Yesterday we dropped dad off at work and as he got out of the car he said, “Have a good day. Remember not to suck your thumb.” My daughter smiled up, “Okay daddy.”

Later as I tucked her in for an afternoon nap I stood next to the bed asking if she wanted some music on or the fan. She seemed impatient, answering, “No. No.” Then she looked at me with exasperation and said, “Go away and I’ll suck my thumb.”

I laughed initially as I walked away. But it’s been food for thought too. My little one has used this behavior as a comfort since birth, and maybe even before. Now she’s being told that it’s yucky. She formed the habit with no interference and now she has to change it, not because she no longer needs the comfort it offers, but because her dad decided it’s time. (I believe one of his primary motivations is a hope to prevent further orthodontia. IMO the damage is probably already done.) She does want to please her dad, so when he’s around or watching she makes an effort. But when it comes right down to it, she’d rather have the comfort of the familiar. The things her dad knows and what he’s hoping to save her from don’t make sense to her.

I’m not asserting that thumb sucking is as damaging as some of the habits that I have, but the connection of her behavior to mine has stood out clearly. My Father knows things, he tries to teach me and warn me and encourage me. And sometimes, especially when I feel like he’s looking I try really hard, but other times I feel like my daughter, “Go away, so I can choose the comfortable. The thing you’re asking me to do is too hard and I don’t understand.”

So, I’m working on how to do better. And maybe as I figure it out, I’ll know how to help my girl stop sucking her thumb . . . in six months or so.

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In fact I’ve written so consistently in my journal I had a hard time deciding what to post today. Should it be about excerpt #1 (while visiting Utah just after leaving New York), “I have cried so much the last couple days-tearful goodbyes to dear, dear friends. What a beautiful & painful thing to have your heart break as you say goodbye-for it is only through loving that your heart can be broken.” Surely we could have a great blog discussion about that. Resisting change, but needing it to grow and also how it helps you appreciate all that you have. How it’s worth it to love and hurt rather than not loving at all.

Or on a lighter note we could talk about excerpt #2 (after arriving in Greeley, two five-year-old boys), “Cole and his new buddy Ray played at our house yesterday. I went to get my camera and when I came back to take a picture there they were, both with their pants around their ankles, peeing into the grass across the street! ‘Hey! What are you doing?’ I shouted out the front door. ‘We had to go potty,’ answered Ray matter-of-factly. Cole just spun around while pulling up his pants with a look of triumph on his face. I managed to keep a straight face while I explained the level of inappropriateness, but as soon as I turned around I laughed and laughed.” Classic parenting moment that left me thinking, “What in the world? I do not understand boys!?!” And also, “So glad I saw that!” I even managed to snap a picture after I shouted out, before they could get their wits about them. Priceless. We could share stories about crazy kids and what you’ve done in similar situations.

Then there’s what you’d expect to find in the journal of someone who’s recently moved, excerpt #3, “I really want to get my room organized this week. I keep choosing to cook, post pictures on the internet, play with the kids, or call friends rather than work on getting the room organized. There’s plenty to do outside our room too: clean ceiling fans and light fixtures, vacuum window tracks, clean windows, take down curtains to wash and press them. The walls could stand to be cleaned as well. I sing that song, ‘A little at a time, and day by day,’ at least once every day. It’s funny how even though I’m busy and there’s a lot to do I still have time to feel antsy and lonely. I’ll look around and think, ‘I’ve cleaned, cooked, meal planned, budgeted, sorted, and organized. Now what? No new friends to call, no one to call and ask me what I’m making for dinner. I’m sure we’ll find our way here in time.’” If I share this excerpt we can talk about finding our way in a new place and the drudgery of housework. You could commiserate with me and encourage me.

So, what to do? Shall it be heart tugging, giggle inducing, advice seeking . . . or how about all three? Take your pick in the comments section. And the overall theme can be a plea for you to write! Record, ask questions, cry, laugh, make discoveries as you take a few minutes to write about your day or your week. I love my journal and the things it has allowed me to feel and see. I actually had things to choose from because I have been writing regularly. And it makes me happy I get to share a bit of it with you.

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After six years in NYC we are heading west, to Colorado. We’ll soon be within a day’s drive of our families. We’ll have a car, a washer & dryer, 3 whole bedrooms (with a closet in each room! My sister reminded me that’s normal, and I reminded her, “Not for me!”), and 2 whole bathrooms. No more bikes parked in bedrooms, moving the dinner table in and out of the corner in order to sit the whole family at once, or hauling laundry down the stairs, the street, in any kind of weather to spend $20 a week at the laundromat, only to have to haul it back up and then do it again the next week. No more dodging dog poop on the sidewalks or running on sticky summer mornings past blocks of stinky trash waiting for pick-up. No more neighbors above my head dancing to Latin hip hop and partying until 3 a.m., no more crowded train rides with tired kids, or unpacking a loaded stroller to fold it and get on the bus, somehow balancing the child and everything else that was in it with only two hands. No more buying only the amount of groceries I can carry and having the bags cut into my hands as my arms burn while I make my way home. Hooray!

But also, no more playdates at the park with dear friends, running in sprinklers, traveling to free city pools, no more mom chats on the bus, or playgroups and pre-school co-ops with people who have known my kids since they were born, no more babysitting swaps and school pick-ups with surrogate family, no more gourmet baking ingredients at my fingertips, no exploring central park, or authentic Thai, hand-made chocolate, world-class donuts, no more affordable public transit that can get me all over (no insurance or gas costs), no more free summer concerts, Shakespeare in the Park, swing dancing under the stars in front of the Metropolitan Opera House, cheap Broadway tickets. No more world-class museums, incredible zoos where we get in almost free on pay-what-you-wish days, or ward musical numbers by amazing professional musicians. No more runs across the George Washington Bridge to see the changing leaves of New Jersey Palisades in fall, no more magnolia and dogwood trees bursting into color at the Botanical garden in spring. No more frequent craziness that connects me to humanity every single day! Like the Laundromat owner who comes and chats politics when I’m waiting to cross the street at the corner in front of her store. Or the deli guy who gives my kids free candy and knows just how to make my turkey provolone sandwich while he updates me about the state of safety in the neighborhood. Or the bird man who puts out forty pounds of bird seed on our block every day for the pigeons, to, ummm what did he say it was for again? Oh yeah, to save us from some sort of government conspiracy. No more New York. Boo!

I am excited for the change and yet so sad! I don’t know quite how to get through this time, all the conflicting emotions. I am trying to relish the weeks we have left, but it feels like ripping the band-aid off slowly. You just feel a little bit of pain at a time instead of all at once. It’s still there though. People are great. They’re trying to help and be encouraging. They say, “It’ll be great; you’ll be fine; think of this or that and how nice that will be, etc., etc.” And I do think what they’re saying is probably true. And I fully anticipate getting through this and loving our new home and the friends I’ve yet to meet. But there have been days over the past few weeks when it literally feels like bits of my heart are getting squished, twisted, ripped, and there is actual physical pain in my chest. Thoughts of a washer and dryer just can’t make it go away.

And so I have been trying to turn to my Father in Heaven more. Seeking the comfort of His spirit. Reading the Book of Mormon. That’s helping . . .but it’s not instant. I have to travel through this change and feel what I will feel and be grateful that I have a Father in Heaven to turn to.

Any other ideas that will help? How have you weathered change successfully?

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Pertinent background info: A member of the church has a friend at work. They talk a lot, the member shares information about the church. They have good conversations, the friend knows more about Mormons as a result of the relationship.

Story: The friend is traveling internationally and meets a nice older gentleman. They strike up a conversation and she finds out the gentleman is also a member of the church. She tells him about her co-worker. They talk and have a friendly conversation. As their meeting is coming to a close he asks her to tell her friend hello. Puzzled, she asks, “Will she know you?” He answers, “Yes, she probably will. Tell her Tommy Monson says hello.”

I love it! What an awesome example. Our prophet, responsible to receive revelation for the whole entire world, the president of a worldwide church, is making new friends in the process of his daily life and travels. He’s striking up conversations and sending hellos to members whom he knows will get a huge lift with those few words. He is a people person–being a friend, making connections. I bet there’s no one busier, and yet he finds the time. Elder Lansing of the Seventy spoke at our stake conference this past weekend and he shared a story of President Monson taking time to help his long-time friend, Elder Marion D. Hanks, who is in the hospital with Alzheimer’s disease. He went and looked up old newspaper clippings or found yearbooks from when Elder Hanks had been in school and copied pictures that he brought with him when he went to visit. He hoped that it would help him remember, so he’d have something to talk about with his grandchildren when they come to see him. The prophet did that. Figured out what might help, went out, researched, made copies, and went to the hospital to visit-all for the love of his friend.

I have been busy lately. Annoying to even say it, right? We’re all busy. But I’ve been feeling a bit overwhelmed, sometimes frustrated, tired, etc. I have good intentions that don’t turn into action, boo! I am going to be more like President Monson. I love him.

How does this inspire you? Any other “reliable” stories you can share?

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Okay, so here I’m thinking to myself . . .it’s not exactly written down in any standard works nor has it been said by any of the general authorities that Jesus created the dinosaurs, but I think he probably did, fuzzy creation time periods aside, I mean, who else could have created them?

Me-Okay, we’ll read from your book and talk about how Jesus created the earth.
Cole-Okay.

After dinner my husband asked him what the lesson was about. He smiled, “How Jesus created dinosaurs.”

His big sister piped in, “How did he do that?”
Cole, “I don’t know! We’re gonna’ read about it from my book.” (Semantics, tee hee)

So we changed some of the lyrics in the opening song, “Whenever I hear the song of a bird, or see a picture of a dinosaur” (as opposed to “or look at the blue blue sky”). Cole giggled through that, and I hoped the next time he was in charge of the lesson he’d have good memories of this night. After reading several pages of the book, Dinosaurs Everywhere! which had simply outlined the history of dinosaurs and informed us that what we know about dinosaurs has been learned through the study of fossils, my husband stopped and asked, “So, how do we know that dinosaurs lived on the earth?” I’m pretty sure it was a follow-up question and he was expecting the kids to say something about finding fossils, yadda, yadda. But instead Cole said, “Because we have brains!”

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Here’s how the discussion began-
A member of the church that one of my friends’ knows recently had a book published by Penguin Books. I haven’t read the book yet, so I’m leaving the title out so as not to spark a discussion I can’t participate in. I want to talk about things on a more generic scale that have to do with Mormons making art for a wider audience.

Friend 1: So did you read so-and-so’s new book?
Friend 2 (hesitating): Yeah, I did.
Friend 1: Did you like it?
Friend 2: Well, kind of. I mean, parts of it were really funny, but . . .
Friend 1: But?
Friend 2: Well, she just treated some things about the church really lightly.

They went on to discuss more details and I listened in for a few minutes. They talked about how they wished she could have shared a perspective that was more faithful. Then I piped in and we talked about a movie that came out last fall that was geared toward a Mormon audience and the pros and cons of that film. And this led us to start asking questions about the challenges of being a Mormon artist. Here’s a sampling I’m interested in discussing further.

Is it possible to share an honest story that questions your own faith without ostracizing faithful members as part of your audience?

If you leave out all messy parts or anything “questionable” in hopes to shed the best possible light on the gospel through your work will people outside the Mormon culture care to hear your story? Is that captivating to anyone?

As Mormon readers and viewers can we withhold judgment of church members who are authors, screenwriters, playwrights, directors, etc. long enough to hear their stories and learn from them? Even if the journey is different from your own?

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The other night something important to my 6 year-old daughter fell behind the bed. It was already past bed time and I had been semi-single parenting for the week due to a busy complicated schedule, so when I say that the bedtime routine hadn’t gone smoothly, you know I’m sparing unpleasant parenting details. My daughter began to cry, “Mom! Please will you come and get it?” Without going into the room, determined to be done with bedtime I called loudly (I hesitate to say yelled, but maybe that is more accurate?), “No! You don’t need whatever it is right now because you’re going to sleep. We can find it tomorrow!” Muffled complaints and whines made their way out into the kitchen where I crankily stood doing dishes. I ignored them, sure that I had made myself clear enough and that she’d survive. A few minutes later I heard a clunk. As I walked down the hall I could hear my four-year-old son, “Mahgwet, I can’t see it. Shine yo’ light down hewe.” (He’s got a really cute “r” speech impediment that I’m not sure how to communicate on the screen, but it definitely adds to the stowy.) I stopped short of the door and peeked in. Cole had shimmied down between the bunk bed and the wall to search out his sister’s fallen item among the dust bunnies and other forgotten toys. He pulled things out one at a time and threw them onto the bed, “That’s not it! Gwoss, it’s all haiwy.” I giggled quietly as I watched the books, toys, and hairballs come out.

“Hewe it is!” He reached up with the restored treasure. “Thanks Cole!” He shimmied back up the side of the bed, over the rail, pushed all the other junk he’d just recovered onto the floor and grinned as he said, “It’s a good thing Jesus cweated me like this so I could fit back hewe and find this stuff.”

“Yeah, that is a good thing,” I thought.

Often, when we’re trying to make improvements, the changes we make create other problems. Wouldn’t it be awesome if when we find ourselves in those tight spots we could approach it like a child and be grateful for what it’s teaching us about ourselves and helping us to understand?