Rinda's Reads: January Book List

I have decided to add a new feature to my blog this year. This is mostly because I want to keep track of what I've read this year, but also because once upon a time I posted a reading list on our family blog and I got lots of thank yous from people who wanted the reading suggestions. So, from now on, at the end of every month, you will get a book list from me. Take it or leave it.

January's Book List!

I started the month with all of the Ramona books by Beverly Cleary. There are eight:
Ramona and Beezus; Ramona the Pest; Ramona the Brave; Ramona and Her Father; Ramona and Her Mother; Ramona Quimby, Age 8; Ramona Forever; and Ramona's World. Re-reading these took me back to my childhood, but also made me excited to read them to Kevin when she is a bit older and can sit through more than a paragraph. Ramona will have you laughing and crying at the injustice of being a middle child.  Highly Recommended!

Then, because we hadn't gotten any real mail and I couldn't get a library card yet, I picked up a book my mom lent me while we were in the hospital with Kevin last spring. It's called A Prayer for My Son by Hugh Walpole. I only made it through the first five chapters and then skipped to the end to see if it was going to get any better. It wasn't. Don't read it.

So, I searched a little further on my bookcase and found this short gem: The Hundred Dresses by Eleanor Estes. Every girl should read this book. There is a reason it is a classic. It takes place during the Great Depression. Wanda, the poorest girl in the whole school, tells everyone she has a hundred dresses all lined up in her closet. But how can that be, when she wears the same ragged dress to school day after day? Read it and find out. It'll only take you an hour at most.

My in-laws gave us my next book for Christmas: Let It Go by Chris Williams. This autobiography explains Chris's journey to forgiveness after a drunk teenage driver caused an accident that killed Chris's wife, their unborn baby, his daughter, and one of his sons. Grab some tissues. You will cry, but you will be a better person for reading this book. I promise.

My sister-in-law gave me a beautiful boxed set of all of Jane Austen's classics for Christmas. Not only are the books beautiful, but it gave me an excuse to finally finish reading the few that I haven't made it through yet! I decided to start at the beginning with what is believed to be Austen's first work, Northanger Abbey. Many people say this is their least favorite book by Jane Austen, but I found it highly entertaining and worth reading. Perhaps that is the English major in me (there is much to "analyze" about this book).

And here the library card kicks in:

The Lightning Tree by Sarah Dunster. There are a lot of "Mormon" writers out there. I was impressed that Dunster chose not to ignore one of the darkest parts of Utah's history and set her novel in Provo, UT a year after the Mountain Meadows Massacre and during the polygamy persecution that sent many of Utah's religious leaders into hiding. Her characters are real and relatable, and the history is woven in in such a way that you experience it rather than just reading about it. So, it might be worth checking out.

Enchanted by Alethea Kontis. Remember in my last post how I talked about my love of reading fairy tales? This was one of those books that I simply adored. Kontis takes at least a dozen fairy tales and weaves them into a story that is both new and familiar at the same time. I loved it!

The Guardian by Gerald N. Lund. This isn't your typical religious history book by Elder Lund. It's about a 16-year-old girl with a magic pouch heirloom. Yeah, it's not his usual beat. BUT it is worth reading! I was glued. Be wary though, it is long--over 500 pages--and the story does drag at times.

I guess I could add in the books that I read to Kevin last month--but you probably don't need to know about Amanda and her Alligator, Goodnight Moon, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Squeaky Kitty, Edwina: the Dinosaur Who Didn't Know She Was Extinct, or Leonardo the Terrible Monster. Except that you do need to know about these books. Except maybe Squeaky Kitty. She's rather annoying.

Happy reading!

A Real-Life Fairy Tale

I have been debating and debating with myself as to what to write about this week. There are so many things running through my mind--things I would like to share, but just can't. I wonder sometimes if it makes a difference to anybody who reads this blog. And then I remember, it makes a difference to me.

I don't usually get super religious here, but bear with me today. I want to share some lessons I've learned this past week about the Prince of Peace.

Like most little girls, I love fairy tales. I love to read them, watch them, and discover them in every day life. And I am not content with leaving out any of the details--just ask my father, who read Cinderella to me every night when I was too young to read it myself. Sometimes, after a long day at work and three exhausting kids, he was so anxious to get me into bed that he would try and skip a few pages here and there. Being the perfectionist child that I was (and still am sometimes), he rarely (if ever) got away with it.

As I grew older and learned how to read on my own (I'm sure to both my parent's delight!), I began a life-long quest to read every fairy tale I could get my hands on. I love the idea of royalty, of quests and adventures, of working to overcome evil, of the triumph of true love.

So believe me when I say I know my stuff when it comes to fairy tales.

This past Christmas, I started thinking about the role of a King. It is a thought that I have been pondering on for weeks now. Sometimes, in fairy tales, kings are portrayed as ignorant, silly, clueless, selfish, or even evil. Other tales portray the king as the gentlest man in the kingdom. He is wise, and kind, and giving. His smile makes everyone who sees it feel better. He solves problems instead of creating them. He loves his sons and daughters and guides them, as well as the members of his kingdom, with  an abundance of fatherly love.

In real life, I don't know what mortal kings are like. I've never been subject to one. but I can tell you that there is a King in my life, and I can tell you what my King is like. He is one of the wise kind--the wisest of all. When you listen to his words, he gives direction, and comfort, and understanding. He is the type of King that doesn't just sit on a throne somewhere--he is out and about among his people, a true servant-leader. He rules with all the gentleness of a quiet shepherd, seeking out the lost or struggling ones, while ruling with an iron hand, giving both justice and mercy an equal priority in the running of his kingdom.

And though I don't see Him, I know He is here. I know He is aware.

When I was a child, I tended to think of Jesus Christ as my brother. That is how my parents and teachers explained Him. I understood that He loved me, and that was enough. As a teenager, I came to know Him as my friend. He brought comfort during those difficult adolescent days of heartbreak, anger, and despair. There were many times I felt His love, and His urging to me to get up and just get going and erase my woes in service to others. As a missionary, I came to know Him as my Savior, my Redeemer from pain and sin. In those dark nights in Denton, when I couldn't sleep more than an hour at a time because my body was in such fiery turmoil, I took comfort in a simple picture on my wall of Him cradling children. In those long days when my hunger was never satisfied and my thirst never quenched (literally), I grew silent and listened for His sandals walking next to me. I knew He was the only one who could understand exactly how I felt; he understood because he had been there. The scriptures said that he felt hunger, thirst, and fatigue--and though I knew what I was experiencing wasn't anything close to what He experienced completely, I knew that He had suffered what I had suffered so that he could give me rest.

Now that I am a wife and a mother and an adult, I understand why they sometimes call him a Father, and us His children. I have glimpsed eternal love. I know the haggard worry of the thought of losing a loved one. I know the responsibility of having a little one's well-being entrusted to you so completely. I know the impossible pain of having to forgive another's weakness, even as your heart is breaking.

And all of these years and experiences have shown me why they call Him a Healer.

He picks up the pieces of our broken hearts. He has the ability to put us back together. In each specific moment of heartbreak, from losing loved ones to facing a debilitating illness to the return of the anxiety attacks of my childhood, He has been there all along, healing, loving, and giving of Himself to make me whole again.

And he does it with a divine majesty that leaves me in awe of His power.

There is a reason He is called the Prince of Peace, the King of Kings.

Fairy tales can't even come close to what He gives me on a daily basis: an understanding of what royalty, divine royalty, really means. In following Him, I find an eternal quest and never-ending adventure. He is the only way to overcome evil, and He invites me to join in the battle, weak and simple as I may be.

But above all, He teaches me what true love is.

And it isn't giving up. And it isn't always covered in flowers and sunshine. And, sometimes, it doesn't feel like the fairy tales that I've grown up on. Sometimes there aren't glass slippers and wheat spun into gold and magic lamps that hold genies and three guaranteed wishes.

But always, always, there is a Prince ready to rescue us. And he doesn't do it with a kiss. He doesn't even do it with a sword. He does it by teaching us how to overcome evil ourselves. He does it by teaching us the true definition of love, little by little, in the everyday moments.

He teaches us that it is giving of yourself, even when everything in you wants to curl up in a ball and cover yourself with a blanket. It is forgoing sleep to soothe a baby's scared cry when she wakes up in pain because her teeth are finally! coming in. It is making dinner and doing the dishes day after day. It is letting a son or daughter leave for a foreign land, entrusting that, somehow, they will be fed and kept safe. It is going to work to provide for a family, even when you would rather just spend all day with them. It is creating a home where love and peace can reside, a fortress against the outside forces of the world. It is making good choices, even when the bad ones are right there in front of you, begging you to give in.

It is understanding that, if you work hard enough and love deeply enough, you have done your part in building up His Kingdom.

And that, my friends, is what real-life fairy tales are made of.

Catching Up to Her

One of my favorite games to play with Kevin is "books." Mostly this consists of us sitting in her room, pulling board book after board book out of a pink plastic tub. When I get tired of squeaky kitties and bunnies, bedtime stories that never make Kevin tired, and quaint board books from England that are hand-me-downs from my aunt who did her best to turn her girls into Englishwomen from Boise, I will usually sneak out and grab my book and pillow, then settle on Kevin's floor a few feet away and read while I wait for her to get tired of covering each and every book in drool.

Yesterday she decided to be more interested in my book than she was in her own. When it became obvious that Momma was not going to give up her toy, nor was I going to stop reading to play with her, Kevin gave me a wake-up call of epic proportions. 

For the first time in her life, she ran away from me.

I hadn't realized she could do that. 

I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she realized she was only a foot away from her doorway, which would lead to our blink of a hallway and a new world of possibilities for her: would she choose the bathroom, or Momma's room, or the kitchen/dining area? It isn't a big hallway, but it is big enough to contain more than one place to go. 

I heard more than saw the wheels turning in her head as she glanced back at me, assumed crawling position, and set off with a squeal and a giggle. Her little bum, clad in pink sweats that proclaim "cutie" across her tush, wiggled back and forth as she picked up speed and then put on the brakes and sat back to flash a toothless grin at me. "Are you coming, Momma?" 

And although she'd only made it a few feet, inches even, my heart broke because I could see all the years and miles ahead of us. She is so eager to move forward, and for that I am glad and sad and frustrated. Why does the baby stage flee so fast? Wasn't it just days ago that we were sitting beside an isolette in a hospital, cheering when she pooped and breathed on her own and sucked on a binky? And wasn't it yesterday afternoon when she started smiling and giggling, sitting up on her own and reaching for things and swallowing rice cereal for the first time? 

My mind flashes and suddenly I can see all the moments ahead of us. She is waddling across the living room on unsteady feet, wearing ribbons and ponytails, kissing her baby dolls, zooming around on a red tricycle wearing snow boots, pumping her legs to make her swing fly higher,  working on her spelling words at the kitchen table, plinking out her scales on a piano we don't even own yet, chasing a soccer ball and learning how to shoot a free throw and picking out a prom dress and having her heart broken by a stupid boy and choosing what college to attend and...growing up. 

I moved forward on my hands and knees and she picked up her pace and volume. She knew she wouldn't get far without me catching her. She wants me to catch up with her, I realized as I picked her up and cuddled and tickled her, her laughing all the while, grateful that for now at least, she wants me to follow along.

Are you coming, Momma?

Yes, baby. I'm with you all the way. 

Our Family's Bucket List

I thought perhaps, since I posted my soapbox post of the week on Tuesday, I would lighten things up today and share with my non-existent following our Family's Salt Lake City Fun List that I put together this week in order to keep myself from going crazy with the January Blues and the fact that it has been so cold outside that I haven't wanted to even step out the door and walk to the mailbox with baby girl.  We haven't stepped out the door since we got home Sunday evening...I'm thinking that a trip to the library is now less of a fun thing and more of a necessity...but I digress.

As an effort to stay positive about our recent move to the dreaded Salt Lake Valley, Scott and I often like to point out the fun things that are available to do here as a couple and as a family. Several of these have been on our list since we've been married. For example, last year we decided we wanted to go to Hogle Zoo as a family--for some reason, even though we are the furthest thing from animal lovers, Scott and I really enjoy visiting zoos--but after our premie baby, crazy summer, and roller coaster fall, we never made it. Naturally it is number one on the list now.

Drumroll, please....

My Thursday Blog brings you the 2013 Fowler Family Living in Salt Lake City Bucket List:

1.  Go to Hogle Zoo

2.   Visit the Living Planet Aquarium

3.   Ride the Ferris Wheel at Scheels

4.   Spend an afternoon at Ikea designing our dream home

5.   Attend a live session at the Salt Lake Temple

6.   Go to the Church History Library

7.   Go to the Church History Museum

8.     See the Lights at Temple Square

9.   Go to a concert in the Brigham Young Historic Park

10.   Make a meal for the Ronald McDonald House

11.   Eat at the Pagoda Restaurant (my Grandpa Burningham's favorite)

12.   Eat at P.F. Changs

13.   See a show at the Desert Star Theater

14.   Play a family baseball/kickball game on the Sandlot lot (this isn't far from our apartment!)

15.   Go swimming at Seven Peaks

16.   Attend a REAL Salt Lake soccer game

17.   Go to a Jazz game

18.   Visit  the Salt Lake City Public Library

19.   Go to all of the libraries in the Salt Lake County system

20.   Take a walk along the Jordan River Parkway

21.   See an IMAX movie

22.   Go to the Clark Planetarium

23.   Visit the Leonardo Museum

24.   Visit the Red Butte Gardens

25.   Visit Wheeler Farms

26.   Go to a show at Capitol Theater

27.   Have my dad take us on a tour of places he remembers from his childhood in Sandy

28.   Visit Antelope Island State Park

29.   Take a drive up Emigration Canyon

30.   Visit the Salt Lake City Cemetery and see how many prophets graves we can find

31.   Go to the Discovery Gateway Museum

32.   Visit the Tracy Aviary

33.   Play in Liberty Park

34.   Go to a Disney on Ice show

35.   Go to a Bees Game

36.   Eat something fried at the Utah State Fair

37.   Hit a round of balls at a driving range

38.   Spend a Saturday at Thanksgiving Point

39.   Visit the Tiffany store at City Creek

40.   Have Grandma Fowler teach us how to can fruit

41.   Have Grandma Fowler teach us how to bake bread

42.   Go to Buffalo Wild Wings with the Gillens

43.   Visit Gardner Village

44.   Take a TRAX ride into Salt Lake for a date night

45.   Take a social dance class (this one is on here mostly because I needed a #45 and my husband was never taught correctly how to dance)

What do you think? Anything missing from our list? Also, we would love some buddies to have these adventures with, so let me know if there is a number that catches your fancy and we'll plan a date!

Forced Relaxation

This is a bonus post because I missed a few weeks during our move-related internet fast.

One of my best friends from high school recently posted the following on her facebook wall:

"Hey all of my easy going, laid back friends....please, teach me your ways. I'm so tired of being a nervous, worry wart, who needs control. How do you learn to just go with the flow? I wonder if you are born and stuck with that portion of your personality or if you can change it."

It made me wonder how I would answer her. Now, I will be the first to admit that I am often nervous and a worry wart. I'm a mom. It comes with the territory. There are a million and one bad things that could happen to a child. As a mom, it's my job to imagine all of them so they don't happen (that's defaulting to a childhood theory I had where I realized that if I imagined something a certain way, like what my aunt's new boyfriend looked like, he would pretty much never look the way I expected him to).

In high school, I was an uptight, busy busy busy person. During my senior year, I was editor of the school newspaper (which also meant that I was the majority of the school newspaper because our staff was very small with only a few reliable people), a captain on the debate team, on the National Honor Society Council, in the Key Club Presidency, on the student government TEAM, on a team for the We the People Constitution Competition, and representing my school in Utah's Sterling Scholar competition.

I'll go ahead and say it.

I was a nerd to the nerdiest degree of nerdy (minus the science fiction angle of nerdiness--I just never got into science or Star Wars).

My freshman year at college was a total surprise. For the first time in three years, I wasn't busy or involved in something. I quickly found things to be involved in, but none of them were as stressful as the things I did in high school. I started to realize that my high school experience was one huge competition.  I think it was just the nature of the kids in our graduating class. We were extremely academic and extremely bound and determined to become famous (or at least do something cool with our lives). I felt like we were all vying for leadership positions--just to see who could have the most titles on our college resumes. We were all trying to be the very best, and it turned us all into tightly-strung people who have a hard time feeling like we are achieving anything unless we are doing something "big" in the world. Many of these friends of mine are doing things like graduating from law school or getting multiple masters degrees/working on PhDs or saving lives as nurses while studying to become Nurse Practitioners.

You know, that sort of thing.

This background of mine could potentially have ruined me. How am I supposed to be content with "just" being a stay-at-home mom when other friends have both kids and careers? Why is it that I can be fully content with my life now when I'm not in any sort of running for any award, rarely find time to write (and time to revise? dream on), turned down several opportunities to go to graduate school, have the FEWEST domestic skills of any of my relatives (that includes the Burningham side, too, Mom), and spend the majority of my day crawling around on the living room floor growling like a lioness just to make my baby girl laugh?

I took myself out of the running.

When the diabetes and hypothyroidism that I was diagnosed with almost four years ago now forced me to take a three-month leave of absence from my religious service in Texas, I realized that I needed to slow down. Not just as a missionary, but as a person. I was always trying to do and be too much, and the effort was unnecessary. Those three months helped me come to terms with the fact that I couldn't keep up the pace I'd been trying to keep up with since I was 14. Slowly, over the next few years, I learned to listen to what my body could handle. And because I have a disease that so often messes with my emotions (when I get mad and my patience is in short supply, my husband very often finds me something sugary to eat and fixes the problem), I've learned to listen to both my body's physical, mental, and emotional limits. I no longer felt guilty for saying no to things, or turning down opportunities I knew I didn't have time for. I learned to focus on the things that matter most to me--and of all of the things I value in life, people, my family and friends, come first. I learned that I didn't need a full-time job or some sort of title to be a valuable person (I doubt I could even handle a full-time job and stay healthy). And although the title I answer to most these days is "Dada" because Kevin can't figure out that dang "ma" syllable, I am at peace knowing that I am doing the thing I have most wanted to do in my whole life.

So now I've entered the "Mommy" race, which is a huge competition in and of itself (ha, have you ever been on Pinterest?). But that is a different post altogether.

I remember my mom coming home from a parent teacher conference in high school. She told me that my favorite teacher, Mr. Rigby (my newspaper advisor, We the People advisor, and teacher of my AP government class) had told her that he had a certain number of students that were on his "10 Year" list and I was one of them. These were students that he wanted to look up in ten years and see where they ended up. My big brother is also on this list. This spring marks 10 years for him. What has he done? Oh, you know, learned a language, served a mission, played college football, served as student body president of his university, got married, served as an assistant football coach after graduation, is at the top of his class at the George Washington University law school (we don't have time for me to go into the many accomplishments he's had at GW--and those are only the ones his wife has told us about, because he would never say anything).  I used to be in a competition with him too. I'm glad I finally grew up and realized that we are different people with different roles to play in life, because now all I feel is pride for him and the many things he is accomplishing.

This spring marks 8 years for me being on this list. Oh, I've done a few things--served a mission, graduated summa cum laude with two Bachelors degrees--but all that really amounts to nothing compared to the other students that are probably on Mr. Rigby's list (my big brother is a prime example). Sometimes I think of this list and feel bad that I don't have much to show for myself. If I were working toward something, like a master's degree or publishing a book, that might be something. But right now all I'm working toward is teaching my daughter how to walk and speak and eat by herself.

But guess what? That is something.

I can't really say that I am a laid back person. Easy-going, content, happy, yes. I haven't always been a content person. Now that I've had time to settle into my life and figure out what it is I really want to do, I've found that number one is raise a family and everything comes second and third and fourth to that.

So, I guess the only answer I have for you, friend, is ask God to smite you with diabetes and hypothyroidism and slow you down enough to realize what you really want to get out of life. It might not work for everybody.

But it sure worked out for me.

Marinda the Brave

My 2013 kicked off with...silence.

We pulled into the parking lot of our new apartment building, carried a sleepy, cranky little girl up the flight of stairs, and confronted a fortress of cardboard boxes.

An epic unpacking battle ensued, and two days later, I was down to three boxes, a Rubbermaid tub, a stack of wall hangings, and not much to keep me busy while Scott spent some long days at work. Sure, he only technically worked eight hour days, but his eight-hour-days became my ten-hour days because he left a half an hour before work, took an hour lunch break, and didn't get home until 5:30. I'd watched all our new Christmas movies three times over. With no internet, and no basic cable, I had no clue if America had gone off the fiscal cliff, how the Aggie baskeball season was going, or if anybody even cared to email or message me on facebook. And leave it to Kevin to take some great naps during this time (what an angel).

So I did what I always do when I am highly emotional and slightly bored.

I read a book.

Actually, I read eight of them.

In two days.

Bless your heart, Beverly Cleary. How did you know I needed Ramona and Beezus and the whole Quimby family and all of Klickitat Street to get my year started in the right way?

This week, Ramona taught me a thing or two. I learned that, since Beezus is practically my 1970s self, I owe a whole lot more credit to my little sister for putting up with me (Ramona is her 1970s self). I learned that it is okay to be your own person and be creative. I learned that sometimes people just don't understand you. If you understand yourself, that's okay. I learned that we all face challenges at all ages. For Ramona, that was behaving in Kindergarten, getting along with her annoying baby neighbor Willa Jean, sleeping in her dark and lonely new bedroom, and doing her part to keep her family functioning.  I love the scene in Ramona the Brave where her sister Beezus tells her to grow up and Ramona replies, "Can't you see I'm trying?!"

I thought, I'm trying to grow up too, Ramona. Twenty-five years old and I am still trying. So I got outside of my comfort zone this week. I stopped making excuses and started driving around the Salt Lake Valley. I quit waiting for Scott to help me and hung the pictures by myself (who cares if they are a little more crooked than when he does them?). I kept the kitchen clean (until yesterday, when I just plain decided I didn't want to do dishes for a day). I attended a new play group with Kevin. I started writing again. I set some new goals for a new year. I started to look for things to look forward to in order to drive away the January blues. I invented a new game to play with Kevin. And I decided that this year, I am going to be brave.