Comforts, Balms

Four posts. Which will surface first? This one calls from the pile...

Loved ones under one roof have permanent residence in my heart.  Further up and further in, the mansions they occupy are ever expanding.  So why that strange sensation?  Pull, tug, sink.  It's curious.  Like an anxiety I can't name.  How could I have a hole when my heart is so full of these dear ones?

A talk on belief resonates through my speakers at a stoplight. It reminds me of other words, how does it go? Let the things you do know inform the things you don't know.  Don't let the things you don't know inform the things you do. 

Substitute "things" for "people". A brilliant discovery. A balm that eases these mysterious aches. Those things I do know come in scrumptious packages with arms and legs and faces like cherubs. Or, a larger package with golden eyes surrounded by occasional stubble that sands my skin - for proximity matters. I apply these eternal balms many times daily.

Like today...

Tweaking Poetry

The little poem that flowed so quickly the other day I have felt to revisit and tweak. I believe this version is a . . .  closer translation of the feeling that lingers still.

Beyond Walls

 

Pull me outside my little self, Lord.
Grasp my reaching hands in thine,
Stretched out still.

Walls close in.
Only when minds do.
I know this.

The world is bigger then
Scientific methods and laboratories.
The sphere that envelopes the
One my natural eyes see -
It is that sphere that inspired
The methods,
The math,
The mechanics

Of this little sphere.

The crumb that falls to the ground

An ant may discover and be nourished by,
But it is only a portion, not

All there is.
Only all there is in his world.

Scarcity or abundance?
Seek no more for crumbs, but
For Sources.
No more for applications, but
For Truths.

If the walls of my little box are
Solid and shut - Open them!
This is the Present moment.
And the present thing to do:
Find that Presence within.
Again.
Every Present Moment.

But I am weak.
I can make but a crack;
A sliver of an opening in the
Wall of my natural world.
And when that crack
 Shrinks and closes! Oh! How the
 Darkness chills me.
It is by my own hand.
Pitiful woman.

Reach!
Stretch. . . pry,
Knock!
Yearn. . . 

I see His hand stretched outward
As I peer through the sliver in the wall
Made by these actions of thought.

Smile,
Call a sister,
Listen,
Laugh,
Read,
Learn.

The sliver grows and swells,
Rays from the Son warm my brow.
Such Abiding Light is
Not sourced from my little sphere -
It is beyond my walls.
Reach!

Love,
Write,
Comfort,
Nourish,
Give...

Light is imparted. There is a 
Window in my wall,
Enlightening; filling my soul with joy.
I can see the real again.
More or less than true is chased away.
I can breath. I am covered:
In love. In light.

If only I could burst these walls!
Turn this reaching into an embrace,
Into Fullness. Union with the Source.

But for now:
Enlightening Joy-
Leading actions that are good,
Illuminating paths to walk humbly,
Guiding ways to judge righteously.

Keep it Kate.
It is yours to choose,
There are not two ways!
There is One Way in
One Present Moment.

Or there is darkness.
Dwarves sitting in a circle of sarcasm -
Manna like manure to their lips.
The darkness is in their eyes,
Not in the world of beauty and light that
Surrounds them,
Covers them.

The Lion chooses no power over
A man's agency.
His power is Love.
He
Is love,
The greatest power.
The Force stronger then gravity,
That chooses not to force.

Dwarves don't choose the Real.
Don’t know Real Love.
It is beyond their walls and they
Will not reach.

Imagined Kings and Queens,
Choose,

Know,
Reach.

I choose.

I reach.

I will know The Real, and
The Real in me will
Recognize the false,

Circling in opposition.

One Day, walls will not
Keep me from that Embrace.
One day, by one day -
I knock and pry at these walls.
In this Present Moment,

I Reach.

Of Slivers, Squares, and...Dwarves? Oh my...

Forget the plan. Just open the window and let the Light flow how, where and when it will...

Intimate Restorations stays in my mind, simmering. Abundance verses Scarcity is added to the stew.

Two thoughts merge: Putting what is important first, and a false view of important things.

Which is it?

Two separate squares we must choose between?

Or one smaller square within a larger that we box ourselves in?

I believe in the latter: One large square enveloping a smaller one. Today's divine alchemy solidified this belief...

Divine Alchemy

Twisting, turning, churning inward. Am I forming the shell that will one day be hollow? Or becoming more full of myself, centered in my own thoughts with "no room" for the Presence I want to fill me?

"Turn outward" echoes in my mind as it bounces against the strains of thought that clutter the space I call my brain. "Listen to a music not your own."

It helps that today is my teaching day.  Friends come and play their music for me - paying me to do just that. Oh, how I'd do it for free. It's this very thing that pulls me out, leaving some space for God to fill; a crack here, a sliver there for some light to grow and shine through.

My last student is a dear friend. Further in the journey of life then me in more ways than just age.  Bubbly, happy, excited to share the latest gem she found while cleaning out her closet.  What are the jewels she cherishes?  Words. A speech savored long ago and put away, now found again. "Oh! I'm sure you'd love it, too! I'll send it to you. You have to read it!"  I go to my room. I read the link she sends. This is the music I should share on this blog.  I'm sure I'm too out of tune to convey anything of beauty. 

...At about the same time that San Justo was built and consecrated, the psuedoscience known as alchemy became popular throughout Europe. It searched for its own restorations: to transform base metals into gold, to discover a universal cure for disease, and to prolong life indefinitely. Its practitioners attempted to heal, to make what is common precious, and to find eternal life. Today we see their error—not in their objective, but in their impatience; in their attempt to coerce the bestowal of gifts that are real but uniquely divine; in their unwillingness to wait patiently on the Lord for the endowment of his grace. These processes are part of the intimate restoration, a process that exalts what is low; that binds the wounds of disappointment and discouragement; and that extends unbreakable, eternal promises. I bear testimony of these intimate restorations.

I have been thinking about the varied transformations of memory. King Benjamin concludes his sermon by asking us to "remember, and perish not" (Mosiah 4:30). In contrast to his reminder, we have Lot's wife, who paused and longingly turned back to her past. Her transformation into a pillar of salt is emblematic of the paralysis that overcomes us when we live too much in memories. Often we resist letting go of the sin or the sadness or the offenses that are an inevitable consequence of life outside Eden. Sometimes we idealize our past in such a way that the present cannot compete with it: we make icons of the "good old days," of the former sweetheart, or of a favorite ward and shut out contemporaries who might otherwise bless us. Conversely, when we properly submit our memories to the transformations of grace, we begin to experience intimate restorations....

...This public event becomes a model for an intimate restoration. How common this most singular scene! How often have we fought with darkness? How many have felt their heart rend, like Bountiful's rocks, because of losing something or someone? What power less than that of Jesus Christ can transform the lead of mourning into a gold morning? The scriptures bear testimony of his ability to change us and our experiences. Could the magical transmutation of lead to gold be half as wondrous as these restorations described by Isaiah, "to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord" (Isaiah 61:3). Could any universal cure of disease be as healing as that transformation that takes place when our scarlet sins become white as snow?

.....God intends for us to be creators. Our experience with godlike creation begins with our eternal marriage. Just as the creation of our earth home required seven stages, so our marriages must pass through periods of work, transformation, and restoration before they are finished. Yet we expect our relationships on day one to exhibit the security and surety that only come on restful day seven. We forget that the only way we can successfully pass through the stages of creation is by employing the principles of the Atonement.

... Equipped with this knowledge, each of us has two choices. We can follow Satan's pattern and use it to bury our spouse's self-esteem—adding layers of disapproval like the plaster that covered San Justo's frescoes. Or we can follow Christ's model, loving perfectly through our shared imperfections, using our unconditional acceptance to cleanse away the accumulations of life. By forgiving each other, we lift each other from our sins, thereby receiving and imitating the intimate restoration of the Atonement. When we hold hands "gracefully," we sense, sacredly, engravings on our own palms, reminding us that the Atonement is the binding power of our marriage.

~ "The Intimate Restoration" by John R. Rosenberg

How This Will Flow...

The Plan for Future Posts:

Adapt my old application paper assignments/process to this blog:

1. Open my ears, eyes, heart and mind to dissonances in my life.

2. Seek truth I'm not in tune with in classics that call to me 

(meaning - anything that is still teaching me after the 2x test).

3. Once the truth is identified, write and record the thoughts, events, tender mercies, obstacles, effort and inspiration that come while soberly seeking to inlay that truth upon my life.

4. Continue ALTAR/ALTERing all along the way what I write and how I apply until it feels as in tune as I am able to make it with my current understanding.

5. Post the week(s) writings here in small, succinct increments (wow, will that be possible! haha). Link the posts together that connect to one "likening" of truth.

6. Post old app paper (pre-blog) insights here and there as they "beckon" to be revisited.

Parables of the Lost

(Some posts are just here, I've decided. Subscribe or follow using the google + or rss links to the right if you want an alert when I've posted. I figure you'll find your way here if there's something here you need. Or you'll share it with others if you think it's something they need. Otherwise, I just need to write to that unnamed void that makes me think more deeply about how I perceive things. Helps me process. Helps me...stay in tune.)

I sat down in my New Testament class feeling odd.  How long had it been since coming to a class so unprepared?  Huh. Didn't even know what was assigned.

Because of that, the first slide glowing on the screen as I took my seat had more power to pull me in. It read:   

 "Parables of the Lost"

"How many of you have ever lost something and what have you lost?" my teacher asks. Fellow students name things off: wallets, keys, money. The teacher keeps prodding. He wants a category no one's mentioned.  I know what it is, but I don't trust myself to speak at the moment.  He tries a different angle and the feelings that are all too fresh, swell even more. "What are some emotions you might feel when losing something?" Answers come: Fear. Panic. The teacher asks what kinds of things we might lose that would bring those feelings. Wallets, keys and money are stated again.

He won't give it to them. He waits. Ugh. Fine. "Anguish" I say.
 
"Okay. Anguish. That's not a common emotion, Kate. What might you lose that would prompt that kind of emotion?"

"Losing someone, not something."

Lemonade out of Lemons

The day Adam and I were married, an elderly man recognized the tell-tale signs of a man about to be married, "Big day, huh?" he commented.  "Yes.  It sure is!" Adam replied.  Then, curiously, the man said, "What's your name, anyway brother?"  Adam told him, "Adam Day."  The man lit up with excitement. "That's a very special name, do you realize why?" He had that look of anticipation - like he was about to tell him something profound.  Adam could not think of why his name was special.  He'd always thought it was a little old-fashioned. "Because," the man continued, "the first day man was found on the earth, his name was Adam."

I realized something about the story of Adam and Eve a few nights ago.

Daisy Darling

Warning: This post goes through a dark tunnel - but there is light at the end.

Hey Daisy darlin'

Don't spread your arms so wide

Why don't you keep

A little something inside

I know you think that hands are made

For pullin' us through

But there are people in this world

Who don't think like you do

Hey Daisy darlin'

Don't give them all you can

Why don't you keep

A few more cards in your hand

I know you'll only say a thing

You believe to be true

But there are people in this world

Who don't think like you do

And they don't think like you do

And some don't

Think at all

Hey Daisy darlin'

Don't take it all as red

Why don't you ask

A few more questions instead

I know you think that everyone

Should be paid what they're due

But there are people in this world

That don't think like you do

And they don't think like you do

And some don't

Think at all

Hey Daisy darlin'....
(repeats first verses)

~"Daisy" by Karine Polwart

I've never been able to figure out for sure if Polwart is being ironic.  Part of me thinks she means it all literally. A description of some naive little girl thinking the world should be simpler than it is and gently trying to tell her to see its complexity; to guard herself; that its better to keep more inside and not share so freely. Gentle counsel to a delicate flower in an effort to toughen her up so she can survive.  Or if Polwart is speaking to the world. Showing it how it's crushing daisies.

Dick and Jane on the Radio

I know many people who have a desire to learn a language that I've become fluent in.  It's not their native tongue.  In fact, it's a language that is so foreign to some people that they don't even realize it's a language.  And yet it's so familiar that they are exposed to it on a daily basis.

Four Forever

I can't sleep. I was reading scriptures with Nathan in his room when Norah burst in, a mess of tears and sobbed, "Mom! Lizzy just said that when I'm older and have kids of my own, I won't see you all the time!"

My immediate reaction was a shocked laugh that I quickly tried to stifle.  The intensity with which Norah expressed this tragedy is pretty common, but I've never gotten used to it.  How does a four-year-old do that with such sincere and deep...mourning??

She continued, heart broken,"I don't want to be a mommy.  Then you won't teach me piano anymore!  I'll just be old with my own kids and remember being four and I'll cry and cry!"  Here she stopped for a good cry while I held her and tried consoling her, still shocked by the strength of her emotions at the thought of growing up. What could I really say?  "I'll see you every day you want to see me. I'll still play piano with you whenever you like. I'll never be far from you, sweetie."  Everything I tried she saw right through - the stark truth was, she was getting older and there was nothing I could do about it.  "But I'll know everything then, and you won't be able to teach me! I just want to be four forever and ever and ever!" More sobbs...

My oldest daughter tried her hand at it, "But when you're older, you'll get to have kids of your own, and a house, and . . . a dog! (I'm allergic :)"  No good.  She didn't want any of those things because she wouldn't have and be all the things she loved about being four.  I went to her bed with her and held her while she continued for five minutes or more the emotional expressions of loss and fear.  Now I was crying, too.

The realization came to me

Mommy, Come Play - Four Ideas

I finally found the perfect picture to add to part two of my post "Mommy, Come Play!" But I also found all these other pictures of my kids at play with music and figured I might as well sprinkle them in this post - the final installment on this discussion - just four specific principles Norah and Lizzy have taught me in this new approach I'm trying with music.  And no, I don't believe these approaches will apply to all ages - it's how you work with "saplings" not taller, older "trees" but more of this wouldn't hurt the trees, either:

1. Lots of sun and water and hardly any pruning. I may say, "Time for music, anyone want to play with mommy?" but usually I just go to the piano and start playing or get out my guitar and wait for the that gravitational pull to bring the ducklings to me. Once they've asked for my help I keep making sure they're the one leading the practice. I ask questions, I don't give commands. For instance:"Here are all the books we could play out of, what would you like to do first?" OR, "Which song would you like to play?" OR, "Would you like my help scrubbing that spot?" If they say, "No" then we move on - no frowny face, no huffing, no disappointed look. If they say "Yes" then I start the scrubbing, but very gently (think baby bath). If they start playing something differently I might say, "That's different, isn't it?" I've had Norah go on for 5 minutes this way, making up a story about why her left hand doesn't want to play the notes he's suppose to so the right hand did it for "him" - complete with voices and all. I would have missed this awesome "recital" had I insisted she play it "correctly."

2. Take more time smelling the flowers than you do working in the garden. Following the lead of your child might mean you spend 15 minutes just watching them play at the piano. Maybe for a week they just want you to sit and watch them make up songs on the piano. You may doubt that anything "productive" is being accomplished. In those moments, check your purposes. Check your math.










3. Keep the plants thirsting for more. I always stop before I know they want to - each book or "pattern game" or "finger secret" we're working on, as well as the "play" session in general.






4. Don't miss the roses. So last night I really went to the piano because I wanted to play. But I've trained my girls too well. 3 minutes and Norah is there. She plays around me on the piano for a while. Then starts using a pencil to pretend she's teaching me - using all sorts of interesting made-up words to describe the exciting things she's teaching me to do, drawing little doodles in my music. When after 20 minutes I'm still not paying much attention she grabs my left hand off the keys and says, "No, like this, take a ride and watch closely." I'm still playing with my right hand, trying to sneak in my practice time while she shows me what to play with my left hand. I go back to my song and she's offended. "No, mommy, play the song I showed you!" Finally I realize what I'd be doing if I shewed her away or ignored her any longer and I "take a ride" on her hand again. I do the little simple rhythm she shows me, then add something similar in the right hand and ask, "Like this?" "Yes! That's it, perfect! Now higher. Now faster. Yes! I love it mommy!" Then she has me take a ride and plays a totally different, softer motif. It sounds like Brahms's lullaby, so I start making up a lullaby like that. Norah says, "ah....that sounds so pretty. Like a baby song. I'll dance to it while you play." When we went up the stairs to bed that night, Norah was beaming at all she had taught me. "That was so fun, mommy! I taught YOU, hahaha!" Yes. She did.

Mommy, Come Play - Part 2

In  part 1 of this post, I shared my response to the comment "You homeschool?  I could never do that!" I also stated that I had begun to see a connection between that comment and two others that I hear frequently: "What age should I start my child in music lessons? and "I wish I never stopped playing the piano." 
I've wrestled for months with this post.  Rather than try to describe what I'm feeling, I've decided first to "show" you what I'm feeling by sharing what are becoming common experiences with my children. 

(Part 3 discusses specific ideas to implement in music practice with your children)
 

It all started many years ago when I actually applied with my first two children, the answers I used to give parents as a music "professional."  Not just when to "start" music, but how to practice, when to practice, how often to practice etc. The results . . . well, they prompted me to begin asking other questions. The answers I found have changed my perspective, my purposes, and my approach.

And it has changed the results.

Opposition in all things

I've been trying to help Ellie understand algebra; that an equation is like a balance scale.  It struck me as I described to her how what we do to one side of the equation we must do to the other, the real-life side of math.  Math is suppose to represent the real world, but until recently, I never really thought of how it can or does.

 There is a scripture that says, "For it must needs be that there is opposition in all things." (2 Nephi 2:11).  Today, the truth of that statement shimmered.  It caught my attention and came to life as I thought of current life experiences; like I had a macro view of my life as one big algebra equation.

In a math equation, to find what is true about an unknown, we isolate that unknown variable through the use of what could be called opposition, right?  If something is being added to the unknown number, we subtract on both sides. If something is being multiplied to it, we divide on both sides. That opposition clarifies or makes known truth.

The Heart of a Child

Part two of my last post is in progress, but something else is itching to come out first. So while Adam has gently and repeatedly begged me to catch up on the business filing (bookkeeping has never been my forte) and I've got filing boxes and piles of paper surrounding me, I first have to clear my head. (I promise I'll be able to move faster this way, honey! :)

There is a part of Arm the Children by Arthur Henry King that I think of and reread often.

Mommy, Come Play! - Part 1

The most frequent thing people say to me when having a conversation  for the first time is, "You homeschool?  Wow, I could never do that!"  The most frequent question or comment I hear when people discover I'm a musician is, "What age should I start my child in music lessons? or "I wish I never stopped playing the piano."  Recently, I've come to see a relationship between all these.

My answers, first.

Regarding the first comment, I'm a second-generation homeschool mom.  What that means is, in the mass of people venturing out into the unknown to try alternative education methods with their children, I'm one who can't say, "Oh, I could never do that!"  That's because I lived through being "homeschooled." I guess you could say I have insider information: teaching your children at home can look exactly like being a mother at home  . . . no special skills required.   I have no excuses.

This is the secret that makes me feel somehow dishonest and quite uncomfortable when taking that. . . compliment? . . . from other women.  You see, I know that it makes about as much sense to tell me, "Oh, I could never do that!" in regards to teaching children at home as it does to use that comment in regards to being a mother in general.

What I mean is:

Mothers, did you know all you needed to know to birth, nurse, feed, potty-train, discipline etc. a child when you got pregnant?  Fathers, did you have all the money, patience, house space, cars, clothes, bikes, insurance, and stored up hours of sleep that you needed before having children? No.  But somehow billions of people continue to thrive and grow and contribute on this planet and they all come from mothers and fathers who began by being totally unprepared and often feel incompetent in their roles as parents.  How does this happen? They make it up as they go. They use resources they find along the way. They get on-the-job training. They fail and learn, fail and learn. Those that don't give up and stay committed, find 18-30 years later that they have succeeded in creating another adult who is usually quite awesome. None of us are ever perfect, or "done" but that's a discussion for another day.

Now, I'm not sitting down to write a post to convince all families to homeschool.  I'm sitting down to write my opinion that the easiest part of being a mother is teaching your children; that you already do teach your children (whether you realize it or not).  So if your intuition or conscience or your "inner guide" has something to say about how your children gain an education and it happens to have something to do with trying options that would entail keeping your child at home for some or all of the day in their early years - maybe you shouldn't feel so crazy to listen.  In fact, I'd have to be one to argue. . .  you could do that.

I've found that, yes, our children become more like us when they continue to be around us most (so if you're "weird" they might be "weird" too).  They become like mirrors, reflecting our weaknesses, strengths and quirks. When looking in that mirror, we see things we feel need to be changed. So - keeping your children mostly at home might become an impetus for you to change some things about yourself. Then they change.

Keeping them out of public school might mean you will have to learn patience; learn how to put relationships above house duties; learn how to teach your children to help you care for the home; learn how to get along with each other; teach them (and yourself) how to spend time wisely etc.  But, wait - isn't that what everyone is learning to do as a family?  Aren't those all skills (and countless others) every family must learn to function properly? That every society must learn to function well?


But maybe you believe you "could never do that" NOT because you're afraid you'd ruin your children, but because you're afraid they'd ruin you. No time for self. Never a clean house. Never a quiet moment. Do you know what I think? Family life is designed to teach us to lose our self. Something inside us never feels quite right with being self-centered.

 Oh yes, "but if you don't fill up your tank first, you'll have nothing to give."  I have a problem with that mentality in two respects.  First, you can fill up someone else's "tank" much faster than you can your own.  Second, doing so invites others to want to fill up your "tank" (which remember they can do faster than you can). This cycle of giving forms healthy relationships and builds better, happier people at the same time. 

I have come to believe that children need you more when you're around them less. I've noticed when I leave for a few days, or when I'm gone from my children for a long period during the day and then come home - those are the times they demand more of me and being a mommy is more intense.   

In other words, children have their tanks, too. I can either spend sixteen hours or six working to fill those tanks. Once they are full, children want to go explore and learn and create (practice filling other people's tanks) on their own.  If that's true, which time period of "filling tanks" would feel more intense? Six, right? Now, take the six-hour intenser version and imagine that same intensity for sixteen hours and you get the "ooh" and "aww" and "I could never do that" comments from people.  But that version rarely exists in my experience.

For example, my first child surprised us by showing up on the scene when she was supposed to wait to come until I was done with my degree (according to our neat little plan).  My devoted mother watched her each day while I was at school and she had all kinds of loving attention, but what she wanted most was her mommy.  My child's solution? She nursed every two hours I was with her for the first two years of her life.  Even at night.  She made up for lost time and at night, I learned how to nurse lying down (and mostly in my sleep).  Whether I could have (or tried) to change that was between me and that "inner guide" of mine, right?  It said not to wean her.  I fought it, but Elise fought harder and I'm glad I eventually listened. From my perspective now, I see how really small that sacrifice was.  It even became a sweet and simple thing. And I can see how such a small and simple thing was huge in its effects on her life.


So I have my children at home all day. Yet, when I want to, I find time to write, do bills, read, email, visit a friend or waste my time in various ways like other moms.  I have hobbies. Take classes. Develop my talents. Believe it or not,  I actually exercise and dress, eat, clean etc. I get things done.  Quite a lot, actually. Yet my kids are home all day long, they get a lot of attention from me, and they are thriving and learning like normal children (whatever that means). For some reason (well, for the reason in bold above), people think that's a miracle.



Lastly, I find it ironic that parents go through the most physically (and sometimes emotionally and spiritually) demanding period of parenthood (and especially motherhood) when their child needs them 24/7 and then as that child (and the parent) begin to blossom, and begins to learn how to care more for their self, our culture teaches us to fear being around them 24/7.  You've made it through the toughest, most demanding beginning of their life and as the curve tends toward increased independence - THEN you waffle?  They're mostly done with the tantrum stage and now you don't think you're up to being around them all day? (BTW, I've found the best remedy for a tantrum is a hug - fill that tank.)


So call me crazy, but I think it's harder to use public school to teach your children in the younger years.  I think if a mother's intuition prompts her that public school is the route for her child when she's still a new mommy trying to learn how to raise a family (which is the case for most mother's I guess), then she has the harder job. Women who make that scenario work are the ones I think perform miracles. I'm the lazy mom. All the things that a family needs to learn if they're going to be happy and enjoy being a family are SO MUCH HARDER TO LEARN when you barely have time to be together as a family.

 This just makes sense, right?  How do you get better at the piano? You have to sit at the piano.  How do you get better, faster?  You sit at the piano longer.  Granted, how you practice, what motivates you, and whether you enjoy piano or not will determine how effective that practice is, but sitting at the piano less isn't going to help those variables.  More time experimenting, finding things that don't work, trying a new approach, experiencing some success (that will motivate you to want to play more) all requires MORE time at the bench. Not less.

Regarding the second comment ("How early should I start my child in music lessons"). . . well. . . I guess you'll just have to wait for part two.  I may still have 2 1/2 hours before my children know mommy's morning time is over and start wanting my help, but who likes (or ever finishes) long blog posts? My mom.