Do Good Anyway

I have needed to hear these things all week.  Thank you, Beth, for your wonderful blog post.  Sometimes people are just mean, and I don't get it.  The good news is that I don't have to worry about it!

*I found out this is not actually a quote from Mother Teresa.  I would love to know who said it.

2011 Christmas Letter

A little late, but here's the latest installment of the silliness that is our Christmas letter. Yes, I am aware that I copied my own copy...I am also aware that we were not the first to fashion this pic. It was just too perfect to pass up.


If you give the [insert family name here] a Christmas card, they’ll want a letter to go with it. Seeing the Christmas letter will remind them that they should write one also, in the silliest way possible, mentioning the Jewkes family along the way (since 2003!). Cheryl will sit down to write the letter and nothing silly will come to mind. So she’ll look for some mojo. She’ll sift through this year’s Facebook statuses, where all important moments are recorded, which will reveal how unintentionally funny A is, which will remind Cheryl of her mom.

Thinking of her mom will remind her of the trip everyone took to California this summer to spend time with Grandma and Grandpa and assorted aunts, uncles and cousins. She’ll remind G that the Happiest Place on Earth is not the freezer aisle at Costco, but is, in fact, Disneyland. Thinking of Disneyland will remind the kids of Cheryl’s requirement (it is an actual requirement, you know) to skip down Main Street—which they did.

Skipping will remind R of her feelings when she earned her Young Women Medallion this spring, and weaving in and out of crowds at Disneyland will remind her of learning to drive and getting her driver’s license in September. Cheryl will remember teaching R how to drive, which was always a reminder of her own mortality. She’ll want a seat belt to go with that. She’ll wonder, “Which is better…potty training or driver’s training?” Thinking of potty training will remind her how glorious it is that R #2 no longer needs diapers or a stroller, especially at Disneyland or on a rainy day in Baltimore at the museum during spring break. He’d rather tear it up on his bike, weaving back and forth and skidding to abrupt stops. But this is just an excuse to mention Disneyland again.

Mentioning Disneyland again will remind Cheryl of another summer vacation to the Great Smoky Mountains for G’s parents’ first family reunion and how fun it was to see so many [family name]'s in one place. Thinking of the Great Smoky Mountains will remind them of driving next to the stream close to the trail head. Seeing the stream will inspire A to say, “Wow, that river is really polluted. Wait…those are just rocks.” Poor suburban girl. Thinking of poor urban areas will remind Cheryl and G of the irony of J’s Eagle Scout project, which was to paint an entire two-bedroom apartment in Washington, DC. They’ll remember that in 1994 a pact was made that the two should never paint together for the sake of their marriage. They’ll break the pact for the day and keep the marriage intact. Phew, that was close.

Keeping things intact will remind Cheryl of S’s inability to keep teeth in his head. Cheryl and G try to remind S that all he wants for Christmas is his two front teeth, but he’s not buying it. No one needs reminding that the tooth fairy should be fired for not showing up on time. Being on time is something Cheryl reminds R and J (every single day) as they leave to attend seminary which starts at 6:00 am. This will remind Cheryl that she will have a child in seminary every single school day until 2025. She’ll need tissues to go with those tears (uh, of joy).

Tears are what are usually expected from A, also known as Weeping Whiskers of the Cry-Me-A-River Clan (Warrior Cats reference, if you’re not a 9 yr old girl). Thinking of warriors will remind everyone of the time when G interviewed R’s date while sharpening his machete. R is reminded that the embarrassment has only just begun. Beginning things will remind B of his new responsibility to pass the sacrament at church. He’ll take it very seriously and understand its importance. He will not, however, take seriously the orthodontist’s advice to not eat chips with his new braces. Neither will J. This could quite possibly be the only area where those two agree.

Agreement between brothers will remind Cheryl of the sweet relationship R #2 and S have. They’ll want to play Pokemon and the Wii together. Playing Pokemon will inspire S to plaster the hallway with more than 100 hand-drawn evolutions of Pokemon characters. Thinking of characters will remind S of all those people in the Harry Potter books he has been reading this year, mostly before bed. Cheryl will remind him to turn out his light and go to sleep, which is also something she reminds R and J every day, so they can get up on time.

When R and J get up on time, they drive to seminary in LaFawnDuh (the new-to-[family name] little truck) which reminds them of how J dressed up as Napoleon Dynamite for Halloween. And dressing up reminds them how J’s friend, Landon, dressed up on Halloween as “Brother So and So on a Sunday”, complete with iPad, suit and glasses.
G in a suit holding an iPad reminds Cheryl of G’s smiles as fellow church members relate how Brother So and So roped them into speaking in Sacrament Meeting. Thinking of church will remind G how important faith and prayer became when his business partner and close friend died suddenly at the end of August, leaving him the sole “vir” in charge at work. Thinking of prayer reminds G, Cheryl and all of the kids that God is always there to help us, and He wants us to have joy, which is why He sent Jesus to earth. Thinking of Jesus and joy will remind Cheryl of Christmas. She’ll need to finish her Christmas letter. And chances are, if she finishes the letter, she’ll want a Christmas card to go with it.

Love, G, Cheryl, R (16), J (14), B (12), A (9), S (7), and R #2 (4)
*Please apologize to Laura Numeroff and her Mouse, Pig, and Moose for us.

Act Two

I don't like the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I don't like any fantasy for that matter, with the exception of the X-Men, which hold a special place in my heart. I know, it's silly. Just don't come running after me with pitchforks. I promise this is going somewhere.

I have been a good wife and seen the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, one by one, in the theater. The first one was all fine and good. I got the story line, and the characters were laid out. I could follow it just fine. But after seeing the second one, I felt like I just couldn't take it. All that death and destruction, all those names and places that sound the same but must be pronounced with great earnest--blah blah MORDOR, blah blah LEGOLAS (really? Lego-lass?), HOBBITS, blah blah. Am I right? Almost three hours of darkness and fighting with no resolution, and then it just ends.

What the heck?

What I didn't know, and what I had to wait a year to find out, was that the good guys really do win. The fighting wasn't for nothing. I have really no recollection of what actually happens, but I was so very glad to find out that The Two Towers wasn't for naught. It was a necessary part of the story arc, and without it, the heroes would not be proven heroes, and the villains would not be vanquished. It was necessary, even if I didn't like it.

But what if I had walked in during the middle of The Two Towers, without having seen The Fellowship of the Ring, or even the groovy '70s animated version of The Hobbit (which my husband has memorized, by the way. He had the record.)? What if I never saw any resolution in The Return of the King? I would have felt completely gypped.

We are living our own versions of The Two Towers here on earth. We are plunked down, smack dab in the middle of an unfair story, and sometimes it doesn't make any sense at all.

Why did my friend Katie Renz have to battle with cancer for nearly a year and pass away yesterday morning, leaving a loving husband and three young sons?

Why did my husband's business partner of eight years and friend of eleven have a heart attack and die suddenly two months ago, leaving behind a beautiful wife and six kids?

Did I mention that Katie was 40 and Britt was 47?

I just don't know why.

I try my hardest not to ask why. It's a moot question.

A better question is, "What am I supposed to learn?" or even "How am I supposed to grow?", because I do know some things for sure.

Life here on earth is the second act in a three-act play. We can't remember the first act, before we came to earth, but I believe we lived with God. We are His children, and before we came here, we were spirits, anxiously waiting to come to earth to get bodies, so we could gain experience, choose for ourselves, and one day return to live with God again. I believe we agreed to a few things, even though we understood they would be difficult. We just didn't know how difficult.

Now here we are in that second act, having forgotten the first. Another kicker is that we haven't seen the third. We know that our loved ones have, who have gone before us. We may catch glimpses of the other side for ourselves or from others' experiences, but largely, we must rely on faith that everything will turn out okay.

Boy, that's hard.

My dad used to walk into the family room when we were watching TV and ask "So, did the good guys win yet?" Well, Dad, some of them have, but some of them haven't. Not yet. But I have faith that they will.

I have to have faith that they will. God is in charge of that third act. He has it all under control, whether we see it yet or not, and we are right in the very middle of our own hero quests. I have so much more in my heart that is difficult to express, but I feel it very deeply, and it brings me so much peace, even amidst the sadness.

God loves us and wants us to have joy. I know He will give us beauty for ashes and everything will work out for our good. Everything.

I hope and pray Katie's and Britt's families can find the peace they need to carry them through. My heart is still breaking for them.

I still don't like The Lord of the Rings, but I can appreciate it even more now. (Especially when someone with far too much time on their hands makes something like this. I laughed so hard, I cried.)

Additional reading: The Songs They Could Not Sing

Additional resource

To help the Renz family, check things out here.

And I'll end with a great song:

Pumpkin Carving

There are several obligatory and celebratory rituals and supposedly "fun family time" jobs that I very much dislike. Making sugar cookies and egg dyeing are a couple of them. But my very most reviled holiday extravaganza has got to be pumpkin carving.

I know, I am a horrible mother.

Everything always starts out like a lovely Norman Rockwell painting--the choosing of the pumpkins, followed by a doughnut dessert. Fun. Choosing the designs for the pumpkins--also fun. This year we have Phineas, Ferb and Perry, Thomas the Tank Engine and Tinkerbell, and some silly creatures from a 14-YO's ridiculously dumb obsession, "The Regular Show". One of them looks like Swiper the Fox from Dora, which sort of makes up for it, only because it bothers the 14-YO that we say that. Score 1 for Mom and Dad.

Then the actual carving starts. It's all fine and good. We draw circles around the bottoms of the pumpkins, so they sit flat, and no one has to reach their hand into the bowels to light the candles. Most especially it is so we can do this:

We cut them off, and let the gutting begin. That lasts all of 30 seconds before someone complains about how gross it is. "Keep digging" we say. Halloween fervor quickly dissipates in the face of actual hand-to-gourd guts contact.

Then comes the design making. Once again we realize that we have failed. Not enough safety knives. The lines are far too thin. Every child under 14 (which now is 4 of them) is ridiculously incapable of making the actual cuts into the pumpkin, so responsibility falls to Mom or Dad. Yay for family fun activities!

The children disappear one by one. What's left is a grumbling set of parents cursing the paper templates, and a 14-YO who is convinced that user error has nothing to do with Swiper's eyes falling out. "Stupid template," he says.

Every. Single. Year.

BUT, I realized why we do this each and every Halloween. We get to hear conversations like the following, which actually occurred this morning in our kitchen:

4-YO: "Did you know that pumpkins are FRUIT?"

All: "Yes, we know!"

4-YO: "Because you can make pumpkin PIE, and it tastes FRUUUU-TEE."

Spicy Boy: "They are gourds." [commences singing "Follow the Drinking Gourd"]

14-YO: "Ugh. They always taught us that in elementary school."

Spicy Boy: "It's about how they went to drink alcohol."

Mom (laughing): "NO! Oh my goodness. It's about the Big Dipper, and how the runaway slaves followed it, because it points to the North Star. They wanted to go north to freedom."

Spicy Boy: "Harriet Tubman got shot."

Lava Girl (9-YO): "Wait. I thought she rode on the subway."

Subway/Underground Railroad? Potayto/Potahto.

Join us in the spring for Easter egg dyeing, when we tackle another tough subject: euthanasia. Just what is up with those kids in China, anyway?

Photo Essay: Being a Dad of a Teenage Daughter

This is what happens when the daughter gets picked up for a date.

Yes, the machete is real.

Easter Greetings to you all!

THAT Kid

I've come to realize something. My son is that kid.

You know the one.

The kid who can't quite fit in. The kid who makes funny noises and faces on purpose. The kid who enjoys being annoying. The kid who takes things just a little bit too far--every time. The kid who never gets invited to birthday parties (Scratch that. He's actually going to one next week, thanks to a very kind boy with a very kind mom.). The kid who never gets picked to be on anyone's team, in anyone's group, or anyone's partner, for anything. The kid, much like Anthony H. in my 5th grade class, with whom NO ONE wanted to square dance. The kid that, 28 years later, everyone will remember not wanting to dance with. The kid who has forevermore ruined any teacher's (or classmate's) chances of naming his or her child with that same name, due to the haunting memories (sorry, Anthony--I just couldn't do it). The kid whose brain is a sieve when it comes to multiplication facts, but a steel trap when it comes to quoting stupid movies and inappropriate radio songs (Ke$ha and Kid Rock, you are not my friends). The kid who could be Joey. The kid who gets so emotional about the tiniest of things that other kids just have to stop and stare, mouths agape in wonder. The kid who doesn't realize he is being teased or dared into doing something stupid, just for the entertainment value. The kid who will always have those kinds of friends, because they can simultaneously understand one another perfectly and get on each other's nerves. The kid whose signs need to be held to try to prove I am a decent mother. The kid whose own older brother will not tolerate or defend. The kid whose lack of friends and social skills is written down in permanent text on his school record, making his mother cry yet again in another IEP meeting.

But...

He is also the kid who brings much spice and humor to our family. The kid who is the most compassionate when someone is hurt or sad. The kid who is the most contrite and sincerely apologetic. The kid who jumped to his sister's aid in her moment of crisis. The kid who hugged an elderly stranger in an elevator, just because. The kid who, in the very middle of an emotional meltdown of epic proportions, saw tears rolling down my face and stopped to ask me what was wrong (What the? Were you not just here???). The kid who plays Pokemon with his younger brother and sister and never tires of it. The kid who has movies playing constantly in his head. The kid who can imitate anything he sees. The kid who can walk into a room and know immediately who is a good guy, and who is a bad guy. The kid who makes me grateful for mornings after emotionally stormy nights, because he is so forgiving. The kid who made me a much better mother because of the struggle. The kid who will make a great adult. The kid who I know FOR SURE was supposed to come to our family. The kid who can be so attuned to the Holy Ghost and spiritual things and places that his entire demeanor changes. The kid who reminds me that the Spirit's influence is absolutely real, and so is God. The kid who is walking evidence that God knows us personally and will help us through anything.

Yin/Yang, I guess. It's the story of his (and my) life.

Yes, he is that kid. And for better and worse, he is mine.