Invisibility

One of the blessings, that is also a curse, of motherhood is invisibility.

I'm noticing it more as a mother of two, but it was apparent from the beginning.

Face Unafraid the Plans that We've Made

This is adapted from a talk I gave in church today. I don’t expect anyone but my mother to read it all the way through, but I’ll post it as part of my attempt to apply the things I’ve learned over the last week of studying for the talk.

Reuben, Simeon and I were walking home after the big snowfall. I was intrigued by Reuben’s fascination with the snow and the magic that is wintertime. I started to sing “Winter Wonderland.” After we agreed to let the snowman named Parson Brown marry us, and we were sitting by the fire conspiring it hit me, “Face unafraid the plans that we’ve made.” I’d never really noticed that lyric before. But I have been thinking about it ever since. The blue bird is on his way out, and the new bird, while singing a love song is a huge man-eating eagle. I don’t know about you, but 2010 holds some pretty afraid worthy events for us. There are aspects that I look forward to; an elevator, Justin’s last semester, not accruing anymore debt (other than a car), Reuben and Simeon growing and learning, hopefully a washer and dryer in our living space, etc. There are also aspects that terrify me called we have no idea what we are going, what we will be doing, or when we will know where and what.

Now, because you are my avid readers you already know a lot about me. I am anxiety ridden. I do not trust easily. I am not hopeful. I get discouraged, scared, and hyperventilate easily. I do not “face unafraid” anything, let alone the plans that we’ve made.

I seem to be in a three year cycle of terrifying life changes. I left home to go to college: frightening. After three years at BYU I met Justin and had to decide if I wanted to marry him. Let me qualify, Justin was not terrifying, marriage was terrifying. After three years of being married to Justin I had to move to New York: Horrifying. It will be three years of living in New York when I have to face the unknown. The unknown is pretty petrifying when you have two kids, Grad-School-in-New-York amounts of debt, and the current economy. But, we made this plan with the guidance of the Spirit. We had our children after we received undeniable revelation. We came to New York based on personal revelation received in the temple. I quit my job after receiving approval from the Spirit. We know that the next step is what the Lord would have us do. So I need to face unafraid the plans that we’ve made.

To face afraid is the Adversary's wish.

Fear…is a principal weapon in the arsenal which Satan uses to make mankind unhappy. He who fears loses strength for the combat of life in the fight against evil. Therefore the power of the evil one always tries to generate fear in human hearts. … A timid, fearing people cannot do their work well, and they cannot do God’s work at all. (Hunter)

Let’s think about that for a second. Satan uses fear to weaken us, to distract us from our work. I’ve felt fear weaken me. I’ve seen it distract me. Fear keeps me from true happiness, it’s simply impossible to be happy wondering when it won’t hurt to breathe anymore. Fear is a powerful tool, and while I may have an extra measure of fear, it does as much damage in small doses.

Fear can make us run away from things—things like setting and achieving goals, developing relationships, or becoming the people we know we should become. Sometimes fear can even paralyze us to the point that we don’t even try. Fear can be a thick fog that smothers our dreams. It can be a cage that restrains us from reaching our destiny. It can be a weight that restrains our every step. (Wirthlin)

You are probably thinking about setting some goals, making some resolutions, because you are good and enjoy bettering yourself. I am not. I figure if I can’t set the goal and work towards it in June, what makes January any different. Now, this isn’t entirely because I am fearful, it is also because I am lazy. (Sorry to disappoint all you readers who haven’t actually met me, but it’s true.)

When I look at the things I regret, fear is the cause of of my regrets. Didn’t do a play in college because afraid to audition. Didn’t go on lots of dates because I was afraid to ask. Didn’t make any friends in my classes because I was afraid to talk. Didn’t wow any professors because I was afraid to talk. Didn’t go on a study abroad because I was afraid of the cost, and the change it would mean. Didn’t sing in more choirs because I was afraid of being told I was a bad singer. Didn’t transfer to a different school so I could be a music major. Didn’t try to find a job I really enjoyed because I was afraid of looking for a job. Didn’t make any new friends after my friends moved away because I was afraid to talk. Didn’t enjoy my first year and a half of living in New York because I was afraid of New York. Now these regrets may seem pretty trivial to you, but a lot of them define me, in my own mind at least. I’ve fallen into the trap! I’ve been paralyzed, I’ve had smothered dreams, I’ve been in that cage, and I am often weighted down. (And I know I’m not alone in this.)

We are basically commanded to face unafraid.

Therefore, fear not, little flock; do good; let earth and hell combine against you, for if ye are ^bbuilt upon my rock, they cannot prevail. ^aLook unto me in every ^bthought; ^cdoubt not, fear not. (D&C 6:34, 36)

Despair, Doom, and Discouragement are not acceptable views of life for a Latter-day Saint. However high on the charts they are on the hit parade of contemporary news, we must not walk on our lower lip every time a few difficult moments happen to confront us. (Hunter)

As Latter-day Saints, ours is not the option of doubting and fearing. Ours is the opportunity of believing and acting. (Hinckley)

Go to the scriptures and search “Fear not.” It appears at least 100 times, and usually in command form.

It is possible to face unafraid.

We can overcome all of our fears, not all at once, but one at a time. As we do so we will grow in confidence. (Faust)

And that is the beauty of following commandments, God doesn’t command impossible things, and he always blesses those that obey his commandments. We have been given a few helps in our quest to face unafraid, because God doesn’t command things without providing a way for us to obey.

We can face unafraid because we have a Savior.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you ^agood tidings of great ^bjoy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is ^aborn this day in the city of David a ^bSaviour, which is Christ the ^cLord. (Luke 2: 10-11)

It says right in Luke that the shepherd were afraid, but let’s include that “fear not: declaration in the part that is “to all people.” The angel said, “Fear not” because Christ is born. “Fear not,” because you have a Savior. “Fear not,” because He will save you, well, and me.

Wherefore, be of good ^acheer, and do not ^bfear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you; and ye shall bear record of me, even Jesus Christ, that I am the Son of the living God, that I ^cwas, that I am, and that I am to come. (D&C 68: 6)

I want to stress that these feelings (of fear) are not necessary for faithful Latter-day Saints, and they do not come from God. To ancient Israel, the great Jehovah said: “Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them; for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. … And the Lord, he it is that doth go before thee; he will be with thee, he will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed (Deut. 31: 6,8.) (Hunter)

In my limited understanding, I do know that Christ is our Savior. I understand that he has made it possible to conquer fear.

We can face unafraid because of the Gospel of Jesus Christ (the atonement).

For God hath not given us the spirit of ^afear; but of ^bpower, and of ^clove, and of a sound mind. (2 Timothy 1: 7)

Power, love and a sound mind are made possible through the atonement. The atonement is about so much more than forgiveness of sins, and while I don’t have a great understanding of all aspects of the atonement, I do understand that it is all encompassing, it aids us in all of our challenges, sin being one of them. As we use, and grow to understand the atonement we are blessed with extra measures of the tools to “face unafraid.”

Our task is to live fully and faithfully and not worry ourselves sick…. Our task is to have the gospel in our lives and to be a bright light, a city set on the hill, which reflects the beauty of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the joy and happiness that will always come to every people in every age who keep the commandments. (Hunter)

Because I have been thinking about it, I’ve noticed that the people who have faith, and works that I admire, also have courage, and determination that I admire. They don’t seem to exhibit much fear, instead they exhibit light, and the beauty of the gospel, joy, and happiness. I’m sure they have fears, because lets face it, we all do otherwise “fear not” wouldn’t be in the scriptures 100 times. But, in one aspect they have conquered fear through the power of the gospel, and I can take inspiration in that.

We can face unafraid because we have the Power of the Priesthood.

Each of you has been endowed with unique talents and abilities. That, coupled with some special powers of the priesthood, will help you tremendously in any endeavor. (Faust)

I know that the power of the priesthood is real. I’ve had many experiences with that power helping me through terrifying situations; child birth, miscarriage, heart ache, despair. I’ve seen how it changes me to achieve more than I should be able to. And, with that kind of power at my beck and call it seems kind of ridiculous not use it.

We can face unafraid because we are surrounded.

“Fear not: for they that be with us are more than they that be with them.” Elisha prayed that his eyes may be opened, and he saw the mountain full of horses and chariots of fire. (2 Kings 6: 18-23)

We may not be immune to being afraid, but we do not have to succumb to it. …“It is better to face fear once than to live in its shadow.” We are surrounded and uplifted by the faith of our members and by the hand of heaven. If only we could see that our fears would have far less influence over us. Move forward with faith, believing you will succeed! Don’t let fear of failure stop you from greatness. Let your example of courage inspire those around you to “Fear not”. (Wirthlin)

I’ve felt surrounded, especially in the last few years. Our ward family here has surrounded me, their faith, concern, aid, and example has made it possible for me to do many things that fear had me avoiding. I’ve never been surrounded like that before, and boy does it feel much better than just plain being surrounded.

We can face unafraid by actively preparing.

If you prepare to walk down the path of life, you can be rewarded beyond your dreams and expectations. But to achieve this, you must work very hard, save, be wise, and be alert. You must learn to deny yourselves of worldly gratification. You must be faithful in paying tithes; you must keep the Word of Wisdom; you must be free from other addictions. You must be chaste and morally clean in every respect. You should accept and be faithful in all of the calls that come to you. Steadiness and toil will serve you better than brilliance. We cannot be passive; we must actively avoid evil. (Faust)

Particularly in our case, we have been preparing. We have been relying on the spirit to make our plans, we have been working hard to follow those promptings, we have made sacrifices. Of course we have had our short comings, but we have prepared. There is always more we can do, but I really feel like we’ve done our best in this department. I’ll spend the next few months missing my husband as he finishes up his preparations, but I’m willing to do it so that we don’t have to fear. God has promised that he will protect us, and guide us, and I feel like I am deserving of that blessing. There isn’t much that I feel like I deserve, but this I honestly do. So, while the plan itself (to graduate and move on) is terrifying, the preparations have been real so I can at least not fear not being prepared for what I know is coming. Now, I just need help in not fearing the unknown.

Closing:

…The Lord has said: Therefore, fear not, little flock; do good; let earth and hell combine against you, for if ye are built upon my rock they cannot prevail…Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not.” (D&C 98:1) In light of such wonderful counsel, I think it is incumbent upon us to rejoice a little more and despair a little less to give thanks for what we have and for the magnitude of God’s blessings to us, and to talk a little less about what we may not have or what anxiety may accompany difficult times… (Hunter)

Faust

Hunter

Hinckley

Wirthlin

Love, Loss, and What I Wore

This Saturday we went to see Love, Loss, and What I Wore. Its basically a reader's theater of stories revolving around what pieces of clothing, shoes, bags remind women of. If you can handle a few nasty words I'd recommend it. We saw Kristin Chenoweth, and while there was no singing, she was everything I ever hoped to see. Rita Wilson, and Rhea Perlman were the other two that I knew by name.

It got me thinking about the things I remember related to clothing. Now I present to you in the form of Love, Loss, and What I Wore my personalized version.

The Birthday Suit:

My mom would make us a "birthday suit" for our birthday present. The funny thing the one I remember most vividly was a white, turquoise, and purple pant and shirt that was Jordan's (I think). I love the fabric, and thought the collar was the best thing ever. Anyway that is what we called them--birthday suits. They were often dresses, and usually followed some kind of theme to match the other sister's, so by my birthday I had a pretty good idea of what was coming. It was a year when I should have known what other people think a birthday suit is. A classmate asked what I would be wearing for picture day. I responded excitedly, "My birthday suit." The laughing began, I had no idea why it was so funny to wear a birthday suit on picture day. Boy was I embarrassed when I found out what birthday suit meant to everyone but the Reasor Girls.

Sweaters:

I have had a lot of sweaters in my time, most likely because I grew up in Minnesota, where you get to wear a lot of sweaters. I had this fabulous dark colorful sweater, with "Hey Diddle Diddle" illustrated on it. No one else had one like it. I always felt special wearing it, I think because my grandparents where visiting when I got it. I'm not sure if Grandma bought it for me, but she and my mom were there, and I don't remember my sisters being there.

Talyn and I had semi-matching sweaters. A scene in white of kids and a dog in front of a house with a fence. Mine was pink, and Talyn's was blue. Oh, how I loved mine, its pretty pink and whiteness. Oh, how happy I was that mine was not blue.

I wore a gray dumpy cardigan with no buttons that was too big for years. We called it the beetle sweater because it was made out of yarn with big lumps in it. My mom hated that I wore it, especially when it started to look really really dumpy. The secret is I wore it because my Grandma made it, or so I thought. Well, in our de-junking I finally got rid of it. I have a little pain in my heart when I think of not having it anymore, even though it looked horrible on me, even now that I finally fit it.

501 Jeans:

I looked forward to hand-me downs, because I got them from my cousins. It was the only time I had name brands--and while name brands don't mean much to me now, boy did I wish for Esprit, and Z. Cavaricci, and even Levi's. I know it's ridiculous, but we each have our moments. I got these fabulous button fly 501 Jeans from my cousin Heather. One in Red. One in Wine. The 501 colored Jean fad was way over by the time I got them, but I wore them with pride. They looked good, and I felt so "cool" in them. Heather wore them when she broke her leg sneaking out to go to a concert. I don't remember anything that happened while I wore them, but I love them.

My First Bra:

I'm the oldest. I was always a little reluctant to grow up, and my mom wasn't in much of rush for it to happen either. In my day we wore undershirts under everything. Cotton camisoles, often colored, under everything. One day my mom noticed that maybe I was old enough for something more than an undershirt. So, she shared her horrifying story of her first bra (which is probably why we had waited until this point to get mine). We went to the store and got a bra for me. I tried on several and settled on an underwire B cup. My first bras was a B cup. No department store, no department store lady. The funny thing is, the first time I went to a department store to buy a bra, actually found a department store lady to measure me. Some lessons you just have to learn for yourself.

Didn't make the cut

These photos have nothing to do with the post, other than the fact that they weren't in focus enough to post on my photo blog even though I love the faces.

At 3 AM while I was rocking the baby who had a bubble that just wouldn't come out I watched "The Middle" on Hulu. Have you seen it, I wasn't intrigued by the commercials, but its actually pretty entertaining. Anyway, there is the extremely awkward, funny looking adolescent girl. She keeps trying out for things, but is bad at everything. The joke is she doesn't have a clue how bad she is at everything, and the parents have to keep letting her try out for things even if they do know how bad she is.

This had me thinking.

There is plenty that I just can't do: running, any sport that includes running, anything that includes numbers (including counting, remember phone numbers and address, and important dates, math), spelling.

There is plenty that I can do. The problem is, I am easily convinced that I am not as good as I thought I was. Like when I didn't get to be a music major. I spent two years avoiding singing. I have the opposite problem of this character in the show. I am easily discouraged, and don't like feeling like I am bad at something, or feeling like other people think I am bad at it. This prevents me from trying things, or repeating things.

Often I am not as good as I think I am.

Just as often I make up the fact that "they" think I am bad at what I think I am good at. "They" often don't even have an opinion.

I wonder if there are things I am good at that I just don't see, or value. I'm sure there are.

Enough Love

While I was still in the waiting and wishing stage,I was asked if I started questioning how I would have enough love for a second child. I thought it an odd question, mostly because I wasn't to the stage of thinking about bringing a baby home, still in my head there was a possibility of coming home empty handed. And also, the only thing that came naturally with Reuben's birth was the love. Labor was hard, recovery was harder, breastfeeding was a huge challenge, sleep was non-existent, even going to the bathroom had turned into this difficult, painful ordeal, I never thought I'd successfully change, bathe, or dress a baby (partly because I was in so much pain, and partly because its hard. But the love, the love came naturally. The one thing out of every thing in that whirlwind of change that came natural was the love.

So, naturally I never questioned the love aspect of having a second baby. And when I was finally convinced that I would be coming home with a baby, I questioned my ability to have energy for two, but never love. With Simeon I am happy to say that there is a much longer list of things coming naturally, and the love it is still natural.

The thing that surprises me is the increase of love I have for Reuben. I'm the oldest, so I know what its like to be the "test-child." I was always felt pretty good about the mistakes we were making and how quickly we were able to find remedies. But, when Simeon latched on and I heard him gulping, my love for Reuben exploded. When Reuben makes compromises by leaning on my shoulder while I'm nursing Simeon instead of taking his usual (rightful) place on my lap my love for Reuben explodes.

It was devastating to have Reuben's first meeting of his baby brother in that stress-filled tiny room with another family on the other side of the curtain. But, my love for Reuben exploded when I saw him so eager to give Simeon the frog he got from the dentist. His kind voice, his loving attention, his questions, his desires for Simeon to respond to him, I wished I could watch it all day long (just not in that cramped little space).

I missed Reuben my last night, and since I didn't have a roommate from 5 PM to 4 AM I just kept wishing that I could have my husband and son there, but then I fell asleep (miracle of miracles).

Venturing out into the city was terrifying. Even just leaving the recovery floor to go down and wait for my dad to come pick us up. I saw all those people, all their germs, and my sweet little new baby. The thing that kept me going was the thought of seeing my Reuben. We made it home, and sure enough my heart spilled over with joy to see Reuben, to hear him tell me he missed me, was glad I was home.

I can see the love he has for me, for Justin, and for Simeon. Love comes naturally to him. So, while my heart breaks a little that so many things were so hard for me to do for Reuben, that are now just easy-peasy with Simeon. I know Reuben will love me despite the fact that he was starving to death the first two weeks of his life. I know Reuben will love Simeon despite the fact that I am much more prepared for these first few weeks of life, because Reuben suffered so through his.

Happy New Year

September has always been a much more significant time-progressing-marker for me than January. With my birthday, and new school years, I've always identified more with September as my marker for new beginnings.

The September I turned 6, with a foam mattress rolled up across the floor of the car, we moved to Minnesota. I remember riding cross-country with my feet in the air, and head on that rolled up foam mattress. We arrived in our new town when it was dark, only to find out that the house that my parents had planned to rent had been sold, and we moved into the Motel 8. I remember waiting in the car while Mom ran into Sylvester's, which we later dubbed "the broken junk store," to buy me a birthday present. I remember a stinky house, with no furniture once we got out of the motel. I remember that present mom picked up from Sylvester's was a white long t-shirt with a tall tall hamburger on it. It became my favorite shirt, and I think it is why hamburgers are my favorite food. I started school, the bus was the scariest part of that, but having to ask for help tieing my shoes was pretty terrifying too.

The September I turned 11 we moved to the "new house." Just across town, but it meant I had to start riding the bus again. I was terrified. As a kindergartner I had to ride the bus (because we lived in that stinky house out on Pokegama). I had to transfer buses. One morning before the sun was even up the transfer didn't work, and I sat on the front lawn of the wrong elementary school convinced that I would die there with my parents convinced that I was kidnapped, and it was all their own fault for making me ride that stupid bus. The bell rang for the wrong school to start, and I sat on that lawn until a girl from my branch saw me, and got me some help. Needless to say, being a fifth grader was not enough to erase my fear of buses, especially with the necessity of a transfer. The summer before this move is where my hatred of macaroni and cheese stems from, as that menu for lunch...daily. Macaroni and cheese. Macaroni and cheese with peas. Macaroni and cheese with hot dogs. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. The move was ultimately very good for us. The ONLY thing we missed about the "hospital house" was the laundry shoot, and basement playroom. But my eventual own room quickly erased any pinning wishes to lower buckets of barbies from the second floor all the way to the basement to be exchanged with something else that fit in an ice cream bucket.

The September I turned 19. My great acting skills, and unrealistic idea of what I thought I was supposed to be feeling led to a pretty devastating first few days--really week. I was terrified of my roommate (who ended up to be wonderful.) We moved in, I got a poorly thought out job in the cafeteria, we had one last lunch as a family in said cafeteria, and my family drove off, with my purse. This was in the days when only Californians, and drug dealers had cellphones so I ran to the only places I knew on campus, the bookstore and art museum. Of course they weren't there. All of my money, and IDs were on their way to Idaho. I couldn't buy books. I couldn't get my student ID. I couldn't do anything that I had convinced my mother that I could do on my own. After a comedy of errors, I did get my purse back, and I did start my freshmen year with no lasting damage. On the first day of class, my roommate and I, who had the same first class, left an hour early. She asked for directions which made my estimation of needing an hour to get there way wrong, and we sat in an empty science lecture hall for 45 minutes alone feeling pretty silly.

The September I turned 22 I was engaged starting my last year of college. I was too in love to realize that being engaged meant everything in my life would change in a few months. It was the easiest of all the new beginnings because I was lulled into the comfort that this new beginning was more of a preparation period, little did I know what that year had in store, and that was a good thing, because I wasn't scared at all.

The September I turned 23 I entered the land of the full-time "real" job people.

The September I turned 24 we bought our first car, and entered the land of real-life grown up bills.

The September I turned 26 was our move here, that officially happened in August, but in 10 years it will have happened in September in my memory. We've been here for two full years. Those first weeks we were settling into our new home Justin kept telling me that this was my mission. It reminded him so much of his with the markets, and humidity, and diversity, and stinks. It was going to be the thing that stretched me the most, and challenged my faith, and was so unrelated to what "normal" life had been for me that I would come out of New York as if I had served a mission. I had nothing to compare it to, nothing to prepare me for it. I spent months dealing with panic attacks and constant anxiety. Well, its been two years, and I am ready to be released, the panic attacks have mostly disappeared, and the constant anxiety is just a part of life now. I'm ready to apply what I've learned and start my life.

This year I've got this baby on the way. We haven't made any plans for my birthday, other than if we are home Justin is going to make me some chocolate mousse, and if I am in the hospital he is going to buy me a raspberry cheese cake to keep in my little fridge. Praying for this baby to come has more to do with my desire to start my new year, than any comfort issues. I want him here so that we can get into a schedule, and stop feeling in limbo. I want him here so we can stop waiting. I know this could end up biting me, like my pretended over-confidence that lead to a week of purselessness, but I'm ready to START my new year, not just plan for the unplannable. Justin is starting his last (if all goes as planned) year. Reuben and I will have to learn how to juggle the life we've established with the addition. And just when I thought I had gotten the swing of being a mom in New York I'll have to learn how to do it with an infant.

I'm terrified.

That seems to be the way I react to the biggest of new beginnings.

PBS

I have a question that has been plaguing me for weeks. Something happened, and PBS is one of my favorite channels. I get sucked into Artist Den (Alanis Morissette, Igrid Michaelson, Ani Difranco) They show good classic movies, instead of the classic movies you don't want to watch. (and we'll just ignore the fact that if the tv is on during the daytime it is on PBS, but that is Reuben not me.) This is strange to me because PBS has always been not programed for me. Nothing against Lawrence Welk, or Nova, but I have spent years being not interested. Until now. I will be clicking through the channels, and see something that makes me stop and watch, and then I realize it is PBS.

So the question is: Is it me, did I get old, have my interests changed that much? Is it New York's PBS (thirteen WNET, or WLIW 21)? Or has PBS all over become more aware of the interests of a larger population?

I still won't stop for Lawrence or Nova, so I'm thinking its not entirely me.

I'm a Female's Feminist

***Hannah did the research for me, maybe that is why she is going to grad school, and found out that someone already got the term 3rd-Wave, and it means a lot more than I want my brand of Feminism to mean. So, I'm changing the name to Female's Feminist. But not in the post yet because I don't have time to go through it right now.***

As requested, here you go... As a 3rd-wave feminist I reserve the right to expose my pregnancy brain.

I started questioning my feminist leanings a few months ago when Justin came into bed and told me that he would be willing to hyphenate, and change Reuben's name to include mine. If he had done that when we got married, or even when I gave birth to Reuben I would have gone out the next day and made the name changes official, but Reuben is still only a Cook in the government's eyes.

I struggled with taking the Cook name. Nothing against the name, or the people who have it, I just didn't understand why I had to give up my identity to take on this name that didn't describe me at all. I wanted the man, not the name. There were a few reasons why this was so hard for me. I married the December before my last semester of college, and in that semester had teachers who already knew me as Brecken Reasor, so it wasn't like I could make a clean break from my name (if I wanted to). Brecken Cook had not done any of the work in the previous years to earn that BA, so I had no motivation to walk in graduation as a Cook. I prided myself that I was the only Brecken Reasor people would ever meet, and while Brecken is still an uncommon name, my chances of being one of a kind went down when Cook became my last name. My sisters and I are the last Reasors in our line, dad being the only son. Also, my name would be "Breck Can Cook," which I can, but I didn't want to be defined like that.

I didn't get why it had to be me who changed my name, at the very least it should have been both of us, we were both taking someone else into our life, why not both take the name of that person. Justin didn't take my concerns seriously, I married him anyway, but it really did bother me that he expected me to change my name, that he thought it would be easy for me to do that, and that he wouldn't consider changing his name. (After five years his heart has softened, so do not fear that I still have raw feelings about this issue.)

I waited until the last possible second to change my name on my social security card, and a few months after that to change my drivers license. My diploma does say "Brecken Reasor Cook." I did all this because I could see it was hurting Justin's feelings, and because I didn't want confusion in the future about our children's name.

So, I am a feminist that gave in on the name situation, but married someone who eventual came to understand my opinion and concern about it, and will do something about it once it is in the budget, or maybe not.

Then, I read this entry at Segulah. In it, the author describes how she patterned her life after counsel she received as a young woman, with a tone of regret. I was sad for her that she gave up on her real education goals to follow the counsel that could have been interpreted differently. My first thought was, a patriarchal blessing is only counsel to the individual who receives it. My second thought was, I am thankful that I was never taught that I should neglect my education, by my parents, or my church leaders. My third thought was what the counsel in my patriarchal blessing is, there is a whole paragraph in my blessing that discusses my education and career. I have always had a hard time committing to "what I want to be when I grow up." Either I wasn't sure internally, or when I thought I was sure the powers that be made sure it wouldn't work out. So, I still have large questions about this promised career of mine, but it drove me to stay "steadfast" in my education, and to feel like I needed to, and could work and be a mother at the same time.

Because I thought for years that I would be a professional woman, I have deep rooted feelings about equality for women in the professional world. I think qualification has nothing to do with gender, and neither should pay bracket. I think women should have the right to earn what they deserve, and sue to get that amount no matter when they find out they are getting paid less then they should. I think that they have the right to get the jobs that they are qualified for. I think that people, especially other women, should never judge a women for her choices when it comes to careers. And, I think that women deserve the same amount of respect that anyone else would get.

Well, I worked. I got paid horribly, and was never given adequate raises to match my growing experience, and did what I had to do to attempt to balance my work with my new baby once Reuben arrived. It was horrible. I lost my desk and window once I made the deal to work from home a few days a week, which made going back to work even worse. I would leave after the 4:30 AM feeding, worry about Reuben all the way to work, because he didn't take the bottle well, and some days Justin had to leave him with friends, or cart him around to class and work. I'd get to work at 5:15, and work like crazy, the whole time wishing Reuben was getting the attention he needed. I would try to skip lunch so I could leave a half hour earlier, but that became a problem with HR, and I had to take 20 minute breaks to pump, which added an hour to my stay at work. I'd bite the heads off of anyone who tried to make me stay later than I planned. I'd cry the whole hour drive home, I'd sob uncontrollably if there was some kind of traffic issue. I'd get home with a stress head ache, and nurse Reuben who would latch on and switch from breast to breast until 9 o'clock when he finally fell asleep. I was exhausted, spread to thin, not good at either of my roles. And then I made the decision to quit.

My work from home a few times a week privileges were revoked, which made me really mad. They did nothing to try to replace me so I could train, and they moved me even farther from the team so I really felt like I was wasting my heart ache, time, and energy trying to finish out those last few weeks.

I got a freelance job editing for BYU Independent Study, but it wasn't perfect because when I had a job I had to work way to many hours than I could find. And then I was offered a job working from home for a different department at my last job. I accepted it, because I was pretty sure I could do 8 hours a day from home, and I was offered a significant raise (for something I was way less qualified to do then editing). I did that two years, I got very little sleep. I wasn't working to my full potential as a professional, or as a mother, and not even working on those wife duties. With the move to New York, it was just too much to do emotionally, I didn't like my job, I didn't like that I wasn't as good as I could be, I didn't like what I saw my work was doing to Reuben, I didn't like being tied to meetings and being trapped in our tiny apartment, I didn't like feeling guilty asking Justin to take care of Reuben and me when he got home instead of doing his homework, etc. So, we decided that I would quit and work on being a better mother and wife.

But, because I had that career fear in the back of my head I felt like I had to be able to tell people a job when they asked. So, I chose teaching musikgarten. Well, after training and materials, I've made a total of 450 dollars this year. I do love teaching, but it ruins my tuesday nights and wednesdays, and makes wednesday night pretty difficult because Reuben is thrown off and really crabby. With the baby coming in September I still have to decide if I am capable of continuing. And, while I really believe in the program, and feel like I do a pretty good job, the biggest reason I am thinking I should stick with it is so that I have some kind of "job," even if it is not lucrative.

I've decided, I used to be a feminist when it came to careers, but I found out that I, myself, can't do it all. The balance was impossible to find, even in the perfect situation of working from home every day, and the even more perfect situation of being my own boss. I don't think women can do it all, unless God adds His strength because there is just no other way for the woman support herself and children. I miss knowing that I put the food on the table. I am terrified that I wouldn't be able to support myself if something horrible happened. I hate knowing we have to ration the milk because once we run out of money for the month we ran out of money. I hate knowing that we have no cushion if Justin can't find a job in May. I hate feeling like it was my inability to "do it all" that got us here in the first place. If only I was stronger, or could function on no sleep, or could deal with an attention-starved child who never got to go to the park because mommy had to work.

But, to tell you the truth quitting has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. I love playing with Reuben. I love taking him to the park. I love play group. I love reading to him. I love snuggling with him and watching movies. I love not having a computer on my lap at all times. I love only having one deadline a week (although I am pretty sure I would love having no deadlines even more.) I feel like I have the energy, and emotional strength to do what I am really meant to do. I feel like this is the time in my life where I can be a wife and mother, and should not have to feel guilty (although I do). I have no doubt that I will work on finding and building that career someday, but its not something I have to do when I am needed somewhere else.

And this brings me to my "3rd Wave of Feminism" Theory. I'm not the only one who knows you have to make a choice as a woman, and I'm not the only one that think either choice is fine.

It seems that my generation has a new definition of Feminism. The suffragettes fought for the right to own property and vote, so women had a voice, so they could support themselves, so they wouldn't have to marry a man just to live. With the 2nd Wave in the 70s it was more career and child-bearing oriented, but still so that women could have the right to support themselves, with or without a male counter-part. And now, I think we have entered a 3rd Wave. Women have most of the rights they need and deserve, and the things that we still see problems with are easily discussed and on the way to being resolved. That has given us the right to choose to be the kind of woman we want to be. If a woman wants to be professional she can choose that life and make it work. If she wants to be a mother she can choose that life and make it work. I think we've learned that the "do it all" mentality doesn't really hold true, but we 3rd Wavers are okay with choosing what we want to do, or doing what fate puts in our path, and doing that really well. The reason I think its a wave, and not just me, is the return to "hand-made," the popularity of cute aprons, the resurgence of knitting, sewing, cooking, and baking. Its all over the internet, and not just Mormon Mommy Blogs.

I think this 3rd Wave of Feminists is healthy if: Girls are always encouraged to get an education in what really interests them. If it is Marriage and Family Relations, great, but a girl should never feel like that is what God wants them to do, if it isn't want she wants to do. We, as women, have to refuse to bicker over the career woman verses the home woman choice. I found, being one of the few working mom's in a ward in Utah, that the hurtful things said came from places of jealousy, blindness, and pride. There is just no place for women to judge each other, there are too many factors that you will just never know. We, as women must do the best we can possibly do at what we chose to do, or what fate puts in our path, and not be afraid to change our choice if we need to. We as women need to make sure that we keep the rights our fore mothers fought for. We need to respect the hard choices we as women have to make. We need to worry a little less about what society thinks, and a little more about what is right for our own lives. And, we need to respect the sacrifices that women make, regardless of what those sacrifices are.

Then, we had a nice conversation at book club, discussing Well-behaved Women Seldom Make History, and I felt even more like I wasn't making up this third wave of feminism thing. It felt like we were all the same page, or in the very least could easily understand the page if we weren't all the way on it yet.

So, I'm going to start calling myself a 3rd-Wave Feminist, and I think I can do that without any question. And, I'm betting most of you could too.

Guggenheim, and why I'm not an artist.

We finally made it to the Guggenheim. For future reference the permanent collection is lovely but very small, so your experience beyond the fabulous architecture is dependent on the other exhibits.

There were parts of the Catherine Opie exhibit we both loved... the architecture, freeway, some of the mini malls, and by far my favorite was the Icehouses and the Surfers. (A warning: most of you will not want to explore beyond those mentioned above.)








I had spent the last few days thinking about why I don't consider what I do art, or myself an artist. I had to decide if it was because I really wasn't an artist, or if my definition of art was too narrow to allow myself to consider my creative outlets art.

I've concluded that my definition of art is too narrow to include my products in it.

I know how to work an SLR camera, I know how to manipulate and use light, I don't use any of the "auto" functions in photo shop, and usually only use photoshop to resize my photos. But I don't do anything beyond framing and exposing, and if I did more composition I might be able to include my photography in my definition of art. I think I am a great snap shooter, and I think I have a pretty good eye. The point of all of this is I think I consider photography too easy to be art, at least the photography that I do.

And my knitting, which I do as a creative outlet, I consider a craft, maybe even a "folk art," but it is a far cry from my definition of art. I don't think I will ever consider scrapbooking an art, no matter how dependent on design it is. And, I don't think I have been spending enough time on writing to consider that an art.

Basically my definition of art is narrow because I think it should be challenging. I think if it comes easy to someone they should have to spend a lot of time on it for it to be art. I think if someone can create art quickly it should take a lot of problem solving and mental challenges to be considered art.

And maybe I have this definition because I am afraid to call myself an artist, as to not offend the people I really consider to be artists. And maybe its so I don't have to consider every one who considers themselves an artist actually an artist.

Favorites

Reuben's current favorite color is Yellow. He says it with passion, he points it out constantly, he begs for the yellow plastic ikea plate.

My favorite season is fall. Pulling out the sweaters and scarves, going for walks in the cool breeze, watching the leaves flutter to the ground, stew, and pumpkin cookies.



Justin and I went together to vote at 9 am, Reuben sat quietly in his stroller. There was only one person ahead of us, the machine was strangely archaic, and the location was a project-like apartment building. I am thankful for the right to vote. I am grateful to all those who fought to extend the right to vote to all citizens. I think it is important that we fulfill the responsibilities that that right entails. We need to educate ourselves on the candidates and issues. We need to form our opinions based on truth. And, I believe that we have to prioritize our issues based on what we can and cannot control for our families. While my parents wonder how I developed my political views, I think it is to their credit that I did not go vote blindly, flipping switches down a column just because of the party heading or first impressions. For the first time in my voting life I feel like I finally took full advantage of my right to vote. I was registered in time, and knew where I was registered. I was well-read and educated, I had questioned my opinion, I had prayed about my decision, and I feel no regret or guilt for the levers I turned.

The Most Precious Thing I've Lost

I spent the last semester of my college career researching and writing a paper on Thoreau's forward thinking approach in a predominately nostalgic school of thought. It was so original I couldn't find anyone to support my theory, but I had a strong enough argument that my professor encouraged me to keep going with it. It might have been the fact that he adored my writing style and conversational prowess, or it could have been that I had really hit something.

I worked frantically on it. I worked harder on that one paper than all the other papers I had written combined. I was newly married (as in keeping my maiden name as my only name). I loved bouncing ideas off of my husband, but missed my English (teaching) Major and Hinckley Scholar roommates. In retrospect I never really bounced ideas off of my roommates, but I always had the option. I read Thoreau. I read Emerson. I read the not famous transcendentalists. I found passages to support by forward and backward argument.

I wrote. I wrote, and wrote. I wrote and edited and wrote. I had classmates read and critique, then I rewrote, and edited, and wrote. I wrote so long that on the day it was due I printed it off and ran up to campus in the dark alone to meet the deadline. (And not because I had procrastinated.)

I was proud of that beast. But once I handed it in I didn't look at it again. I got an A in the class, but didn't ever get the paper back. It wasn't until I needed a writing sample for a job that I went to look for it. I read through draft after draft but none of the versions I had had that last 5 pages where the magic really happened. IT WAS NOT THERE. It was not on my computer. It was not on Justin's computer. It was not on any of my zip disks. It was not on any of my floppy disks.

It was painful. I frantically read through all of my files that were last modified in that time period. I wept to Justin that I had lost 4 months of my life. I asked him to read through my things and choose a different writing sample because I couldn't read any of them without thinking about my real ability that was only hinted at in the papers I wasn't fully vested in. I tried to contact the teacher to see if he loved me enough to randomly keep my paper (he hadn't, but was happy to hear from me, he did tell me he liked it.)

I spent the last couple years repressing the memory of loosing that paper. Until today when I realized Justin's scriptures left in the taxi are long gone, and although it will pain Justin to know this, I don't think I have a copy of the poem I wrote him to accept his proposal. I had drafts in a notebook, but in my throwing-things-away-to-fit-into-a-New-York-apartment I am 89% sure that I threw that notebook away assuming that the hand calligraphied version I gave to Justin would stay with us.

This tells me maybe I like writing more than I am allowing myself to remember right now, and maybe I should try doing it again. Oh, and, that maybe I should back things up.

Photo and a Poem

He looks at me with his dripping face
wond'ring what my reaction to his
jumping in the puddle at my feet
will be

Things Unseen

Reuben couldn't have seen that he was crawling in the tree tops while he was scurrying around in the puddle of water just outside of the sprinkler's power.

I wonder how often we are scurrying around in loveliness, but because we are too close or the light isn't hitting right, we miss it because we just think we are in a half inch of water filled with rotting leaves and sand.

Makes you wish you had someone with a better view point showing the pictures of you he has taken. Oh, for the day when we can see past the puddle and into the reflection.

Going Places

A very popular graduation gift (that I never received or have given) is Dr. Seuss' "Oh, the Places You'll Go." I never wondered, until now, if that was because the people giving me gifts assumed I already had it, or if they just thought they didn't need to tell me I was going places (hopefully because they assumed I knew, instead of because they thought I wasn't going places.) I don't think anyone giving high school graduation gifts would have assumed I would end up editing assessment material, some may have assumed I would end up writing, but editing and writing are mutually exclusive. I don't think at my college graduation anyone would have guessed I'd be living in New York City with a two year old. The truth of the matter is that "going places" is unpredictable.

Unpredictability is hard to assume or guess.

I knew when I started editing that it wasn't going to be a life long pursuit. I knew that it wasn't something that fulfilled me, or that I necessarily enjoyed. But, I was good at it, despite my poor spelling. I knew it was a detour. I knew it wasn't where I wanted to go, or even on the path to where I wanted to go. But I didn't know where I wanted to go, or I wasn't in the position where I felt I could go there if my subconscious knew. I know now, that where I wanted to go was somewhere I couldn't go alone, so I had to wait to go there. Waiting is unpredictable.

Unpredictability makes everything seem like it takes longer.

When we decided we would open my womb up for business we didn't have insurance. I had a full-time job, that required a commute, and long hours, but offered no benefits. But, motherhood was where I wanted to go. So we opened ourselves up to the chance that Justin would still be in his undergrad when we had a baby. We threatened my "sugar momma" position with a "baby's momma" position. Somehow I had to keep both momma positions. I knew that was not where I wanted to go, but I was content to take the compromise. Compromise is unpredictable.

Unpredictability makes it hard to see silver linings, or lights at the ends of tunnels.

When I am asked where I would like to end up, I can't give an honest answer, beyond "able to pay back the student loans." But, I know we are still going places because I'm not willing to stay here. To settle. To make this home. I am on a very long vacation to New York City, with uncomfortable living conditions, lots of walking, and a constant desire to just go home. But because we are still going places I don't know where home is. Not knowing where home is is unpredictable.

Unpredictability is when you need home the most.

When we decided it was time to take away one of my momma titles, I knew I was finally back on the path that I wanted to be on. The one that leads to the place I really want to go. But now we are back to no insurance, and I have no control over the income. Being on that path that leads to where I want to go is really scary when the path the bread winner is on has limited bread winning opportunities. Going where you want to go is unpredictable.

Unpredictability is exactly what you asked for.

When I realize that my two year old is no longer a baby, the thoughts of him "going places" terrifies. Today, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said, "Slides and Ladders." So, I know I have a while before I have to really deal with his going places. But, no matter what he'll leave me, what little safety I can offer. He'll go off on his own to make his own life, to find his own place, and to make his own home. He'll be ready to do so, but will he be jumping on beds, or running through crowds in a museum so fast that I consider putting him in a cage for the rest of the day? Will he think he can climb the chain ladder, and then surprise me by doing so without a hitch? Will the day come that he surprises us by falling from the ladder that he has successfully climbed several times before? Where will I have to go to go visit him? Raising a child is unpredictable.

Unpredictability is exciting.

It will be a happy day when I am done "going places," and can "stop to smell the roses." But I have a feeling that the reason so many people tell you to stop and smell the roses is because of unpredictability. You can't predict when you will see another rose. You can't predict when you will feel like you have time to stop. I have a feeling that stopping to smell the roses is part of going places. And stopping while you are going is unpredictable.

Unpredictability is life.

Because I am brainy, and footsy, I know (I think the people who assumed I already knew were the right ones) that there are ups and downs as I am going places. I know that I'll climb that mountain, which ever mountain I find that looks suitable for me to climb. I know that I'll be able to get out of town soon, and it will be easier to find the paths I want to go down soon enough. And I'm sure I'll succeed, at least 98 3/4 sure. Because no matter how brainy or footsy you are, going places is unpredictable.

Unpredictability is part of going places, and going places is the best place to be.

I wrote this to participate in Scribbit's June Write-Away Contest.

Now for my take:

This quilt hangs above the card table dubbed "Brecken's area." My 4 foot by 4 foot area houses a card table, a box of fabric and yarn, some paper, and scrapbooking supplies, and a sewing machine. With only 560 square feet in the apartment I'm pretty lucky to have my area.

I hung the quilt there because it is my inspiration, it reminds me of the long line of "creators" I come from. My parents, my grandparents, my great grandparents.

My Grandma pieced this quilt, using the reproduction fabric that she loves because of its relation to her. The pastels, the simple designs, the memory of flour sacks of these patterns so little girls could have pretty dresses. She created because she had to, and loved it so when she didn't have to it became a necessity of a different kind.

My Grandpa quilted this baby-sized piece. When I was young I remember him in his workshop, cutting pieces of wood so the aunts could make Christmas sleighs. I also remember him being most proud of things he built to display my grandma's creations. Quilt racks, shelves for plates, quilting hoops. Grandpa never got his stitches as small and even as my grandma's, but he did it out of love. I think of him stitching to spend time with her, and wonder if Justin will ever get to the point where he will want me to let him help. Or if I will ever get to the point where I will be happy to act in his projects just so I can spend the day with him.

My parents have a quilt hanging in their room, of similar fabric (but it isn't reproduction it's antique.) I used to look at it and wonder if I could ever make anything that my great grandchildren would love to look at. The impossibly small stitches, the thought of pushing a peddle or even having to make each stitch by hand, the love and care that preserved the quilt through the years, are all reminders to me of how important it is to be a good creator, and then a better steward.

Reuben loves the few paintings and drawings we have in our home from my parents. He talks about them, and knows who created them. He tells me about the cupid baby that Grandpa painted. He's not old enough to appreciate that the birds are crayon drawings, and that the cupid isn't a photograph but a painting. But he knows where they came from.

I wonder if every family is like mine, I'm almost certain they aren't. I'm lucky to have such a tangible example of creation, and appreciation. Maybe that is why I miss the sky so much.

I took the long way.

I got to go to play group today, they were meeting at a park that is like 17 blocks south. Instead of walking along Riverside Drive I went down to the depth of Riverside Park. This is by far my favorite place in the city. The trees are call, and its down hill from the city. You still hear all the city noise, but you can't see it. Instead you see tall beautiful trees, and with the leaves at full capacity now it is lovely.

I was walking, one ear bud in my ear with Dar Williams playing, and Reuben saying, "I see squirrel. I see bench. I see doggie. I see leaves. I see bird. Whats that?"

And while I was enjoying my walk under the tall leafy trees with Reuben talking about the little bit of nature we can get here (squirrels and pigeons). I wondered what Manhattan Island looked like 200 years ago. I think I probably would have loved it. I still wouldn't have a car. It would still be hard to get milk. I would still live in a tiny dwelling, but there would be trees, and nice views, and not way too many people.

I never thought I'd allow

Barney (but it has turned out to be a better choice than other pre-school tv shows despite the off-key horrible singing.)

Land Before Time (Reuben was going insane one evening, so I let pick something from the Netflix browse instantly, and he pointed to "nasores" and I clicked play. I think it was Land Before Time 21, but I wasn't really paying attention.)

Otter Pops before Noon (I still won't give him one before breakfast.)

Dancing to daddy's techno music.

Poems by Brecken Reasor (Cook)

We had a poetry reading at enrichment tonight. I had to go even though I would have to take Reuben because I feel poetry might be one of those things I should be keeping up on but haven't been.

And here, for you sisters who were curious enough to search, poems, by me.

LATE

He's shaving on the way to class,
What brought him to this state?
I chuckle as I see him pass,
And notice that I'm also late.

He hit the snooze too many times.
His roommate had the shower.
He spent hours figuring primes,
Then raising them to the fifth power.

I had a fight about who was wrong,
Then swept the kitchen floor.
My sister and I played ping pong--
I couldn't win, so begged for more.

He listened to his girlfriend cry
About her bad hair day.
He met each problem with a sigh.
Girls like that have nothing to say.

He's shaving on the way to class,
At first I thought him weird,
But he's just one of us. Alas,
I bet he'd look good in a beard.

2003

GUTTERS

There is so much rain
a waterfall forms
bringing the storm
to my window pane.

2003

Use this as a prompt:

Justin took this photo to prove that light came into the bedroom window.

When I saw it, it stirred all kinds of things in my heart. I wanted to know if it did the same thing for you. So, here is your chance to test out your creative writing skills, or just tell me about a memory. What does this picture make you think of, or what story does it tell?

After I give you some time to respond, I will write what I thought.

Does that sound like fun? You should do it!

time to fill a bucket

Have you noticed I've been feeling uninspired? Its partly because I can't take photos inside because the sun just doesn't come in our window and I'm still working full-time so can't get out during the day, and partly because I've been preoccupied with other things. I've been feeling like an empty bucket with a leak. So last night when the home teachers who were sweet enough to bring cookies but not wake Reuben up by trying to stay reminded me of the talk that will be my anthem for these mothering years. If you are a mother, will be a mother, or need to support a mother you should really read this.

Here is the part that hit me last night:

". . .find some time for yourself to cultivate your gifts and interests. Pick one or two things that you would like to learn or do that will enrich your life, and make time for them. Water cannot be drawn from an empty well, and if you are not setting aside a little time for what replenishes you, you will have less and less to give to others, even to your children. . . . Turn to the Lord in faith, and you will know what to do and how to do it."

Justin asked how my cultivation of gifts and interests were going. I'm liking that I don't have to disappear to knit, but I'm too the point where I don't need another hat but I'm not skilled enough to branch out much further, and knitting isn't really a summer craft. I haven't had time to scrapbook in a couple months, and I wish I did. I always seem to have something I am working on, or a plan to work on something.

But, I think I want to try something new. Any suggestions that are low-budget and will not create more clutter in my too-small apartment, but will enrich my life?