Suffer the Little Children

I may have mentioned - barely... in passing - that I now teach primary for the 4 year olds at church.

So, 8 weeks into it, how's it going?

If you'd asked me last week, I would have said, "Great!" and then told you all about the great lesson we had where they all gathered around me, and I told them the story of Nephi getting the brass plates during a harrowing escape from Jerusalem. Their eyes were wide as I told them about Laban stealing their stuff and sending bad guys to chase them down and kill them, and they were enthralled with the victory as Nephi fooled Zoram into thinking he was Laban and got the plates from him.

In short, it was a really great lesson.

Yesterday, I was feeling pretty optimistic about the whole thing. Not only had last week gone so well, but I didn't have to teach! It was my co-teacher, Jenna's, turn to handle the lesson. My job was crowd control, which is really pretty easy when you only have 4 or 5 kids, and 2 teachers.

So, I walked into primary, and Jenna wasn't there yet. No problem. I beat her to class last time as well. I sat down next to The Angel Miriam - the perfect child. I swear, I have never seen her be anything less than perfect. Always peaceful, always taking the lesson seriously, she is the absolute model of good behavior in church.

Calvinosaurus Rex came in next. I adore Calvin. He's open and loving, and more than happy to be your friend... but he can be a bit rambunctious. He doesn't typically lead mayhem, but if it's happening around him, he'll join in with enthusiasm. He loves to roar at me... and anyone else who will grow wide eyes and act terrified of the dinosaur that could potentially eat their face.

I was still optimistic. Jenna hadn't shown yet, but things were starting, and it looked like I was just going to have 2 kids - the easiest 2. Oh... but then came Sir William McSquirmypants.

Sir William McSquirmypants not only has attitude, but he has an attention span much shorter than the average 4 year old. As the average 4 year old has an attention spam roughly as long as a goldfish's memory, this indicates that Sir William's doesn't last much more than the time it takes his brain to register that there is a teacher in the room... I mean a chair... I mean a shoe... which is on his head... which is upside down as he sits with his back on the bottom of the aforementioned chair... which is now on top of him like a turtle shell.

Okay, so McSquirmypants would make things a little tougher... where was Jenna, anyway? She'd better show up. I did have my lesson manual with me, but I hadn't even looked at it. I didn't know what we were supposed to be teaching.

And in walked Kenley.

Kenley is sweet.

Kenley is loving.

Kenley wants to be your friend.

Kenley it the catalyst of all chaos and the leader of small maniacs.

Her parents are divorced, and so she rarely comes to church in our ward. In the 8 weeks that I've been there, this was only the second time I'd had her in class. The first time she had monopolized all of my attention, which seemed to be the only way to keep her from setting the other kids off.

I gulped.

As soon as she walked in, it took ALL of my strength to keep her, Will, and Calvin in their seats. Kenley and Will had a full-scale battle over who got to sit in the big chair, and then she and Calvin took turns poking each other.

If they had been willing to do it a little more quietly, I wouldn't have tried so hard - a little poking never hurt anyone, and they were doing it happily. But, unfortunately, quiet was not an option for any of them, and the poor primary president was trying to teach everyone a lesson. It was a very loud affair, and try as I might, I couldn't get both of them, and Will, to all be quiet at the same time.

And then help came!

It was only a temporary fix, and I knew it - it would evaporate as soon as we split for class. But, well... it was one of those ladies.

You know the type. Eyebrows pinched into a permanent glare. Hair up so tight you wonder how she manages to get her eyes to glare at all when they should be bugging out. She's the kind I swore I would never be.

Yes, the mean librarian lady. The kind whose very presence causes children to whimper in terror.

And whimper quietly.

She sat by Sir William McSquirmypants. She didn't even say anything, and he spent the rest of primary sitting stock still in his chair, rivaling Miriam for good behavior. Calvin turned around and quit making faces at the children behind him, and only Kenley seemed unaffected by the aura of strict that permeated our row.

Kenley by herself I could handle. I kept her distracted, letting her whisper to me about her birthday party, and occasionally offering a "shhhh," when the birthday plans gained a little more volume than was appropriate.

But then we split up for class. I detoured into Priesthood class to grab Carl and enlist his help. He came with me right away, and it began.

The lesson was another Book of Mormon story - Nephi building a boat to get to the promised land. Right. Easy enough. We could just do what we did last week. I had my scripture stories book, and I could tell them all about how his brothers made fun of him and wouldn't help him, and how Heavenly Father... Kenley!

She tackled Calvin to the ground, and thwacked her head against one of the chairs. There weren't many tears, and a kiss to the injured head seemed to make it better, and all four kids were happy again.

And then Kenley screamed.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA..."

She wasn't hurt.

She wasn't angry.

She wasn't experiencing any negative emotion at all.

No, she was just experiencing the utter euphoria that apparently comes when one's voice box emits something at 327 decibels.

And, of course, all my attempts to silence her just made it all the more fun.

Meaning I was soon trying to quiet THREE screaming children.

Miriam sat there, looking like she wanted to join the game, but a single glance at me made it very clear that this was not what a good girl would do. And so, she sat quietly and watched, a hint of a smile on her lips.

Carl and I tried everything. We tried talking over them. We tried shouting over them. We tried ignoring the noise and giving the lesson anyway. We tried that hissing, "Shhhhhhhhh" noise. We tried the, "You won't get to do the activity if you don't stop," threat, which was a totally empty threat, since the activity would distract them, but I was desperate, and nothing worked.

The door opened.

The screaming stopped.

A blonde lady poked her head in, looking really annoyed. "Excuse me, but we are trying to have the sacrament in our ward. Could you please keep your class a little more reverent?"

I snapped.

I whirled on her. "I AM TRYING!"

She turned to the kids, and in a voice absolutely soaked in honey, she said, "Alright, little ones. I know you can be good and reverent. You're all good children and can feel Heavenly Father's Spirit."

Then, satisfied that her loving kindness had solved what my clear inability to discipline those children could not, she stepped out and closed the door with a click.

*click!*

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA..."

I looked over at Carl. He looked back, as helpless as I was.

And it was too late.

I'd already snapped.

I jumped to my feet, shooting lasers, mustard gas, and rattlesnakes out of my eyes.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!!!"

The screaming died.

"I kid you not, the next one of you to let out a scream will go straight to their parents, and believe you me when I say your parents will not be happy about this."

Kenley peeped.

I whirled on her. "I am not kidding, Kenley. Now, all of you sit down, be quiet, and listen. to. the. lesson!"

Kenley folded her arms. "I don't wanna listen to the lesson!"

"Fine!" I snarled. "I don't care what you do. I'm going to give this lesson to Miriam, who is being good, and if you don't want to listen, then that's just fine. Just be quiet."

"I don't wanna listen to the lesson!"

"Yes, you said that."

"I don't wanna listen to the lesson! I don't wanna listen to the lesson! I don't wanna..."

As she jumped off her chair, chanting her new battle song, Will and Calvin joined in. In less than five seconds it was a cacophony of, "I don't wanna listen to the lesson!" while three kids climbed on the chairs and dramatically stuck their noses in the corners in protest.

And that was where the tiniest remaining shred of dignity I had turned tail and fled.

I bawled.

Carl took over giving Miriam the lesson, until Will threatened to pee his pants if we didn't take a bathroom break. As Carl left with Will, I had pretty much regained control of myself.

Then Calvin... sweet, loving Calvin... came up and, in a soft voice asked, "Are you crying?"

No use denying it. I was clearly leaking mascara all over my face. "Yes," I answered in a tight voice.

"Why are you crying?" Kenley asked, bouncing across the chairs.

I broke down sobbing again. "BECAUSE YOU GUYS ARE BEING MEAN TO ME!!!"

And oh! I hope the little demons felt guilt.

When Carl came back, we picked jobs. If it came down to it, he would stay with the rest of the class, and I would go in search of parents.

10 seconds later...

"Alright, Kenley, let's go. I'm taking you to your grandparents." (Her dad was out sick for the day.)

I took her by the hand, to much protesting, and went in search of someone who could tell me who she belonged to.

"I don't wanna go to Nana," she said in the most contrite voice ever.

Too late for that, kiddo. Way too late.

One of the primary presidency helped me find her grandma, who was quite tender with her as she burst out sobbing. That eased my guilt a little, so I thanked the grandma profusely, and headed back to class.

I walked in to find Carl directing the three remaining children as they quietly colored pictures of Nephi's boat.

And the last ten minutes of class were a peaceful haven. I came home, flopped onto my bed, and saw my cell phone... which I had left on my nightstand. Upon checking it, I discovered a text from my co-teacher.

"Hey, sorry! I got called into work at the last minute!"

So, yes. 8 weeks in... THAT'S how it's going.

In other news, I discovered a long, grey hair on the top of my head this morning.

Welcome to the Female Psyche...

Dear Brain,

Please knock it off, jerk. So what if I want to get my "hopes up"? Hoping is a fun thing to do, and you know what, disappointment is a core part of life. And yes, I know I'm not being smart. But you know what? Smart isn't always the best way of doing things. Geez, live a little!

Go get a life,

Emotional Basket Case



Dear Emotional Basket Case,

In response to your letter dated 05/28/2013, I would like to remind you that it is my primary function to aide you in the avoidance of pain. Pain is a response designed to warn the body (and, yes, the heart is included as a core element of said body) of practices that are not healthy, and potentially damaging in the long term. Just as you would not deliberately place your bare posterior inside a vat of ant killer, so you must also refrain from investing too much energy into hoping. Indeed, I would advise you to wait until you have more substantial evidence on which to base your hopes. Past experience, from which my data is derived, has indicated that the miniscule bits of evidence to which you now cling are no where near conclusive enough for any kind of hope. The probability that you will suffer the malady known as "disappointment" is quite high. As you have experienced this painful emotion many times, I will not remind you of the feeling, or the potential damage it may do to your psyche.

Please consider what I have said.

Sincerely,

Brain.



Dear Brain,

What the heck? Not enough evidence? Okay, so some patterns are the same, yes. But some things that are happening RIGHT NOW have never happened before!!! Come on, they fit the signs. As the mother-freaking-board of the entire body, and the observer of all things in the universe, I need not remind you, of what you can CLEARLY see happening. Go recrunch your stupid numbers.

Emotional Basket Case



Dear Emotional Basket Case,

You bring up a valid point. Considering the data I have, the evidence is highly in favor of your hopes. However, I would warn you that my data is limited, and I would still be wary of excessive hoping. Excessive is defined as any beyond what little would motivate you to seek out more data. Please seek out more data so that we may bring this issue to rest.

Sincerely,

Brain



Dear Brain,

"Oh, hope is not warranted. Oh wait, yes it is, but you shouldn't hope anyway." You know what, you're a jerk. Guess what. If hope is warranted, I'M GOING TO FREAKING HOPE!!!!

Deal with it.

Emotional Basket Case



Dear Emotional Basket Case,

Again, please seek out more data so that we may bring this issue to rest.

Sincerely,

Brain

Wrong reasons?

Sometimes, I wish I had kids, because kids are funny... and I'm out of funny stuff to write about.

Seriously, my blog feels like it's slowly drying up, long separated from its heyday when I was babysitting my niece. I had so many funny things to say then, like a self help guide on infant anorexia. Now I'm like, "Hey, y'all! I have an opinion about something! I don't care if you don't care! I'm going to blog about it anyway!"

Ah, well. Maybe, if I concentrate REALLY hard, I can will something funny to happen when I have access to my computer and can write it down.

How the Grinch Pooped on Mother's Day

I love Mother's Day. Really, I do.

And, I've always wanted to be a mother. Ask my mother. She has this lovely blackmail shot of me, when I was 4 years old, hiking my shirt up to my shoulder, with a baby doll plastered against my nipple, "feeding" the thing. I mothered my dozen or so dolls for years and years, until I grew out of toys, at which point I started scheming ways I could acquire a baby of my very own, preferably without involving a man (I was like 13, okay?).

So yes. I love the whole motherhood institution.

But there's something about this holiday - just one thing - that has never sat well with me.

"Happy Mother's Day! Oh, you're not a mother. Well, that's alright; you will be someday so you can still celebrate it."

Um...

Thank you?

For years, this bothered me. I never really quite knew why.

Over the years, I've tossed out different reasons this was so desperately annoying.

16 years old: "All the women 18 and over got flowers at church today, whether they've produced offspring or not. That's stupid. I'm female. Why don't I get a flower?"

18 years old: "I got a flower. I'm not a mother. This... uh... kinda has no meaning. Thanks?"

I've tried to justify it to myself.

Self: When you celebrate all females over 18, it's not Mother's Day anymore. It's females-over-18 day.

Other piece of self: Okay, so you're saying only women who have popped out a baby are allowed to celebrate Mother's Day?

Self: Um... sort of? I mean, if you're pregnant you're a mother too. And if you adopt, you're definitely a mother... and stuff...

Other piece of self: What about women who CAN'T have children? Are you wanting to exclude them? Your own mother was in that camp for 3 whole years before she had Clarke.

Self: Oh, great. Guilt.

Other piece of self: Oh, I'm not done yet. Remember how you always felt when you were excluded from things? Do you want that for other people, whether they're infertile or not?

Self: Okay, okay! Fine! There's nothing wrong with it and I'm a horrible person.

And finally, I just decided I had an attitude problem.

And, if I'm being honest, I probably do have an attitude problem.

But that's not what this is about. 

This year, I got married. I've spent the last 3 Mother's Days in a BYU Single's Ward, where nobody is ever excluded, because nobody is a mother. Surprise! Funny how those BYU Single's Wards solve these kinds of problems.

But, this year, I was in a family ward.

And it started.

"Oh, you're married now! It must be so cool to be able to celebrate Mother's Day!"

Ummm... I thought I could celebrate it because I was over 18.

"Happy Mother's Day, married woman! It won't be long now until you really are a mother! Start celebrating now."

I didn't even have a snarky remark for that one. Something to the effect of, "I'm not even trying yet, gun-jumper," before deciding, "That's none of your business," would be more appropriate, albeit infinitely more rude, and therefore, no response necessary.

It all built up to today. I got a text from a poor, naive, well-meaning friend. He had no idea I was weird and took issue with this. And, of course, since I couldn't justify my issue to anyone, much less myself, it just made the issue that much more touchy. Something was wrong, but I didn't know what... therefore something was wrong with me, so I had every right to get defensive and bite people.

Right?

Makes sense, possibly?

Okay, fine. It makes no sense at all.

For the record, I didn't bite my friend. First of all, he was texting me, so biting wasn't actually an option. Second, rather than "virtual bite" him, I simply said he could look out for the coming, ranting blog post on the topic.

So, friend, here's the ranting blog post.

I'm not done yet.

Okay, so I got that text, and it sent me into full-stewing mode. What is my problem? Am I really so stuck on my own opinions that I'm willing to exclude anyone who hasn't grown a human in their belly... and/or adopted one? Okay, any woman who hasn't raised a child. Am I a horrible person?

But then, do I have a point? Is insisting that any woman who is 18 or over be allowed to celebrate Mother's Day diminishing the holiday, and robbing women who have raised children of their right to be...

Oh, wait...

And then it clicked.

I'VE BEEN QUALIFIED TO CELEBRATE MOTHER'S DAY SINCE 1986!!!

My HUSBAND is qualified to celebrate Mother's Day!

Why????

Whyyyyyyy????

Come on, do it.

Ask me why.

Disembodied voice: "Okay, why?"

BECAUSE I HAVE A MOTHER!!!!

I was so excited when I realized this: I AM a horrible, selfish person!!! Because Mother's Day isn't about me at all! It's not there so a woman can toot her horn because she possesses a uterus!

It's there for the kids.

Mother's Day exists so that I can stop for a second, and think, "My mother gave up so much for me. She sacrificed sleep for the first four years of my life, plus the first four years of all my siblings. My mother grew fangs and eagle talons when that jerk-man threatened me when I was thirteen, and he never dared to upset me again. My mother sat down with me and very patiently taught me how to read when I was just a dinky squirt. My mother snuggled me to sleep after every nightmare, treated all of us kids as fairly as possible, and made sure we knew we were smart and valuable. She gave up her personal alone time to homeschool all four of us, and put her writing career on hold until we were grown, just to make sure she was there for us. My mother was the best thing that ever happened to me."

I sat there in church, feeling quite at peace with myself. I finally understood, I'd had it wrong the whole time. Mother's Day wasn't about celebrating yourself because you have, or will, or at least possess the organs necessary to bare children. It's about looking back at your mother, realizing what she did for you, and feeling immense gratitude.

When church ended, the bishop got up and made the usual announcement: "If all the women over 18 would please stand, the deacons have a gift to give to you."

I stayed in my seat. I didn't need a flower to think about my mother. It wasn't about me, anyway. I was so filled with appreciation for my--

Was that CHOCOLATE???

I jumped to my feet.

I mean... if they're gonna hand it out to women, just because they're over 18... why not?

A Single Year

Today, in a vain attempt to sell me something (which I almost spelled vein... I wonder what a vein attempt to sell something would entail... oh yeah. I'm blogging right now), Gammel Photography sent me an email reminding me that exactly 1 year ago, I graduated from college.

Oh, and I could also buy portraits of my graduation, for a very special, discounted price! Because I'm special! And they're having a sale! Yay!

The email was titled, "Can you believe it's been 1 year, Savannah."

My first thought was, "Something is wrong with that sentence."

My second thought was, "Yes. Yes, I can."

My third thought was, "That dang sentence is missing its question mark!!!"

But, as the second thought is the most interesting of the lot, I'm going to focus this blog post on that one... even though the first and third do kinda play into my thoughts on the second.

Okay, can I believe it's been a whole year?

Yes.

Yes, I can.

Why?

Well... quite frankly, it feels like graduation was about 3 years ago.

1 year ago, I was Savannah Woods, a girl living with 5 roommates in Apartment 21 of Stadium Terrace, struggling to finish a ridiculous statistics class in time while working in a call center and attending writing conventions so I could sit in the audience and soak up as much information as possible.

Now?

Now, I am Savannah Armstrong, living with my husband in a basement apartment, classes long behind me, working as an executive assistant while I prepare a presentation to give at a writing convention.

What have I done in this year?

I graduated.


I got a new job.

I moved. Thrice.


I, uh... kinda got married.

I got heavily involved in a start up publishing company.

I started teaching primary at church (okay, this one's super new).

I got involved in a whole new, game-based community with a huge learning curve.

I have (so far) successfully implemented a change in my punctuation that involves using one space after a period, instead of two. Relearning how to type bites.

I have gone from listening at conventions to presenting at them. This, in and of itself, is a huge status change that I did not expect to happen so quickly.

In short, in addition to regular living, in the last year, my life has rocketed through some pretty massive changes.

So, thus ends the longest 12 months of my life. In fact, I'd venture to guess this 12 months is even longer than the 12 months that spread between my 4th birthday and my 5th... which was HORRIBLY long. It's been a good year, and I'm glad for every last change. I definitely feel like my life shot into a freight train of forward progression.

Congratulations, Gammel Photography, for asking the question. My answer is, "Yes, it's been a year, but it feels like three, and I'm too tired to feel nostalgic, so maybe you should try hawking mugs and mouse pads with my face on them a little closer to my 10 year reunion."

I messed up my taxes.

Taxes are dumb anyways. I have a lovely rant in store about the justice of taxes, the percentage we already pay, why I suddenly have to pay more taxes (never a problem in the past - I always got money back), and how the government is growing more and more irresponsible with money. But, I'll spare you the rant. Just know it's there.

Anyway, there was good news. Apparently, even though I didn't take any classes in 2012, the year I graduated, I did finish an independent study class, so - for tax purposes - the tuition for that counted for 2012.

The bad news is that I just assumed that since I hadn't gone to school in 2012, I wouldn't have any tuition to deduct, and didn't even look at my 1098-T when I was filing. In short, I paid taxes I didn't have to pay.

The better news is that there's a form to fix that.

Hopefully I'll get back the money I paid.

We'll have to see. It's not much, but the IRS is notoriously stingy.

Update: The fee for changing my tax return would be twice as much as I would have gotten back. 

The IRS sucks.