Baby's First Concert

Earlier this month we went to see Brad Paisley in concert. The tickets were really reasonably priced, so when I bought them, I got four, thinking we could either take some friends or take Nicky and Daisy. We decided to take Nicky and Daisy to have their first concert experience.

First, let's address how that went. I knew going into it that Nicky would love it and Daisy would hate it. I knew that I would have to take Daisy to pee at least four times during the concert. I knew she would be bored and that she would think it was too loud. I knew that both kids would get really tired - overall Nicky would be okay but Daisy wouldn't.

A few days before the concert, I started panicking - knowing that taking Daisy was a bad idea. We had already told her that we were taking her, so just to make sure she wasn't disappointed, I talked to her and told her the ups and downs of going to a concert, and I let her decide if she wanted to go. She decided to go, and everything went pretty much as we expected with her. She wasn't bad per se, but the concert was just too long, too loud, and too late for her. I took her potty in between every set, and I told her early on that there is a strict "No Potty During Paisley" rule. She actually did as well as could be expected from Daisy, and I think she enjoyed a lot of the concert. The problem with Daisy is that if 9 things go well and 1 thing goes wrong, she hates the world. So even though she spent most of the concert looking through binoculars with intrigue and having a good time, all she remembers is that she felt bored for 2% of the concert and that she got tired at the end, so if you ask her, she will say she hated it.

That's the Daisy way.

Nicky, on the other hand, loved it. He wasn't big on the opening sets (neither was I), but he liked Brad Paisley. He definitely got tired as the night went on, but he enjoyed the music, the special effects, and the opportunity to be really loud (we have issues with keeping Nicky quiet at home, so he was really happy about being encouraged to yell and cheer).

As far as wholesome family entertainment goes, we failed a bit. We've been to Brad Paisley concerts in the past, and we always thought it would be fine to take our kids. Now that we've actually done it, I'm not sure it was a great parenting choice. I think the other concerts we went to, though, were more mild. This one had a lot of bikini-clad women on the big screen, and there are a couple of new songs by Brad Paisley that I didn't know and am not impressed with. And of course, there's the drinking factor. I don't know if I was just more sensitive to it because my kids were there, but it seemed like there was a lot more talk of beer than there has been in past concerts. On the good side, it opened the door for a lot of discussions.

This concert wasn't as magical as the ones I've been to before. But sometimes that's just a result of trying to relive an experience. Brad's set list also wasn't what I hoped for. Unfortunately, some of my favorite Brad Paisley songs didn't make the concert. I get it, though, he has so many albums, he can't possibly sing everything I want to hear.

That's a good problem for a country artist to have. 

Draft Week - The Kind of Feminist I am

This is a post I wrestled with for a really long time. I wasn't sure if I wanted to discuss the topic of feminism here, but I started writing the post about six months ago just to see how it felt. I got most of it written, and then I realized that I'd hit Reason #3 once again - I wasn't sure how to conclude it.

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I tend shy away from topics like this. I don't usually feel like contributing to this particular online discussion, but I've had this post in the back of my mind for a really long time, and I think the time has come to write the words.

I am a feminist.

A feminist is a person who advocates for rights, opportunities, and identities for women.

Of course I'm a feminist.

There are a lot of negative connotations with the word 'feminist.' I believe that's because there isn't just one clear vision of feminism. In fact, according to Feminist Family Theory, there are five different branches of feminism stemming from the 60's & 70's.

1. Liberal Feminism

This branch of feminism emphasizes freeing women from subjugation, particularly in careers. Liberal feminists challenge laws and customs that restrict women from obtaining significant roles in society.

2. Marxist Feminism

Marxist feminists believe that the exploitation of reproductive and household roles of women are oppressing and place women as second-class citizens.

3. Radical Feminism

This branch of feminism believes that male dominance is the problem in society and that masculine and feminine traits should be limited in favor of androgyny. This branch also believes that the family structure is a source of male dominance and female oppression and should be avoided.

4. Social Feminism

Social feminism focuses on women's liberation from class oppression and patriarchy, particularly as found in families.

5. Cultural Feminism

This branch emphasizes bringing respect and value to traits that are seen as "feminine," rather than discriminating against traits that are considered "masculine." Cultural feminists believe we should celebrate and acknowledge the differences between men and women.

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These branches make it quite clear that there are some very different beliefs about the objectives of feminism and the causes of oppression toward women. One woman might embrace feminine traits as part of her feminism while another woman strives to eliminate feminine traits as part of her feminism. A woman might choose to pursue the role of mother, homemaker, and nurturer as part of her feminism while another woman chooses to devote herself to a career and remain childless as part of her feminism. The hard thing about feminism is that striving for women's rights can result in completely opposite actions. We are not in agreement over what women's rights should look like. Some women feel oppressed by the very things that make other women feel strong.

Regardless of the different philosophies of feminism, there have been great changes in opportunities for women over the past few decades. In 2010, women made up 46.7% of the workforce, up from 38.1% in 1970. Also in 2010, women earned 57.4% of bachelor's degrees, 62.6% of master's degrees, and 53.3% of doctoral degrees. Women now graduate with nearly half of all medical and law degrees, up from 10% thirty years ago (Zhou, 2013).

But with those opportunities, comes something that troubles me. A survey was done from 1972-2006 in which men and women reported on happiness and satisfaction in various areas of their lives. When the study began in 1972, women reported higher levels of happiness than men, but at the time the study concluded in 2006, women were reporting lower levels of happiness, suggesting that women have become less happy over time.

Betsey Stevenson, one of the researchers, suggests two reasons for this:

1. Happiness for women now encompasses multiple domains, not just the home.

2. Since women's opportunities have increased, women now compare themselves to larger groups than they did thirty years prior.

Ultimately, my wish for women is for each of us to be happy with who we are and confident in the individual paths we take. I don't think there's a "one size fits all" formula for achieving that, as our talents, interests, wants, and needs are all so different. That's part of what makes us such amazing creatures, though - we have so much human-ness in common, but at the same time we all bring unique perspective and balance to the world. I'm glad that there's not a "one size fits all" solution for feminism because that would mean that we were all the same, and I can't think of anything more boring.


Smith, S.R., & Hamon, R.R. (2012). Exploring family theories. New York: Oxford University Press.

Zhou, L. (2013, March 22). Can American women have it all and be happy? Phi Kappa Phi Forum. 

Draft Week - My Fat Photo Philosophy

And here is where I overachieve! Post #5 for Draft Week, wherein my goal was to finish and publish four posts from my draft folder. It feels good to overachieve. It's not a thing I often do these days, so I'm going to bask in this moment and really soak it in.

I might even refer back to it over and over again for the next year. "Remember how I'm an overachiever?" "Oh, you know how I like to go above and beyond!" "Sometimes I do more than is expected of me."

(Can you hear me over the sound of me patting my own back?)

Anyway, I wrote this post last fall  (October 2017) after we went to Disneyland. I never published it because I worried that I wasn't being entirely truthful with what I wrote. This is a post about getting in the picture. I call it my "Fat Photo Philosophy." But I've gained ten more pounds since I wrote this, and I admit, it's getting harder and harder to get in the picture - especially if that picture is going to be on someone else's phone where I won't have control over it.

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This is a post about my weight.

(I figured I would just throw that out there so you can leave if you want. Weight-related posts aren't my favorite, so I don't blame you if you bail).

I'm currently the heaviest I've ever been. I'm bigger than I have been even nine months pregnant (and I look pregnant. I'm not saying that to be cruel to myself. It's just a matter of fact. Sometimes people look at my belly and give me a knowing smile. A lady in my ward has done this to me for about two years straight. I'm starting to wonder if she's just really bad at math because I could have had two babies in the time she's been eyeing my belly, and yet, no humans are escaping me).

Part of me isn't happy about it. Another part of me doesn't care one bit.

Two years ago, I was a different "heaviest I've ever been" (I was the heaviest I'd ever been but 17 27 pounds lighter than I am right now). I went to Disneyland that year, and I was so horrified by the photos afterward that I thought I'd found the motivation to change.

I lost a little bit of weight (about ten pounds), and then I gained about thirty pounds, putting me where I am currently.

Now I look back at those photos from two years ago, and I don't think I looked so bad.

Which is why I have the following "Fat Photo Philosophy:"

Even though I'm the biggest I've ever been, I'm still going to get in the picture,* and I'm still going to share photos of myself. Granted, there are photos that I will never share - everyone has the right to tuck away those bad angle photos and those "what is my face doing" images. But... I have a lot of photos that may not be flattering in the weight department, yet still show me experiencing joy and living a good life.

Why should I hesitate to share those just because my gut is sitting in my lap?

Also, someday I might be bigger and look back at those photos and say, "I can't believe I used to think I was so fat!"

Or maybe the opposite. Maybe I'll be thinner, and I can look back and see how much I've changed.

I won't get either of those opportunities if I don't get in the photos.**

*I will still whine about extended family photos. This has nothing to do with weight. It's just my Extended Family Photo Philosophy to complain and resist at all costs. I like my extended family, but I prefer to not stand close to them and hold still for long periods of time. 

**This philosophy was pondered and adopted while riding Splash Mountain and knowing that the Splash photo was not going to be pretty. 

Draft Week - Navigating the Audience

With this post, I make my goal of getting four posts from my draft folder published. Since Draft Week started on a Tuesday, I have a couple of days left to overachieve. I might just exceed my goal (something I rarely do anymore).

I started this post in 2013, and even though five years have passed, I still experience this all the time.

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Being a parent is so hard. It's one of those things that you don't truly understand until you're living it. People always hinted at it during my pre-kid life, and I was like, "Yeah. I know! It's hard. Duh!" but the forewarning was nothing compared to the actual experience. Now I'm like, "Daaaaang! You weren't kidding!"

One of the most challenging things for me has been parenting in front of other people. I always jokingly say to my children when they start acting up in front of someone else, "Don't make me parent you in front of [insert person here]!" This is my slacker way of begging my kids to behave while simultaneously offering comic relief and warning the bystander that things might not be pretty if my kids keep acting up.

The thing about parenting with an audience is that the audience usually has an opinion on how the situation should be handled, and I can almost guarantee that I will not do what the audience thinks I should do (with that said, I have been the audience for other people's parenting many a time, and I am guilty of silent criticism. We all do it, which is why I don't want to parent my kids in front of other people. It's so much easier to have the "right" answers when you're the outsider looking in).

Take this scenario, for example:

I am at the park with some acquaintances and their children when one of the other mothers turns to me and says, "Your son is climbing the tree."

Does she expect me to tell him not to climb the tree? I mull over this for a minute, wondering if there is any reason I shouldn't let Nicky climb the tree, but frankly, I don't care if he climbs the tree as long as he's not damaging it.

I smile and say, "Yep. He's a good climber." Turns out, this mother does not let her children climb trees, and she wants me to make my son get out of the tree so her kids won't want to climb it, too.

Which of us is supposed to compromise?

And then there's this:

We are at a large extended family gathering with loads of small children. People are preparing the final details of potluck lunch, and we'll be eating any minute. There is a large stack of plates at one end of the table. Several kids are grabbing plates and using them as frisbees. None of the mothers are bothered by this. I see Nicky grab a plate, and I intervene, explaining to him that they are not our plates. We did not pay for them, and we should not waste them. We need to make sure that there are enough plates for all of the people to use for lunch.

Meanwhile, another little kid overhears me and goes running to his mom crying because I told my kid he couldn't throw paper plates (I said nothing to this other child, mind you). So the other mother (who, of course, is a relative) picks her son up and takes him (and his paper plate) away from me to play.

And there I sit. The only mother who won't let my kid throw BRAND SPANKING NEW, UNUSED paper plates THAT WE DID NOT PAY FOR. And need I mention that we're outside in the mountains, and that all of these frisbee plates are making large puffs of black mountain dirt each time they land?

I can't help but wonder where to find the balance in all of this. Sometimes I am the lenient mother; the one who lets my children climb trees, take off their shoes at the park, and eat off the ground at Disneyland.* Other times I am the strict mother; one who won't let my kids throw paper plates at a potluck.

I mention eating off the ground at Disneyland because it comes from a real experience. We were there with my brother-in-law, and my kids spilled a little container of goldfish. They swiftly started eating them off the ground, and my nephew joined right in. My brother-in-law dove toward the kids in a panic, shouting, "No, don't eat those!" Scotty turned to him, and said, "It's cool, they can eat off the ground." I was in sheer panic over how this was going to play out. I was surprised when my brother-in-law took a deep breath, and with much pain, turned to his own children and said, "Okay, kids. Today we eat off the ground." And then they joyfully finished cleaning up the goldfish.

This story both relieves me and stresses me out. It relieves me because my brother-in-law made a choice that made all our lives easier, but it stresses me out because I know that he bent one of his own family rules, and he probably spent the next six months worrying that his kids had contracted a terminal illness.

I realize that every family has different values and expectations for behaviors, but I don't always know how to handle things when we are in a situation where we have one rule and another family has a different rule, and we're in an environment that puts us at odds with one another. It always feels like one of us has to bend to the other's ways, and I don't like negotiating my parenting with other people. My solution is usually to tell my kids, "Their mom will take care of them, and I will take care of you," but that doesn't do much to soothe the tension of the situation, and it doesn't work in every situation. Sometimes it feels like tyranny.

*Our own food that we drop. Although I can't say I would deny them a perfectly good churro if one happened to by lying on the ground close by. It's like finding four bucks in my pocket.

Draft Week: Doggy Paddling

My draft folder is now down to 111 (From 165). As I've combed through my unpublished posts, I'm amazed at how many posts I've abandoned for reason #2: I realize that I'm whining or complaining. Don't get me wrong, plenty of whiney posts see the light of day around here (one of my most frequently used labels is "wo is me"), but there are masses of posts I've never published because I know I sound like an ungrateful sack of potatoes.

(Are sacks of potatoes ungrateful? I just made that up).

I decided to post this one from January 2016 because I wrote about an event that had a big impact on me. I now refer to this event as "The Day the Sunday School Boys Made Me Cry." It may seem like a small event, but it was a kind of turning point. One of my boys didn't come to church for over a year after this happened, so it has always been bookmarked in my mind as the last time he came to church (he bravely returned last year and was in my class again).

I just taught the same lesson to my new Sunday school class a few weeks ago, and it will always be remembered as "that lesson," though this time around it went very well, and no one made me cry. I'm glad I had the chance to see the lesson unfold the way I envisioned it.

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Last week* I wrote about how I feel like I'm drowning. I can't explain why, but things have just been really rough for me emotionally lately. I don't usually get the January blues, but maybe that's what this is. I dunno. I've been doing the, "Do I have depression?" debate for a while, but it doesn't quite fit the bill.

Anyway, I'm a firm believer that whining to the point of embarrassment really helps turn things around. Don't take that out of context. What I mean is that writing a blog post or talking to a friend and just taking a minute to vent is really helpful, but then you need to wipe yourself up off the floor and try to improve things. In other words, you can whine for a minute, but then you need to suck it up and take action. 

Last week I had some chances to vent. It started on Sunday when everything caught up to me in the middle of Sunday school (I was teaching), and I completely lost it in the middle of my lesson in front of a bunch of a 15 year old boys (they weren't exactly being kind that day). I started sobbing. Not just crying, but sobbing. I was sniffling and doing those quick inhales that make you unable to talk. My face was red and puffy. I just exploded. Then I got control of myself and dismissed the class. I had a quick chat with my team teacher, and then I went to the bathroom to do damage control.

When I walked in, one of my good friends (and mothers of one of the boys I'd just cried in front of) was standing right inside the door. I took one look at her and just started sobbing all over again. I explained myself in between sniffles. Then she left, and I looked in the mirror and started sobbing again just because I looked so ridiculous. I hid in the bathroom stall for a while hoping that I'd stop crying and get my act together so I could go to my next class. The restroom traffic was so heavy every time someone came in, I'd say, "Hey ________. I'm in here crying. Do you need a stall right away?" Luckily they let me stay.

I texted Scotty from the bathroom and told him what was going on, and he texted me back that he was outside waiting for me, so eventually I had to come out of the stall. Since the bathroom never emptied, I made my escape while a friend was changing her son's diaper. I walked out like, "Hey, don't mind me. Just a little emotional breakdown. No big deal. Oh my heck! Look at my FACE!!! What is wrong with my face? Okay then, good day."

A few days later, one of my friends texted me and said, "I've been thinking about you, and I've been meaning to ask you if you're doing alright." I responded, "Haha! I'm a mess, but you know how it goes..." Then she called me and let me have a big, old whine fest with her.

She didn't give me advice. She didn't tell me to cherish every moment or say, "If you think it's hard now, wait until you have teenagers!"

In terms of being a good listener and helping me feel better, my friend nailed it.

When I got off the phone, I realized I'd just vented to a friend whose husband spent the last year battling cancer. See what I mean about whining to the point of embarrassment?

Now that I've had the chance to let some of my emotions out, I feel like I might be able to start doggy paddling.

*"Two years ago" would be more accurate now

Draft Week: What it Looked Like

At the beginning of Draft Week, my draft folder had 165 posts in it. I've been working my way through them, finding the "deletables," and I'm now down to 116.

I decided to click the arrows and go as far back as I could to see what kinds of posts I'd abandoned in my twenties. This is a post I wrote in 2013 (when I was 29) and never finished.

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A friend came to my house the other day to drop off a few things. My house was clean, and I had everything ready for our Family Home Evening lesson that night - this involved a hide and seek activity, so there were little papers taped all over the house. My kids were seated at the kitchen table eating their dinner and speaking softly to one another. I was fully groomed: hair done, make-up on, dressed to shoes. My children's artwork was displayed on the front door. Scotty had classes and wasn't going to be home until after 10:00 that night.

What it looked like:

I am an engaged, thoughtful, and loving mother who can manage the home even my when my husband is gone. I have taught my kids manners while maintaining great hair. My FHE lessons are well-thought-out and planned ahead of time. I adore my children and lovingly display their masterpieces for all to see.

The real story:

That was the first time my house had been clean in months. Scotty and I had spent hours working on it over the weekend, and to keep it that way, we spent most of our day on Monday away from home. I don't cook dinner for my family on Mondays - my friend does* - so there was no mess from dinner prep. My kids were silent because they shut down in front of people they don't know well. My FHE lesson was planned in haste about five minutes before my friend arrived. It was the first time we'd had FHE in several weeks. The only reason I was dressed and groomed was because I volunteered at the school that day, and the last time I'd gone to the school, I'd been a grubby mess so I went out of my way to look presentable this time. My children's artwork was hung on the door because they found it in the recycle bin, threw a fit, and hung in there themselves.

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I arrived at a church event with four friends. The five of us rode there together and then sat at the same table and engaged in conversation and laughter. Two people who had come alone joined us at our table. When we were ready to go, the five of us gathered our things and exited together, leaving the other two women behind.

What it looked like:

The five of us are best friends - perhaps even a clique. We know everything going on in each other's lives. We do a lot together and intentionally exclude others. We dominate the Relief Society table, and the real event is the ride there and back in the "party van."

The real story:

Earlier that day, I asked one of the women if she wouldn't mind picking me up on her way to Relief Society. She hesitated and then explained that so-and-so was already picking her up and that she would ask if so-and-so wouldn't mind picking me up as well. In the meantime, someone else approached so-and-so and asked for a ride. We were all just looking for someone to go with so we wouldn't be alone, and we approached each other in such a way that we ended up in the same vehicle.

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Just a reminder, primarily for myself, that what we see doesn't always reflect the whole story. The person who appears to have it all might be the person who cries every morning because she can't convince herself get out of bed and face the day. The close-knit group you feel excluded from might have people in it that are incredibly lonely. In fact, it might not even be a close-knit group at all.

*My friend and I used to meal swap. She cooked dinner for my family on Mondays and I cooked dinner for her family on Thursdays. We did this for a year, and then we stopped because I went back to school and was pregnant with Eva (and I can't cook when I'm pregnant).

Draft Week - Domesticity & Me

It's Draft Week here at Fluent Brittish, wherein I'm trying to get some posts out of my draft folder. My goal is to publish four drafts this week.

The first one is a post I started before Christmas and didn't post for reason #3: I didn't know where I was going with it. Yesterday I sat down and finished it. I'm not sure I arrived anywhere, but here it is:

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This morning I was listening to a podcast, and one of the co-hosts briefly made mention of the fact that she is not "domestic." That statement made me think about my own relationship with domesticity.

I decided that on the spectrum of domesticity, I might fall somewhere in the middle, but it depends on your interpretation of "domestic." If being domestic means I get dolled up in lipstick and a ruffled apron to bake bread, then I'm not domestic. But if being domestic means I do tasks to manage a home and a family, then I am domestic.

Most of my domestic weaknesses lie in keeping my house clean. I'm not a cleaner. Don't get me wrong - I love a clean house, and I thrive when my home environment is tidy, but I stink at making it so. I loathe cleaning more than anything, and I will find 5,000 other things to do before I will tackle a cleaning job.

 

{Laundry}

I am also very messy by nature. A neat freak would need hospitalization after watching me cook or do my hair. I've decided to just own it and bide by the idea that I'm a creative genius. In fact, I validate myself by looking at my sink full of dishes and saying, "Britt, look how creative you are! You found thirteen unusual and non-traditional utensils to feed your family with this week! You genius, you!"

My other significantly weak area of domesticity lies in nurturing. I have to remind myself to show my family affection and to spend time with my children. People might read that and think I'm awful. I'm not saying I don't do those things - I'm saying they are not easy or natural for me.

One trait I think a lot of people classify as "domestic" is being "crafty." While this may be a domestic ability, I don't think being crafty is important. It's nice to have some crafting skills - they can save you a lot of money and help make life pretty, but ultimately, I don't think being "crafty" is a determining factor in whether you're a good wife, mother, or homemaker.

(Ten years ago I thought crafting was the ultimate measure of my value as a person. I am reformed).

Now I reserve most of my crafting for special events and circumstances, like when I made Daisy's baptism dress.

 

Most of my domestic strengths have to do with planning and scheduling (I hesitate to call them "strengths" because it's not like I'm amazing at them - I just don't suck at them. Maybe "non-weaknesses" is a better term) .

I'm decent at meal planning, grocery shopping, and budgeting (except for the part where I have to live by the budget. I struggle there sometimes, but I do well with managing finances for the future). I'm sufficient at providing food for my family. I cook at least one meal per day. I'm good at mass food prep and always have prepared meals at the ready in the freezer.

I think I'm a decent cook. My in-laws probably disagree, as pretty much anything I take to family potlucks ends up coming back home with me, but other people eat my food and sometimes even compliment it. I've never roasted a turkey, though. I'm sure that's some kind of domestic failure.

I'm not much of a baker. Several years ago, a friend (whom I would consider "very domestic") asked me if I preferred baking or cooking. I'd never even thought of them as two different tasks. Now that I'm a little older, I can say that I prefer cooking to baking. I went through a phase where I felt like baking mattered, and I tried to master bread making in all its forms (I made everything from loaves to buns to pretzels). I dropped all that when I went back to school, and I haven't picked it back up. Just like crafting, I think baking is a nice skill but it's not essential.

(A thousand domestic goddesses just gasped).

I can garden, and I can bottle food using both water bath and pressure cooking techniques (though it's been two years since I did either of those things due to school. This year I'm planning to start up again)

{Apricot nectar}

I'm good at getting my kids up in the morning and getting them ready for school or church. My kids are never the elaborately groomed ones, as I gave up a long time ago on insisting their clothes match, but they are usually bathed!

I keep a detailed calendar and I get everyone to where they need to be. We have a family meeting every Sunday night where we go over the schedule for the week.

In all honesty, I don't really care whether I'm considered "domestic." It's a bit of an old-fashioned word, anyway. What I hope to be is a good manager of my family's resources. So if baking bread or sewing curtains helps me use what we have wisely, I hope I can do those things. But if I can accomplish the same goal by shopping at the Dunford store on discount days and getting my curtains from the thrift store for $2, that's just as good!