Here’s my most recent motherhood faux pas (okay, the most recent one was ten minutes ago, but it wasn’t good enough to blog about):

Two weeks ago my first grader brought home a note saying his class would be dismissed two hours early the following Monday and Tuesday. Crap, I thought. I have enough trouble remembering things on our usual schedule. Throw in a monkey wrench like this, and there’s no telling what might happen.

Talk to me about scripture study.

I need to do it every day more faithfully.

I also need to do about 479,000 other things every day.

The Lord is kind of yelling at me right now in exhortation.

How do you do it?

How do you make it meaningful?

How do you invite the Spirit into your home?

“If you can’t behave yourself then I’m not going to bring you to Costco again!” 

I said these words, which wouldn’t have been such a big deal, except that I was saying them to my mother.  She had already been scolded twice by the Costco sample ladies for trying to grab their food straight out of the microwave.  “But I don’t want to wait for them to cut up the food.  I’m in a hurry,”  she whined.  Even though we both knew we weren’t in a hurry at all.

My mother is a brilliant, opinionated, artistic, spiritual woman.  She also has severe ADHD.

While Deborah was defending her non-book-snob status last week, I was also coming to terms with my own. And I guess here is where I must admit that I’m a bleeding-heart-book-snob. I think there are books filled with nuance and beauty and books that are thinly veiled propaganda abounding in oversimplification and poor writing (and that it’s not all subjective). I also think that juvenile fiction is written for and should probably be enjoyed mostly by juveniles. But hey, sometimes I also think my oldest was sent to this earth only to punish me for some crime (like cutting the heavenly corners) that I committed in the pre-earth-life, so take this all with a camel-sized GRAIN OF SALT.

However, I have nothing against a good escapist read now and again. And Jessica Draper’s “Hunting Gideon” is just that.

Today’s guest post comes to us from Kacy Falconer of the simply fabulous Every Day I Write the Book. Thank you Kacy! We hope you’ll grace us with a few pages from your book again sometime.

My mom was a working mom. She worked every day, made dinner every night, did housework and yard work on Saturdays, and usually had a “big” church calling for Sundays. She did all of this with pretty much no help from her husband or kids (I’m sorry to say.) I never thought about it, wondered “how she did it,” or found it the least bit interesting.

Now that I’m 35 and staying home full time with my four kids, I find myself reading every housekeeping-homemaking-childraising book I can find. I’m obsessed with routines and schedules and systems. I wonder how often other people go shopping, when their kids take naps, and if they shower every day. No one REALLY exercises, right? And planning menus—isn’t that a myth?

Today we have another great guest post from Lori, of Hearts and Hands. Thanks Lori!

Ours was a friendship that, over the years, dissolved into what could be termed as a mere acquaintanceship. I left the neighborhood we both lived in and vowed to return to see Julie as often as I could. She was going to become a real estate agent. Regrettably, I don’t know if she ever got her license.

Through the grapevine, I heard she moved into an apartment across town. I didn’t think of her again until I opened the local newspaper; the story said her young son had been injured in an accident and, after several months, had lost his battle to live.

A little voice told me I should go see Julie, give my condolences, and try to be of support. It wasn’t just the kind of fleeting worry that makes you wonder if you should return home to check and see if the stove is still on — and you do and its not. It was the kind of voice that shouted, “Go home. The house is going to burn down!” But time was short, my life busy.

I ignored the prompting.

I remember when my first was born and the foreign utterance that crossed my lips to my dad, while I was still in the hospital with my new baby.

“Now I know what joy is,” I told him. And he said, that’s right, that’s exactly right.

In Darlene’s beautiful poem, in the latest issue of Segullah (out this month) she makes lots of discoveries about motherhood, and the imagery is ripe and gorgeous. She tells of what she has learned, how she has feared and changed. And truly motherhood has changed us all.

How has it changed you?

And when are you going to subscribe to Segullah the journal already?

Recently, a dear friend confided in me.

“I didn’t like my book club’s book last month. I’m sure it was beautiful and masterful, but it was about abuse and sex and a horrible sad life. It didn’t matter that there was redemption. It was too awful to read. I must not be a very literary person, I guess.”

Mother’s Day is in eight days–can I recommend a gift subscription to Segullah for your mom/wife/friend? Our Spring issue, Roots and Branches, is at the presses now, and it’s wonderful. I am so excited about it. I was trying to be all professional about this announcement, something like “From the stunning cover by Cassandra Barney, to the poignant final essay “Too Late to Say Good-bye,” Roots and Branches is a must-read.” But really, the stiff language there does not convey just how much I love this issue!!!! Look at all those exclamation points! I’m going crazy with them. Here are just a few highlights:

Art by sisters Cassandra Barney and Emily McPhie.

Poetry by Darlene Young, including the poem “Since You Were Born,” which I cannot read without weeping.

Justine’s essay “Names,” about her connection to her maiden name and her grandma, who was a World War II refugee.

The quirky tale of looking too much like her sister, from Lisa Rumsey Harris (winner of our 2006 Heather Campbell Essay Contest).

How did Eve react to her first time of the month? Powerful poem from Elizabeth Cranford.

Julie Smith, from Times and Seasons, discusses why these women in Jesus’ Genealogy.

There’s also Cream of Wheat, exotic Italian men, sheep shearing, famous Mormon opera singers, deep Southern drawls, and all manner of excellent poetry.

You can order a gift subscription here. And as an enticing sample, here’s a link to that amazing poem by Darlene Young.

Happy Mother’s Day!

New: We are also offering a dollar off per issue for the first five people who subscribe and write “Mother’s Day” in the Paypal notes. That’s a year’s subscription for only $12.

Last week I went to the grocery store and while I was casually meandering past the aisle of rice and beans I got quite a shock.

The rice row was completely empty.

Thanks for the opportunity to guest-blog here during April. I love what Segullah is doing and expect many more positive encounters.

As a contrast with my post last week that was heavily weighted toward an (overly) cynical view of human art, I’ll take a different tack this time.

Premortality is one of the aspects of Mormon theology that most appeals to my imagination, and whenever I encounter a writer who touches on premortality ideas, that writer shoots way up high in my estimation and I can’t help but assume they were somehow inspired.

I recently read Humboldt’s Gift by the Nobel-winning Jewish novelist Saul Bellow,

Alright, so I’ve made the ladies at church upset.

I want a Toyota Sienna. It is my dream minivan, if I dare admit such a thing. A Toyota was not even on the radar screen when we bought our used Chrysler; but with a fourth child on the way, we needed to get something. Two rows of seating seemed heavenly, even if we weren’t always “moving forward” (we have gotten to know our mechanic well).

My neighbor drives a Sienna. I have a bit of trouble with the tenth commandment when I see that gleaming vehicle. This same neighbor called me a few weeks ago and asked me to pick up her kids from school. No problemo. I rumbled over to the school, parked, and waited. Out they all came, with her kids running ahead of mine (no doubt they were excited about the opportunity to ride in a Chrysler), when they stopped at the door and just stood there . . . and stood there.

Last month we launched a new feature at Segullah. It’s called Ask Nine Women and it is a reader-generated discussion post. You can read more it here.

Today’s question:

My first thoughts about the recent raid on the FLDS compound in Texas were, “It’s about time someone did something about that!” But then I read this from The Salt Lake Tribune and this from GetReligion.org and I realized there are some members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who equate current events with the persecution that early LDS saints faced in Nauvoo. That never even occurred to me, but I found it interesting to contemplate.

Now I’m reading about how the children are being separated from their mothers and the issue suddenly seems a whole lot more complex.

In modern times I’ve always thought of both the women and children as the victims of polygamy. I’ve never even considered that the women might be complicit and could be held accountable if prosecuted. What does that mean for the children?

I’m interested to know what others think about 1). the raid, 2). how it may or may not compare to the situation in Nauvoo and 3). the separation of mothers (some of whom may be children themselves) from their children.

Please discuss.

If you have a topic or question you’d like to bring to the table, please e-mail us at askninewomenATgmailDOTcom. Unless otherwise requested, your question will be posted anonymously.

I just got back from my first-ever trip to Europe. Following my wife’s capable, experienced itinerary—man, she kept us moving all day, every day—I spent over a week jamming all my senses with the art of the last millennium in the museums of London and Paris, seeing shows in London’s West End, and just soaking up the architecture and watching all the people. As we repeatedly crisscrossed these two amazing cities via their subway lines, I felt quite humble and even envious, I admit—our only city that even comes close is New York. More than ever, it’s clear to me that the world does not revolve around America, as much as we’d sometimes like to think it does.