me said, "What are you doing? You HAVE a job. And it's the most rewarding and fulfilling job you will ever do. Sure it's hard. Sure it's humbling. Sure, it's pretty much the most unglamourous job a woman could have. But it's amazing and so worth it. And very few people realize this. How sad for them." As I held Malia that night before putting her to bed, I sobbed. But it was a happy cry.

All of my life, I wanted to be a star. I assumed I would be a mother, but that thought was put on the backburner because singing on Broadway consumed my thoughts constantly.

Motherhood came instead.

I have been given many opportunities to pursue the Broadway Dream and have called it a "sacrifice" when I turn it down. But it's not a sacrifice, because I got the better end of the deal.

So many smart, beautiful, gifted women are wasting their smarts, beauty, and talents on the rest of the world while their children do not get to reap the benefits of their strengths. They get the "I'm too tired. I've had a long day" Mommy instead. Dr. Laura says that Daycare will not love your children. They will take care of them. They will feed them and give them naps, sure. But they will not love them. If a mother thinks nothing of sending her children to daycare so that they can afford to have the best hybrid SUV money can buy, then they do not think their child deserves love. And that is not the case with any child. They all deserve to be loved.

It's important to remember that our children were first God's children. So, in truth, they are not really ours. They are His. They are on loan. And we are in agreement with Him to not only return them in one piece, but to do all the things necessary to return them at all. That requires that we love them and teach them about Him. And no nanny, babysitter, or daycare can really do that. Only a Mommy can truly help a child learn about their Heavenly Father.

But what irritates me the most is when people ask what I do for a living, and when I say "stay-at-home mom," they dismiss me. DON'T DISMISS ME! What I do is more important then any amount of lawyering or fashion designing or managing that you will EVER do. I may not be getting paid for it in salary, but the giggles, hugs, and "I love you"s I get on a daily basis are worth more then anything you could imagine.

What I do matters. Don't you DARE make me feel otherwise. There are not enough of us in this world anymore. If my family has to eat peanut butter and saltines for 10 years just so that I can be home with my children, so be it. You can drive your fancy cars, live in your big houses, and look down your perfect plastic noses at me all you want. But that just makes you ignorant. You are not worth enough of my time for me to help you realize I am much wealthier then you will ever be!