A Story - Based on Actual Events

The Mystery of the Missing Legos

While cleaning his room Saturday morning, my son made a grisly discovery.
“Mom!” he screamed from his room.
I ran to see what the problem was, “What?” I asked as I burst through the door.
I was met with large, wet, blue eyes brimming with tears. My son was squatting next to his most precious possession: a canister of 500 Lego’s he had received last year for Christmas and on his face was a look of pure anguish. “My Lego’s are missing!”
I made a face, “No they’re not. I’m sure they’re all in there. Remember how even when we opened it for the first time, it was only full halfway? That’s just how they do it.”
“No!” He yelled in protest. I could see he was both frustrated and hurt that I didn’t believe him. “Look!”
Rolling my eyes at his dramatic flair, I moved closer and looked into the plastic box. He was right. There were maybe 100 Legos inside. And they were all tiny. Where were the rest? I looked up at him, “Holy cow!” I said, “Where are the rest?”
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, “I don’t know. If I knew, I would go get them!”
My son was only 6.5 years old, and even at his age he was not one for losing things; especially not his Lego’s. It was nearly Thanksgiving, and he hadn’t lost a single one out of 500 in the eleven months since he’d received them. I had never stepped on Legoes in the night, I had never vacummed up a stray block. From Christmas morning till now, he had taken care of each and every one like they were tiny bars of gold.
“Well, where could they be?” I muttered under my breath. By now I was searching my memory banks to remember if I had seen 400 stray legos lying around anywhere. I had. But it was days ago.
“Hey Lemur, remember on Monday, when you came home from school?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you remember seeing the Legos when you came home that day?”
His eyes lit up with a 6 year-olds rage and then narrowed, “RIVER!!” He yelled his sister’s name just as I looked over to her in the adjoining Family room. She jumped a little at the sound.
“What?” she answered, surprised but unbullied by his tone.
He stood and stomped over to her. I followed. “Where are my Legos?!” he demanded.
“You don’t need to yell at her, Liam,”I chided.

“But she TOOK them - without asking! - and now I can’t find them!”
I turned his face to look at me, “But you don’t have to yell.” Then I took a deep breath and he followed my example. “River was building with daddy," I reminded him, "so don’t get mad at her. Let’s just ask if she knows where they went.”
I squatted down next to my 3 year old daughter who was playing with a Weebles treehouse, “River-bottom, do you know where Liam’s Lego’s went?” She ignored me, “River.” She looked up, “Remember when you played with Daddy the other day, and you played with Liam’s Legos?”
“Uh-huh. We built a castle.”
“Oh, yes.” I said, remembering the super-awesome dollhouse/castle my husband had built for his daughter out of his son’s Legos. Come to think of it, super-awesome doesn’t do it justice . . . anyway, I asked, “Do you remember where you put them when you were done?”
She sniffed absently. She said “Nope,” and went back to playing.
“Hmm.” I said, “I’ll go call Daddy and see if he remembers.”
I opened the phone and went up the stairs, hoping that I would just see the Lego’s displayed somewhere higher than the kids normally looked.
“Hey honey.”
“What’s up?”
“Do you remember the castle you built with River on Monday?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“You mean now?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Why?”
I heard a scream downstairs. “Because your son has noticed that about 400 Legos are missing from his box and is now screaming like a banshee at your daughter whom he blames for the loss.”
“Ah.” He started laughing.
“It’s not funny,” I chastised half-heartedly.
“Yes it is. Cause you’re home and I’m not,” he said, giggling.
I chuckled a little as well, until another bout of screaming wafted up the stairs. “You seriously don’t remember cleaning them up or something?”
“No. Did you check – “ and then he listed about fourteen of the most obvious places in the house, each of which I had already given the once-over.
“I don’t know what to do. He’s going crazy!”
“Just tell him it’s a game of Hide and Go Seek and the Legos’ are hiding.”
“See, this is why I call you,” I said with a sigh, “because I was about to go out and buy him more!” I laughed, but my husband didn’t see that it was funny.
“No, don’t do that.”
I laughed harder. “I won’t. Thanks. Love you.”
I returned back down the stairs to find my son crying on his bed, his sister standing in the doorway to his room with her hands on her hips yelling, “No. I. Didn’t!”
“YES YOU DID!” He screamed.
And back to the job.
“Okay, you two. Knock it off.”
River had the decency to look up at me with regret (for yelling or for being caught – it didn’t matter to me), but my son continued to cry even after I sent River out to play in the family room.
I sat beside him on the bed, prepared to implement my husband’s idea.
“Hey Lemur. Let’s pretend that the Lego’s are hiding, and we have to find them.”
“But we don’t have any clues!” He wailed through slowing tears.
And then it hit me. Not Hide-and-Go-Seek!
“Well, it is a mystery . . .” I began, hoping he’d take the bait.
His crying stopped. He looked at me with wild joy in his wet eyes, “Like a real mystery?” the excitement in his voice was obvious.
I nodded. I had a feeling this would work better if it was entirely his idea. He actually needed no further prodding.
He literally jumped off the bed, tears forgotten and pain behind him. He was in the throes of imagination. “We can find clues!” he exclaimed. “We have to question witnesses and keep a log!” He scurried to his desk and found a tiny Spiderman notebook, “Here, you write everything down. Let’s solve the case!” He put his hand out toward me. The excitement was catching. I put my hand on his, he put his other one on mine, and my other hand made the top of the pile. “Real Mystery!” he shouted.
“Let’s get going!”

“Okay, first things first,” I had taught him that platitude about four months ago when he began having chores. He loved to use it.“When did they go missing?”
“The last time Daddy or River saw them was on Monday, before Kenneth came over for dinner.” I said.
He was pacing in front of me as I sat on the bed, with one arm behind his back and his other hand stroking his chin, “We had better call Kenneth and see if he saw it,” he surmised.
“Good idea.” I took out the phone and began dialing.
“You intrerrogate him,” he instructed.
My eyes lit up in surprise. I didn’t know he knew that word. “Okay,” I answered.
Kenneth picked up after the third ring. “ ‘ello ‘ello.”
“Hey minion.”
“ ‘ello! Mrs. Muad’Dib!”
“I’m on assignment,” I said, my tone formal.
“Really?”
“Liam and I are on a case. And we need your help. You are a witness.”
“Oh, am I?” He sounded downright gleeful.
“Yes. Will you help us?” Liam was listening with baited breath, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Always as ever I can, Sayyadina.”
I smiled at the use of my multiple Dune-themed nicknames, “Thanks. You came over for dinner on Monday night, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And what time did you get here?”
“We arrived shortly after 5:30 pm,” He answered with a clipped tone. I knew he was doing it for Liam, for full dramatic effect. And it was working. Liam was intent on the conversation.
“And what did you see as you entered the house?”
“Uh . . .” He seemed confused, “You want me to describe everything?”
Liam interjected, “No! Did you see my Legos?!”
Kenneth and I laughed. And he answered, “No I don’t remember seeing any Legos. I did see the kids sitting at the pirate table, and they were watching Enchanted.”
“They would have been built like a house or castle?” I offered, hoping to jog his memory.
“Nope. Only clean house smelling of wonderful chowder-y goodness.”
Liam looked disappointed and we were silent for a moment.
“Does that help?” Kenneth asked.
“Yes. Thanks. We better get back to the investigation.”
“Anytime. Bye.” And we hung up.
Liam flopped on the bed, face first, his legs dangling off the edge, “That didn’t help at all!” he moaned.
“Oh yes it did.”
He rolled over to look at me, “It did?”
“Yes.” I began writing what we learned in the Log as I spoke, “It means that the Lego castle was cleaned up BEFORE Kenneth came over.”
“So we know it couldn’t have wandered outside, and that Kenneth didn’t see it, so he didn’t want to steal it,” Liam offered.
I nodded my head slowly, “uh, yeah. That, or it means that either Daddy or you or River cleaned it up.”
We were quiet for a moment as I finished writing.
Liam suddenly jumped up, “Return to the scene of the crime!” he exclaimed.
“Do it!” I said.
We ran happily through the family room and up the stairs, into the living room. Liam circled the room before coming to a stop in front of the couch under the window.
“Give me the log,” he said.
I did and he began drawing a sketch.
When he finished, he handed it back to me saying, “Here is what my lego’s looked like last time I saw them.” He had drawn a tall house, with an arrow pointing up along the side with the measurement “400 Legos” written next to it. “This,” he said, pointing to the arrow, “Means that it was 400 Legos tall.” Then he had drawn the inside of the house, with its two staircases and benches, and the lightning rod on the top. After I had perused the drawing, he took the log back, flipped the page, and began sketching again.
This time it was the room as he remembered it when he came home from school. He drew the couch and everything else in relation to it: River’s table, the mini DVD player, and the Legos. He even drew an arrow to show what direction he traveled after he came in.
(From the Log:
Scene of the crime: Living room.
Witness: Liam said he saw the castle on River’s little grey plastic table, which was in front of the couch. River was watching a movie, and the DVD player was on the couch. “I was surprised when I came in. Then I was mad. Then I came over in this direction. )
“Okay, honey.” I said as I prepared myself to write his answer, “What time did you get home?”
“Uh . . .” I remembered he couldn’t tell time.
“Was it a short day or regular day?”
He thought. “Regular.”
“Did daddy take you to the store first, or did you come straight home?”
“Straight home.”
I seemed to remember asking Caleb to pick up some potatoes and milk from the store, “You sure?” I asked.
“Yes!” he said, with that little burst of child attitude.
“Okay! So. That means you got home around 3:30 in the afternoon.”
“That sounds about right,” he conceded.
“I didn’t start dinner until 4 pm. So, there are 30 minutes where you and River didn’t have to clean up . . . did you play with her?”
He was pacing the floor again, deep in thought. “Yes. I remember that I was mad, but then wanted to help her build a tower. She was playing with her little dolls.”
“Good.”
“Oh!!”
“What?!” I asked, excited by his “aha” tone.
“River stopped playing because she was intent on Enchanted. She was only watching that. Then I got intent too.”
“Intent?” Who was this boy and how did he learn these fantastic words and know how to use them in every day conversation?! I tried to keep my pride and surprise to myself, so as to not make him feel self-conscious.
“So at 4:30 when Daddy and I asked you to clean up, who cleaned up the Legos?”
His face fell and he stopped pacing. “I don’t remember.” His sadness pulled at my heart. We had hit a mental dead end.
New tactic.
“Let’s search the area for clues!”
“Okay,” he said. He flopped on the ground and began looking under the couch.
Ten minutes passed as we quietly searched the living room for clues. Nothing relating to the case was found. I could see Liam was becoming discouraged and distracted, and frustrated that he was getting distracted.
“Okay!” I exclaimed, jumping up from my spot on the floor by the recliner, “I have a plan.”
His eyes lit up again, “What? WHAT?!” He was good at building his own excitement.
“Let’s begin a full scale search!”
He looked confused.
“Start in one corner of the house and systematically search every nook and cranny until we find either a clue or the Lego’s themselves!”
“What’s stestematicalily?”
“Oh, uh . . .” I searched for a way to describe my big girl word, “It means in order. Like in a system. System-attic-ly.”
“Oh.” He nodded and I could see he completely understood. “Let’s go!”
We picked up the Log and the box of stuff we had found in the living room – though it had nothing to do with the Legos – and walked to the hallway between my room and my daughters.
“Which room should we start with first?” I asked.
“River’s,” he said authoritatively, “because it is farthest south.” I loved his reasoning.
“Alright!” I placed the log and the box on my bed and we entered River’s room.
Liam picked up the Log, “Wait!” he said. I froze in place for comedic affect.
“What?”
“I have to draw it first, so we remember what it looked like.”
That was an ominous suggestion, and I wondered how he thought it would look when we were done.
He spent a few moments sketching the room. There was a vanity with no mirror on the south wall, and next to it was a wire bench, and in the west corner sat an ABC toy chest/bench where all her toys were kept. He drew her daybed on the west wall, and the cedar chest next to her bedside table on the north wall. “Okay.” He declared when he was done. “Start searching!”
He walked over to the ABC bench, “This is the most south corner of the whole house. We start here.”
“Done!” I said
He opened the toy chest and rifled inside. I leaned over the chest to look behind, as it was set at an angle and there was a nice triangle of space between it and the corner. There was a pink pool noodle standing on it’s end, a 3ft stuffed Dora doll, a baby blankie and . . . I started laughing.
“What?” Liam demanded, “What is it?!”
From behind the chest, I lifted out the Castle of Legos.
Liam began jumping up and down, and only stopped long enough to grab it out of my hands. “WE FOUND IT!!! We SOLVED the Mystery!!!”
I added my laughter to his excitement and we jumped around together for a moment or two. It wasn’t important how it got there – whether it was put there by Mom because she didn’t want it taken apart and who then completely forgot about it or not– most importantly, it was found! After a while, Liam stopped celebrating and looked at the building lovingly.
“Mom?”
“Yes dear?”
“Good detective work.”
I smiled. “You too, son.”
“Let’s go take this thing apart.”
And so ended the mystery of the missing Legos.
November 14, 2009

I really should have built an ark back in December.

My wake up call this morning?
"Mom, there's another flood."
For a moment I thought I was dreaming. "Wha?" I mutter sleepily.
"Mom. Mom! There's another flood with lots of water. Just like the last one."
It was my son. Was he speaking Biblicly? Was I about to drown with other sinners for not building an ark? I tried to shake the sleep from my head. "What do you mean?"
"Downstairs. The carpet's all wet. Like last time."
I was awake quick as a flash. Muad'Dib struggled a bit more and groggily grumbled, "Yagattabekiddinme!"
"Mom, come see!"
I followed my son down the stairs, expecting to feel the sickly slosh of water oozing up from carpet on the landing, but it was dry. Maybe I was dreaming after all. I carefully walked in front of the T.V., the cases which housed our beloved books, and the couch. Nothing. My heart began to return to it's normal rhythm.
"No, mom, over here."
I could hear the awful sucking sound of his foot lifting off the wet carpet. Just in front of the bathroom and laundry room, a dark spot was spreading. I stepped into it myself, hoping it was just a little damp. No such luck. Soaked. Standing water only. I ventured into the office, but it was dry as a bone. Lemur's room as well would continue to be a water free haven. But the last two rooms weren't so lucky. The bathroom and laundry room both had about a half an inch standing water. Ugh.
By this time Muad'Dib had dressed and come downstairs. We destroyed my perfectly packed closet, removing everything from the crib to the christmas decorations. The sump pump seemed to be doing it's job. My office is in upheaval to prove it. We then moved the washer and drier from the wall, hoping to understand what was happening. We found more than our fair share of socks and hair elastics, but no leak. Lemur was kind enough to point out that it was wet by the Rock Band stuff, which led to the discovery that the ENTIRE NORTH WALL was wet as well, with a gap already visible between wall and baseboard. Double Ugh.
My hunny and I moved all the furniture affected by the liquid onslaught, and were grateful again to have at least a dry corner for the couch and entertainment center. Lemur was just excited to have the LovSac in his room again.
The best part of the morning was when Rivulet joined us, happy to apprise us of the situation. She solomnly strolled around the basement, announcing her findings as she went: "A little wet here. It's much wet here. More water than over there. Yep, it's wet right here." She's so cute.
The landlord has come, but is unsure what is causing the inconvenience. From past experience, even AFTER the problem is diagnosed and a resolution is reached, it will be a week before we are dry enough to put anything back where it belongs. This revelation in mind, please note the following exchange between me and Muad'Dib as we ascended the stairs after moving our furnitureto a dry corner of the basement:
Me, under my breath (think Yosemite Sam): "Dirty filth and filthy foul, gribble grumble grouse-y pheasant!!!"
Muad'Dib, laughing: "Why are you so funny when you are mad?"
Me, whining: "I don't know!"
Muad'Dib laughs harder. Somehow my whining is also funny when I'm mad.

On the upside, Lemur is getting over the flu. He had a fever for three days, as well as being achy, ULTRA tired, coughing and enduring a sore throat. The first day he was sick, he took THREE two hour naps. This from a boy who hasn't taken a midday nap since he was 2 1/2!
We've enjoyed playing games, cuddling, and watching Daffy Duck's Quackbusters. Lemur's favorite part is when a possessed lady duck is floating in the air and recites the following rhyme, while changing into a demon half-way through: "Mary had a little lamb but I ATE it!" He just laughs and laughs.
Also my sister went to see Muad'Dib in BandtheB on Saturday, after which she stayed the night and all day Sunday with us. I sure like my sister.

So, in the face of this flood . . . I'm deciding not to let it ruin my day. I still have the upstairs. The books aren't ruined. Nothing in the laundry room could get ruined, because I had the foresight to clean it out on Saturday afternoon. Go me.
I just had to write it out, give it that "I am so funny when I'm mad" twist, so when I look downstairs, I can remember: anybad thing that happens today will be a funny thing to laugh at later.
"Do you remember the time my basement flooded three times in a year?!"
No. It's too soon.

A day of home-y joy!

Meet our new friend: N+. *Lemur inserts the following: "Made by my mother. You can have one if you want. Just ask her nice and she'll make one just this nice for you, too."* He was requested by my son after his Reunion Bandana ninja became so well loved he could no longer hold up his head. So this morning I got an old sheet from MRR and while he was at school constructed this new little friend. But the real question was: would Lemur approve?

He says the above is his best smiling face because he is so happy. He thanked me all the way home from school, saying it was the best and most clever ninja ever. He especially loved the braided headband and sword holder.

Then I was surprised to hear that Rivulet wanted to play in the sprinkler. After a few moments of "play", however, I got the feeling she onlywanted to wear her swimsuit and dance around outside.

Oh well. She's cute anyway.

There's only one more thing you have to do and you know what it is!!!

Do it Rockapella!!!
Last week Muad'Dib took me on a date. We went down to Thanksgiving point, had dinner at Iceberg Drive In and enjoyed a night outdoors with acapella music. T-5 opened the evening. See anyone familiar below? Yeah, that's Karston. He and Muad'Dib went to school together. Then came the main event! ROCKAPELLA!!!! Below is Scott Leonard, the only remaing original member of the group that sang on Carmen Sandiego all those years ago.

Papa was a Rolling Stone . . .

The funniest moment was when Kevin (the one on the far left) was singing "Zombie Jamboree" and forgot his prop. That prop is a fake eye that he takes from his pocket and drops on the ground. The song is supposed to continue as "Woah-o-oh Zombie Jamboree, it's getting very hard for me to see. I cannot find my eyeball anywhere . . ." and so on. So . . he forgets his eye and just stays doubled over for a moment. Scott comes up and says - in character - "what's up, Kevin?" Kevin, completely laughing and out of character (this was the encore, after all) whispers, "I don't have it! I don't have it." Those of us close enough to hear him started snickering. Until Jeff Thatcher (the BeatBox) offered: "Uh, I swallowed a bug." Everyone laughs. Kevin stands up and sings, "Woah-o-oh Zombie Jamboree, it's getting very hard for me to sing. I'm swallowing bu-ugs every where Woah-o-oh!"

Loved it. We have seen Rockapella perform live at least three times. I enjoyed it the first time, cried the second time and sat four feet from them this time. Loved it. The date, the outdoors, the music, the entertainment. The very best was being with my wonderful husband. Love him.

The Hand of Me.

Many people struggle to see the hand of God in their lives. I am not nor have I for any great length of time been one of those people. Granted, there have been a good month or four when I wallowed in thoughts of "Where art Thou?!" But all in all, I lived my life as a woman of faith.

This morning, I was leaned over to flick on a light switch and felt what can only be described as a painful tearing. It felt like my lower back muscles just ripped apart. Now logically, I'm still walking and bending so that can't have been the case. So . . . let's just say "WHAT THE HECK!??" and take a deep breath and move on. No muscles tore, nothing broke. I'm just in a 6 amount of pain and all I did was reach over to turn on a light. The sort of thing a woman of 60 might experience.

While trying to further move and carry on with my morning routine I thought to myself, "Why me?" and "Why can't I just get a blessing and be healed?!" Healed of back problems, weight problems, super spiritual sensitivity (the bad ways), and roller coaster emotions. I want all these things to go away. I have been healed of other things. I have seen other people healed of things. I have seen the hand of God present in my life.

But what about the hand of Me?

That thought came at me out of months and years of Muad'Dib and Wildman and Fedaykin and others telling me that I must obey true principles in order to see true results.
But isn't my fantastic faith a "Get out of responsibility free" card? Why can't I just faith it away?

Because faith isn't my problem. I got faith. I got faith in Jesus of Nazareth as the Christ, the Messiah, my personal Savior and perfect example. I have faith in Joseph Smith as a true prophet of God. I have faith in God, who is my Eternal Father. I have faith that if I live the principles of the Gospel of Jesus Christ as outlined in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and the scriptures and inspired words of the prophets past present and future, I will gain eternal life along with those other members of my family who choose to achieve the same. Bam. I have faith that life continues on after this world. I have faith that family continues on after this world. I have faith that God loves me, is aware of me and is invested in my progress and joys.

Okay, I misspoke. Faith is the problem. But not my faith in God. My faith in ME is my problem. My faith in physical laws for physical law sake is my problem. The statement Leto makes to Moneo keeps running through my mind, "Is not your obedience lesson enough?"

If any of you remember, about this time last year I hurt my back pretty severely, after having been exercising, yoga-ing and eating well. I learned a valuable lesson about hope. Well, I learned what hope was and that I didn't really have it or implement it daily.

I went on to drop a couple dozen pounds before Christmas. Then . . . I gave up. Muad'Dib says it perfectly when he told me that the most important thing to him was that I not adopt a "give up attitude."

Yet this give-up attitude and I have held company for nearly six months. I haven't watched my weight except to beat myself up about it. I haven't exercised except as it pertained to being in a play - which was minimal. I have barely cooked at all. I have ignored many relationships outside my home. I have barely attempted to fill my calling at church.

Through this time I have prayed about certain things felt nothing. Then there are other, less personal things I have prayed about - like a friend being able to adopt a baby, like finding opportunities I sought, even financial help - and answers to those prayers come within a week!

This leads me to wonder if everyone else is right. I took control of my health and care once, and it worked out. It worked out beautifully. I told my body what to do, never broke the rules and in just over three months I went from 160 lbs to 118 lbs.

But over the past few years I have given myself over to my emotions. My emotions and feelings run the ever-loving show. I eat according to how I feel. Then I act according to the way I feel. What a messed up way to live every hour of every day. What an uncertain crazy "what the hell" way to do things! No one is safe. And if what you're living isn't working for you: change it.

So here is my current conclusion: My body is not solely an emotional or spiritual conduit, a pipe through which my life experiences either flow or clog. My body, quite basically is a machine. It is the vehicle in which I will travel through this life and this world.
So what's with all the abuse? What's with all the emotional molly-coddeling? What good does that do? My body doesn't want things that will hurt it! My body only wants to run at optimum performance! Which means that only my emotions want me to satiate them with comfort.

Comfort can be found in many areas. Food need not be that comfort. I would not take chocolate and butterscotch syrup and dump it into the engine of my car when I'm depressed hoping that I will feel better!! Does the clunking and the breaking apart of my engine really make it better? NO!

Where is this blog and it's rambing road of thought going? It's coming to the declaration that I need not look to the Hand of God to remove the burden of my weight. I must take my machine to the shop and sacrifice whatever I must to get the thing back in perfect working condition. Though if you ask Muad'Dib or any other Ayn Randian, Sacrifice is only the act of giving up something you want for something you want MORE. I will come out the victor. I just have to stop thinking with my vicious emotions and hunker down.

Get it done. Gain a testimony of the power of ME to fix my own self!!

Sunset on the Reunion. Oh, and the kidlets.

BLERG!!! (And not in a good way)

"So Michael is out there. What are we going to do when we find him?"
"Bring him back."
"What if he doesn't want to come back?"
"I'll talk to him."
"I think he's beyond listening to reason."
"So you think we should just leave him. Write him off?"
"Who are we to decide what people can or can't do?"

- Conversation between Jack and Locke in the second season of Lost.


I had an old friend call me today and tell me a very sad story about her mother in law who was sick and getting progressively sicker. She was upset that the government was failing her mother in law in regards to health care. Medicare, Social Security and so on. She talked my ear off about the righteous indignation she spouted to customer care operators and their supervisors. Then she finished this story with: "It just doesn't seem right."

So I asked her, "Are you saying it doesn't seem right that the government isn't taking care of your mother in law, even though she meets none of the lawful criteria for said help, or it doesn't seem right that a woman as old and as smart as her would have never bought disability or Long Term Care insurance as a protection against this kind of thing, seeing as it runs in her family?"

"What?"

~*~

These things kill me. Well, these things and the "I pledge to serve President Obama" video that was recently shown in a Farmington, Utah School. (I watched it on YouTube, but wouldn't recommend it unless you have a strong stomach.)

Really? A man wants to go out into the jungle after his son - personal safety be damned! - but it is somehow every one's JOB to go bring him back whether he wants to come back or not. And in this scenario, we are supposed to be rooting for Jack for being a caring guy, a team player. Ugh.

A woman works a bit in her life. She's mostly a stay at home mom. She has a certain illness that runs in the family. She never sees fit to put away even $65 a month into a policy that is DESIGNED to take care of her if she is stricken with that illness, and somehow the GOVERNMENT is the bad guy?

A bunch of "famous people" get on screen and pledge to do this and that, mainly be greener and be superfluously nicer (smile more, learn the names of their other rich neighbors, etc), asking you what you will pledge; followed by a Brady Bunch x 10 of their heads all pledging service to OBAMA!!

It hurts. It hurts my little soul in this big world. It's painful that kids who watch the President's address to children have to be TOLD not to pick on the kids who choose not to.

Maybe this is what happens when I read the paper. I think. I become involved emotionally in the dealings of this mad world and wonder . . . Then I get emotional and use a bit of anger because what I really feel is powerless. I can't change it.

I can only teach my children the principles of the gospel. I can teach them stewardship and respect for private property. I can teach them a solid work ethic. I can teach them how to be kind and diplomatic and honest. I can teach them to trade (I don't really emphasise the sharing thing. Trading makes everyone happy. Sharing just makes them resent the person they had to share with and me: the person who FORCED them.)

These things I will do. Hoping that it is enough . . . because it is the only arena where I hold any power at all.