Technology: Always and Forever

I love technology.  

"But I still love technology...Always and forever."

I text.  I Skype.   I Facebook.  I blog.  On rare occasions, I even tweet.  In other words, I participate in all kinds of things that weren't even in the dictionary (and probably had yet to be invented) twenty years ago (or really even ten).

THEN....

NOW....

I regularly do things in my life that as a child I knew about only from The Jetsons.

Remember when the face of George's boss would pop up on a screen and they would have a conversation?! (Like that was ever going to happen in real life.....).



It wasn't really until Spring Break a few weeks ago, coupled with some interesting experiences of my own, that I began to question this amazing Jetson-like world I've been living in.

This year I decided to spend Spring Break in Arizona with my brother's family.  I loved being with them for a week--feeding the baby, playing cars with the two year old, reading stories, playing games, watching dinosaur shows, and having every piece of clothing in my suitcase spit up on.

Hard to believe this angel is a clothing-wrecker, right?

One afternoon, I took my nephew to the park to play on the swings.  As he began to swing, another girl about his age, Marcella, came up with her mom and began swinging on the swing next to him.  When he would laugh, she would laugh.  When she would talk, he would talk.  When he would roar, she would roar.

Just swingin' with Marcella

When they were about done swinging, she turned to him and said, "Hey, wanna slide?"
The next thing I knew, they were sliding, climbing, running, and chasing each other around the park, all the while laughing hysterically.  Unsure what to do, Marcella's mother an I--people from different walks of life--stood side by side watching them until we finally began a conversation.  As play time came to a close, the new best friends embraced and said goodbye as her mom and I gave a little wave with a, "Nice to meet you!"

I began to wonder what makes it so dang hard for us grownups to be like kids.  Why on earth did we stand there awkwardly, wondering what to do?  Why can't a grownup person just look at another grownup person and say, "Hey, wanna talk?!"

What if children acted like we do?  Can you imagine those little two and three year olds in the swing thinking:
"Man, I'd like to play but...I don't know.  I'm pretty sure her grandparents are from another country," 

or 

"I'm so embarrassed!  I knew I shouldn't have worn my blue polo.  The Thomas the Train shirt would have been way better," 

or

"Why did I wear my Crocs to the park?!  Mom was right!  You never know who you'll run into!"

As they played, my nephew ran more awkwardly, climbed more slowly, and fell more often than Marcella--because he was younger.  And you know what?  It didn't matter.  No two or three year old was thinking:

"I'm so bad at this!  Everyone's probably laughing at how clumsy I am.  I don't think I should come to the park anymore."

 So why do we as grownups do it to each other and to ourselves?
Why do we compare, judge, worry, fear, hold back, or feel self conscious?  Why would we rather stand by ourselves in the park when we are surrounded by other people?  Why can't we just be friends?

And this is where technology comes in...Because in a world where I have the opportunity to be more connected to anyone and everyone, globally, in a way that has never been possible in the history of mankind (unless you count the Jetsons), I am sometimes even more alone.

I live in a world where I can know who you are before I pick up the phone.  Meaning I can reject that call until I know what to say.  Or, I can simply ignore it altogether.

I live in a world where you can text me and I can take as long as I want to come up with the perfect response--which may or may not have been formulated entirely by me.  

I live in a world where I can look at every family vacation you have been on, see every friend you have, and know all about what you do and don't like without ever even needing to say hello to you in person.

I live in a world where I can look at all of your creations and achievements and children and compare myself to them without ever being inside your home to see what real life is like.

I live in a world where I can track how many people follow me, read about me, and electronically "care about me"--and yet can sit home alone to do it.

I live in a world where I can base my worth on how many of my 400 friends remember to type, "Hope it's a great one!" on my wall for my birthday, how many people "like" my accomplishments and opinions, or how many people "follow" me.

And yet, for the hundreds of "friends" out there, how many could really respond in a time of need?  How many actually know what's going on in my life beyond vague status updates?  How much of my life is based around something besides me?

I'm not anti-technology.  I'm just pro-reality in addition to the technology I use.  I begin to worry when I notice I would rather just text someone than call, or drop something off on their doorstep rather than visit, or send them a message rather than have a face-to-face conversation.  Because if I want to be able to walk up and say, "Hey--wanna slide?"  it's going to take a little more real person-to-person interaction.

So, here are my new rules:
1.  Answer the phone if you can.  Right then.  
2.  Don't text unless you can't call.  
3.  Talk to people and ask them yourself rather than looking it up on Facebook.
4.  Don't judge anyone you haven't had a face-to-face conversation with and actually know 
(Although "Don't judge anyone." would probably be better...) 
5.  If you're dropping something off, talk to whoever comes to the door.
6.  Sit by new people and find out what their story is.  
7.  Deal with confrontation right in the moment when possible.  Don't let someone else figure it out for you.  
8.  Ignore what you learned as a kid.  Talk to strangers. 
9.  Don't be afraid to be the first one to start a conversation.  
10. Do something that scares you or is out of your comfort zone every single day. 

In a world that is sooo smart, I'd say the smartest thing we can do sometimes is take a lesson from someone who's two.  Just "assume the sale."  Ask.  Expect things to work out.

After all, who wouldn't want to slide?  

"Whose idea was this again?"

Tears, Taxes, and Flour Babies

I don't like to cry.  Perhaps it's from having an older brother who used to say "REALLY bad" words---like....cry baby. (GASP!   I know.  He was pretty naughty...)

Who knows.  All I know is I try to keep my crying tally at five times a year or fewer.

(You must realize, however, that when I say "crying" I'm not talking about some touched-by-something spiritual, I-feel-warm-and-fuzzy-because-I-just-saw-someone-return-from-war, I-watched-a-really-good-"I'm-a-Mormon"-video, or some-one-left-me-a-box-of-Kraft-Mac-and-Cheese-on-my-bed type of tearing up.  I'm talking about that deep, "I-just-can't-take-it" sobbing that takes so much energy and gives me such a bad headache that it's just not worth it more than a few times a year.  

Normally I reserve those good kinds of cries for things like funerals, realizing I did something really bad I can't take back, breakups, horribly traumatic or emotional events, finding out the person I thought I should marry is marrying someone else, and of course, pet deaths.

Yep.  I think that's pretty inclusive.

My list is NOT supposed to include taxes.

Especially when they say "EZ" right at the top.
It's like some horrible teen text from all the accountants of the world letting you know that if you have that form in your hands and you have enough of a brain in your head to know the EZ form is the one you need, you should be able to fill it out without them.

I mean, I am ONE person with ONE job in ONE state.
I have no house, no husband, no children, and no notable interest from my bank account.
I think that is just about as easy as it gets.
Supposedly I just put in how much money I made and they tell me how much I get back.

Right?
Right........

Until being so cheap frugal, I decide I will NOT be paying TurboTax or anyone else $30-$50 of that money the government has already taken to tell me how to put a total of about five numbers on a piece of paper.  Not a chance.

But before I know what is happening, I am asked questions in order to fill out this "EZ" form with words I don't even know about documents that may or may not be part of my life--as if I should know these answers.  It doesn't help that while looking for one of the forms mentioned I run across an important paper from last year informing me that I filed last year's state taxes wrong--in at least two places!

Yes, that is EXACTLY how it felt.

Rather than stop, acknowledge I may not know much about taxes, and then pay someone to explain it to me, I have an utter meltdown and decide that society and school have failed me.  (Of course.  That's the next natural step.)

I mean, what were all those high school econ talks about how much a baby really costs as our "preparation for the 'real world?'"  Seriously, we all know no one in Idaho is spending $60,000 a year PER KID.  Useless.  Utterly useless information.  Or how about the day we learned to write a check.  Really?!  (I know, Idaho's pretty cutting edge.)

Why didn't the teacher ever pull out a form and say, "Hey, anyone in here who ever plans to work:  This is a 1040 EZ."  That would have been more applicable than checks, unrealistic baby costs, or hauling around a bag of flour to remind high schoolers they didn't want kids.

Partway through the meltdown I decided that whether or not I had been failed was irrelevant.  What mattered was that someone could put it all into English with a few quick clicks....for only $29.99.

So worth it.

Within two weeks I had both checks.
Just like that.
EZ.

Maybe I'll do my own taxes NEXT year....
Did you know it could save me thirty bucks?!  :)

Rain, Snow, Sleet, and Hell

I love living in Utah.  I feel like laughing at Utah two posts in a row may give the impression I don't like it.  I do.  The mountains are gorgeous.  My friends are great.  My job has a lot of perks.  So, if you happen to be from Utah, don't be too offended as I make fun of you for a minute.  It's okay.  We have the same problem in Idaho.

I am currently teaching about the water cycle.  We go through a zillion words that all end in -tion: evaporation, condensation, transpiration, percolation, accumulation, and on and on.  One of the kids' favorites is precipitation.  It's one of mine too--first, because they actually know what I am talking about (because they have seen it), and secondly because it appears no one in this state seems to be able to say the word hail and it kind of makes me giggle.  Secretly.

Class usually goes something like this:

Me: "Who can name one of the forms of precipitation?"
Kid 1: "RAIN!"
Me: "Yes!  Rain.  What else?"
Kid 2: "Snow."
Me: "Yep, we didn't get a lot this winter, but definitely snow."
Kid 3: "Sleet."
Me: "Sure!  What is sleet?  Yeah, kind of a cross between rain and snow.  Kind of slushy."
Kid 4: "Hell."
Me: "WHAT?"
Kid 4: "Hell."
Me: "Um...hAil?"
Kid 4: "Yeah...hell, those frozen things that come down and they can be as big as a baseball and, like, hit you in the head."

Right.  Rain, snow, sleet, and hell.  The four basic types of precipitation.

It's not quite so bad when it's thrown in with other words like rain and snow, but last time I went home, they sang "We'll Sing All Hail to Jesus' Name" in church.

Now, having mentioned Idaho is just as bad as Utah, it won't take long for you to figure out why I was laughing so hard I was almost crying while my mom was elbowing me and giving me that look she would give me when I was a naughty kid.  (Although I could see her laughing too...)

The best part of the whole thing was that we were the only people in the room who seemed to notice anything was funny at all.

Embracing My Hair-itage

Last Thursday I woke up late.
Very late.
I can't even blame it on my alarm this time.

It was entirely my fault.  Every last bit.
I guiltily admit that I stayed up late reading The Hunger Games.

Yeah, I know I'm a little behind.
I should probably remind you that I waited until all seven Harry Potter books were out and then devoured them all.

While reading The Hunger Games, I kept waiting to get to a good stopping point--the end of the chapter, a break in the action, a bit of a wrap up for the evening--but found there just wasn't one.  I think everyone knows that feeling of, "I'll just read one more page...."

So I kept reading.  One more page.  And then another...and then another....

Until I realized what time it was and reminded myself of what it would be like in the morning when 34 kids were all coming up and asking me questions or telling me they didn't get math.

When I finally did go to sleep, it very definitely wasn't a long enough night before that alarm of mine went off and--despite my best efforts to try to look better at work this year--there just wasn't going to be enough time to do much with my hair.  In fact, because I had slept with wet hair and my bangs had dried funny, there wasn't much at all I could do with them.

Except the Utah poof.

Is that a good look, or what?
I mean, you could hide an afternoon snack in there!
Why didn't I think of that?!

I think most people know what I am talking about when I say "Utah poof."  I spent a good chunk of my junior high and high school years making fun of it.  We had special names for it in my family.
I mean, the look is something of a cross between the Cone Heads and a baby volcanic eruption just waiting to burst from the unsuspecting person's head at any given moment.

All the way to work I kept thinking about how embarrassed I was that I was going to spend an entire day in public like that.  I mean, this wasn't even one of the smaller poofs.  It was the mini-volcano.  Imagine what my family would say!  (I did have some consolation knowing that at least they wouldn't see me.)

I considered everyone else.
Maybe I'll just avoid people, I thought.
(Right.  Like THAT was going to work....)

Imagine my surprise when I walked in the room and three kids said, "You're hair is different!  I like it," and "You look good!"  and "Miss Waite!  I like your hair!"

It got increasingly more strange as someone interrupted math to comment on how nice it looked.  I mean, I know they wanted to stop talking about measuring angles, but still...

And if that weren't strange enough, at least one adult said she liked it and I should do it again.

And there you have it folks.  The day I guiltily poof my hair and run out the door, ashamed to show my face in public is the day I get five (count them, FIVE!) compliments on my hair.

I'm not sure I've even gotten five compliments about the same thing in one day EVER.

This is exactly how I felt...Minus the six Grammys.

What can I say?

There are only a few options possible:
1.  These kind people saw my tired, fell-out-of-bed look, felt sorry for me and decided to compliment me to make me feel better.
2.  Living in Utah, these nice people are so used to this look that they thought it looked good.
3.  My hair actually was stunning, and I should demonstrate my Utah Pride via my hair more often.

Yep, this was me Thursday.
Without the movie star makeup, of course.
And looking like Hilary Duff...

I don't know the answer.  I mean, if Adele and Hilary Duff are pulling it off, it can't just be Utah, because they are about as Non-Utah as it gets (except for Lindsay Lohan, of course, but I'm pretty sure she's a strictly bangs kind of girl).

So, who knows?  Perhaps this is my true "hair"itage (as my friend Linsey put it), and I should just embrace the beauty of it.  It could come in handy.

After all, if the thing erupts, it would really get my kids' attention....
And, eruption or not, it kindly adds enough height to make me at least 5'2".

I think that's worth something.

Besides, if I really do look that good, I may never have to wake up early again.
And if you know me, that's worth more than the rest of it put together.

For Days When You Hate Your Job

I love my job.  Of course I do.  Why else would I have gone to four more years of school and become "college educated" to get paid so little?  Clearly there was something behind it.

Nevertheless, no matter who we are, what job we have picked, how much we love it, or what we get paid, I think we all have days when we hate our jobs.

I hear you, Alexander.  I hear you.

Friday was one of those days.

One of those days when I needed: 

-a long weekend

-some quiet time without anyone bugging me and 

-the dream of never seeing a late assignment or stack of papers to be graded again.

It's days like that when I have to remember the funny parts of my job.  

After all, there are few things a good laugh and a three-day-weekend can't fix.

These are some of the funny things that have happened in the last couple weeks.  Here are a few:

We have been talking about Native Americans.  The kids got pretty into it.

Boy:  Uh...do you think I could become an Indian?

Me: Well, I'm not sure you can just...become one.

Boy: But, like, do you think they would let me join them?

Me:  I'm not sure.  Maybe you should ask them.

Me: Spanish explorers sold some of the Indians as slaves.  It wasn't just people from Africa who were slaves.

Girl: I wouldn't wanna be selled because I'm precious.

Me: This tribe of indians thought bears were their ancestors!  That's why they didn't hunt them.

Boy: Well, what if they did genealogy and found out that just wasn't true?!

Boy: Yeah, in scouts we learned all about that stuff.

Girl: Miss Waite, my sister asked me why boys get to do scouts and go hunting and girls learn all the gospel stuff.

Me: When it says "Father" in the book, it is talking about a person who is Catholic.  "Father" is a word like "Priest" or "Bishop."  It's a title.  

Kid 1: Oh.  Well, what do you call a girl Catholic?

Me: They have some women who are nuns.

Kid 2:  Nuns?  Oh yeah!  I've heard of them.  I even met one.

Me: That's great.  For those of you who haven't met one, you may have heard of some or seen pictures.  There have been some famous nuns, like Mother Teresa. 

Kid 2:  Yeah!!!!  That's her!  She's the one I met!

Me (trying not to laugh): Wow...Isn't that nice?

(considering she died at least six years before you were born...)

Boy reading his journal to the class: ...and then we went to Pizza Pie Cafe.

Another boy raises his hand: Well, was there are girl there wearing a shirt that said, "Stop Checking Me Out!  I'm Not On the Buffet!"  Because that's my sister.

Me: It was complicated between the mountain men and the Indians.  The mountain men shouldn't have stolen their stuff or killed a man, but the Indians shouldn't have pretended to come in peace and then killed the whole group of mountain men (except the four who got away).  They both had good things and bad things that they did.  

Girl, very thoughtfully: Well, don't you think if they would have just had therapists back then, none of this would have happened?

So true.  Where is Dr. Leo Marvin when you really need him?

Me: Name some rainy day words.

Girl 1: "Rainbow!"

Girl 2: "Umbrella!"

Boy 1: "Shoot" and "Awwww....."

Boy 2: "Beeeeeeeep!"  

Girl tattling: Yeah, he was being mean to him.  But it's weird because they'll be friends, but then they won't.  It's like....It's like they're frenemies.

Me: Is the book scary?

Girl 1: No, I don't think it's scary.

Girl 2: It's not scary, exactly, it's........I don't know the word.

Me: I think it's more creepy than scary.

Girl 1: But isn't that the same thing?

Girl 3: So it's.....screepy?

There you have it.  The next time I have a "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day," I will remind myself that I should do my genealogy and keep a therapist nearby, so that things don't turn out as horribly for me as they did for the "precious" Indians.  

Of course, if I were an Indian I would still probably just have to learn the "gospel stuff" while the boys figured out how to survive, which I'm guessing would make us frenemies.  

That's alright.  As long as it didn't rain, things would probably still turn out okay.  But Awww, beep!  Rain is a little screepy.  Maybe I should find Mother Teresa.  She'll probably make me feel better.  And if that doesn't work out, I will just become an Indian.  

Coming to Know God--Through Atomic Bombs

My brother Brett is featured in a lot of these.  Maybe it's because he was the first child and my parents learned all their profound lessons on him.  Could be because I was right behind him so they used him instead of me when giving me examples.  Either way, I remembered a lesson I learned years ago that has helped me again in coming to know God.

When Brett was young--probably in kindergarten or first grade, he had a boy in his class whose last name was Baum.  Brett heard him telling kids that his grandpa had joked about naming him Adam, but that wouldn't have worked because then he would have been Adam Baum.  (I know, tragic name for a cute little brunette kid, right?)

My brother came home that day and asked my mom, "What's an Adam Baum?"  

My mom wondered how she should try to explain an atomic bomb to a five year old.  I mean, what could she say other than, "It's a really big bomb that can kill a lot of people," that would even make sense to a five year old's brain?  He couldn't understand bombs, let alone atoms and particles and the chemistry of it all. He knew what a bomb was, but what did that have to do with being named Adam?  What's so bad about an Adam?  What was an "Adam" anyway?

There was probably nothing she could have said that would have made sense to him to explain why this boy was named Donny and not Adam.  

And so it is with us.  There are so many questions in this life, so many whats and whys that we want answers to.  But with our limited perspective, with our child-like vision, I think even were God to explain it to us, we wouldn't understand.  So often, we don't get anything better in terms of answers than my brother got that day--a simple explanation that we might not be satisfied with, and a promise that someday, when we know more and are older, it will make more sense.  

It's not that my mom didn't have answers or that her answers weren't real.  They just weren't answers that a five year old was ready for.

I believe that God is a Being of perfect understanding and answers, that every why has an answer, and that He hears and does respond--at least in some form--to all the questions we have.  I believe that He loves us and as soon as we are ready and can understand some of the answers, He will tell us.

And until then, line upon line, precept upon precept.  Milk before meat.  

So, I am working in my life not to become frustrated when I don't always get the answers I want or have enough of an answer or always understand the why.  Maybe if God did explain it all to me right now, it wouldn't make sense.  At least not yet.  But someday....

Someday it will.

Coming to Know God--Through Breakfast Cereal

A friend asked me one time about God and Agency.

"It doesn't make sense," she said, "that we supposedly have 'agency' and can choose whatever we want, but that God knows what we're going to pick anyway and it's all pretty much planned out for us.  I mean, if it's already set what is going to happen in our lives, what is the point of even making choices?"

It was a good question.  I mean, how does that all work?  Do we choose?  Do we just follow some pre-determined path?  And if there is some pre-determined path, what is the point of life?  Why did we have to come here to prove what is already more or less set in stone?

As I thought about this, I remembered asking my Mom the same question when I was younger.  Her answer made sense to me--and still does.  It gives me faith that my Father knows me perfectly, but also that it matters what I choose.

My brother Brett loved Life cereal as a kid.  In fact, I am pretty sure we have some funny pictures connected with that...him asleep in a cupboard or getting into a cupboard or eating cereal in the dryer???  I don't know.  I just know he really liked it.  A lot.

Parents know their children--their likes and dislikes, their personalities, and the way they think--pretty well.  My mom told me that she knew, absolutely knew, that if she sat my brother down at the table for breakfast and gave him all the choices of cereal, letting him pick whatever he wanted, he would pick Life.  No matter how many choices there were.  No matter what the other choices were.  If you put Brett at a table full of cereal, he would pick Life.

It wasn't that anyone was "making him" pick Life.  No one even suggested it.  It was that there weren't other options or he couldn't pick something else.  He could have whatever other cereal he wanted (Although honestly, seeing the cereal options the last few times I've been home, it's little wonder he picked the Life ever time....).  My mom just knew her child.  Knew him well enough to know what he would decide.  Was it possible he would pick something else?  Sure.  Could he?  Sure.  But did he?  No.  Of course not.

It's not that God has picked what my whole life will be.  He just knows me so perfectly that He knows what I will choose given a certain set of circumstances.  To be honest, a lot of times He knows what I will pick when I myself don't even know.  Isn't it crazy how sometimes parents know you better than you even know yourself?

I strongly believe that God, knowing us and our strengths and weaknesses, gives us opportunities to be in specific places at specific times with specific people so that the most people can be blessed and benefitted.  He helps coordinate and arrange opportunities, know things we may not even know about ourselves, to ensure that we grow and are happy and that we get the desires of our hearts.  Knowing who we are, He lets us choose--whatever we want.

We need it.  We need to live our lives and makes choices so that we know that we chose, so that we get exactly what we picked in life, so that we figure out who we are and what we can become.  But it doesn't mean that someone doesn't know us so well that He has a pretty good idea of what paths we will take.

While I am sure agency is much more complicated than a bowl of Life cereal, it is what makes sense today.