A Great Need

Illustration: Dwayne Booth, a.k.a. Mr. Fish

Inside my brain, stunned, gaping, screaming silence. I understand how Electoral College works. I understand that my fellow country(wo)men did not, by popular vote, place the mantle of President of United States of America on THIS person. I don't understand how it became a real option. Or...anything else about it. See? No words. And these below are likely the last you will see from me on the subject directly.

Love...As The Substance Of Everything cannot fathom how hate seated itself in the highest office in our country.

The mystic Sufi poet Hafiz penned A Great Need.

Out

Of a great need

We are all holding hands

And climbing.

Not loving is a letting go.

Listen.

The terrain around here

Is

Far too 

Dangerous

For

That.

While my heart feels the sentiment flooding social media #notmypresident, my fingers cannot type it as a declaration. For he is indeed the president elect of the country in which I live. My choice is to take the hands of those around me and climb! To fight like hell against every thing THIS person stands for. I will fight like hell against the oozing, pernicious evil that THIS person yields as his banner, beckoning to the worst among us to gather round him as their insidious leader. I will not utter his name. I will not address him as my president, though I won't go so far as to proclaim #notmypresident because I feel it is a way of sticking our heads in the sand, and I can't do it.

Grab a hand. Grab two hands. Climb! Be of good cheer! Love one another! Serve one another! Let your voice be heard saying NO to the things that THIS person champions from a place of ignorance and hatred. Plant love, charity, compassion, goodness, light, holiness, service, friendship, congeniality, strength, warmth, and blossoming, growing wonder all over this dangerous terrain. In this way, WE win, and we learn to do better and choose better and demand better!!!

Unconventional Mo

After my last blog, I thought it would be best to go ahead and explain myself as an Unconventional Mo, before any Conventional Mo gets his/her reportedly magical knickers in a twist. "Mo" stands for "Mormon" or "Mormonism" so I am an Unconventional Mormon. I'm pretty stinkin' proud of it too. The easiest way to do this is probably to make lists of Conventional Mo vs. Unconventional Mo traits which I possess. For the record, I have a testimony of the gospel. My faith is very dear to me. I just don't take myself too seriously, and I don't really care to make myself conform to anyone else's ideals for the sake of their comfort. I have room to grow. And that's okay.

Kate The Conventional Mo

• says a prayer and eats meals at the table with her family
• says Family Prayer every evening
• says Car Prayer before traveling long distances
• has LDS Tools app on her iPhone
• has Gospel Library app on her iPhone
• still has analog scriptures in a leather analog scripture case
• wishes she were better at both personal and family scripture study
• loves to see the temple
• watches The Legend of Johnny Lingo and cries and swoons every time
• says "stinkin' "
• drives a minivan
• goes to church on Sunday (okay, not every Sunday all the time)
• wears a dress to church
• tries to have meaningful Family Home Evenings
• has LDS art in her home
• has A Proclamation To The Family hanging on her wall
• believes Families Can Be Together Forever
• doesn't smoke
• doesn't drink coffee
• doesn't drink alcohol
• doesn't use drugs
• eats meat sparingly
• uses the plants and herbs Heavenly Father gave us as food and medicine (not a toker, for real)
• is (mostly) a full-time mom
• dresses modestly
• has memorized the 13 Articles of Faith
• categorizes herself and Mormonism as Christian because testimony of Jesus Christ as Savior
• freezes meals
• can be relied upon to provide a meal or assistance to someone in need on short notice
• practices food storage

Kate The Unconventional Mo

• has not yet been to the temple for herself
• married a non-member/convert, not a Return Missionary
• drops a swear on occasion
• sometimes doesn't go to church on Sunday
• doesn't really feel part of a "ward family"
• wears flip-flops all the time, even to church
• sometimes feels conflicted about one small part of A Proclamation To The Family, but trusts that Heavenly Father will sort all that out
• doesn't feel it's her place to judge or legislate who one loves and chooses to marry
• has a tattoo
• is a hippie
• feels equally spiritual as religious
• sort of unschools her children
• does not aspire to Molly Mormonism (read Conventional Mo)
• doesn't care if other people drink alcohol to unwind
• has friends who drink alcohol
• has friends who smoke pot (though they respectfully don't do so in her presence)
• has hippie stickers all over her minivan
• has no LDS or BYU stickers on her minivan
• has no stick figure family stickers on her minivan
• has a rainbow "coexist" sticker waiting to be put on her minivan
• might watch an R-rated movie if she wants to
• grew up in a broken, dysfunctional home and family
• isn't weird about sex/can talk about it in real terms without blushing
• birthed a baby at home
• wants to be a homebirth midwife
• sees a lot of vaginas and placentas as a doula
• doesn't like baby showers
• doesn't like Jell-O with pretzels or cottage cheese or anything else that doesn't belong in Jell-O
• celebrates and honors all cultures and religions, loves learning about them, feels no need to convert everyone she sees
• is not a Republican
• enjoys gospel discussion without trying to persuade anyone
• is an activist
• abhors canned Cream of Anything soups
• doesn't care what you wear to church
• doesn't care what color your hair is or how you style it
• isn't offended by your tattoos or piercings

There is probably more to say on each list, but it's late, and this is a pretty good representation.

Purity, Chastity, Virtue - Sex By Any Other Name...

The name "Elizabeth Smart" is being seen in the news a lot again lately. Her story weighs on my heart and her courage and openness inspire me to do more for my own daughters and other women. You can read the latest from Elizabeth here. It is an encouraging read.

Like Elizabeth, I grew up in the Mormon faith. I still practice that faith, though I freely admit to anyone that I am an "unconventional Mo." We can talk more about what that means another time. Also, like Elizabeth, I experienced repeated sexual abuse. I was not kidnapped, and most of the abuse I experienced was not at the hands of a stranger. Most times, my own parents put me in the hands of my abuser/s, and to this day I have no idea if they have let that sink in. I don't know if they are still claiming ignorance. It's only been in the last 5 years that I've been able to talk to ANYONE about it EVER. And tonight was the first time I ever shared this with my daughters, sparing them all details, of course. My experience lasted from sometime after I was born (my first memory is around age 3) until I was about 10 and acted up enough that I was able to avoid the abuser/s altogether, or he was finally afraid of me.

As a Young Woman, ages 12-18, we often had confusing, embarrassing (I was embarrassed for my leaders, mind, more than I was for myself, or about sex) discussions with strange and disturbing object lessons/analogies about our purity. The big, overused story of my generation was ABC Gum. ABC Gum, if you don't know, is Already Been Chewed. Our virginity was compared to a pristine, non macerated piece of chewing gum (probably the really white kind, like a Chiclet, or maybe the stick kind with pretty sparkles of chemical trickery). As non macerated white sparkly gum virgins, we were desirable and whole and pure and chaste and virtuous. But, if we shoved our non macerated white sparkly gum virginity/purity into the dirty hands of boys (or girls) and they chewed us up touched us inappropriately or penetrated us in any way, then we would be discarded unceremoniously and every other human on the planet (but especially boys) would find us revolting. Yeah. About that.

The newer generation of Young Women are fence posts. You can drive nails in them, and the nails can be yanked free, but the holes are there forever. (Never mind how one might find it difficult to reconcile the Atonement after such a story, but I digress.)

Annual panel discussions with our Bishopric and youth leaders were no more helpful. In fact, I feel they were worse and even more harmful. They were certainly confusing. Most of the time, the 3 men (Bishopric), and our male and female youth leaders, sitting before us and answering our anonymous questions about dating and sex couldn't even agree amongst themselves about what was appropriate or not. One thought no kisses anywhere prior to marriage. One thought a kiss on the hand or cheek. Another thought a light kiss on the lips (closed mouth) would be fine. WHAT?! Get it together, guys! This is GUM we're talking about!!!!!!!!

But seriously....you know what I want my children (not just my daughters) to know about sex? First, I want them to know the correct terminology for their sex organs and sex acts. Seriously. That's basic.  Additionally, I want them to know all the good and wonderful things about sex. Sex should be fun, sex should feel great, sex can be full of laughter and passion and love. Sex can make babies. Sex can be awkward and fumbly. Sex should absolutely be part of a mutually committed, safe relationship. You should not be ashamed or afraid to discuss sex with your partner (or your parents when you have questions). I want them to come talk to me when they hear well-meaning but ludicrous and potentially harmful analogies from teachers they look up to.

I want them to understand consent.  I want them to value other human beings, and themselves as human beings. Even as human beings who might make regrettable choices. I want them to understand that the only person who gets to regret his/her choices is the person who made those choices. I want them to know that I love them unconditionally, that Heavenly Father loves them unconditionally, and that mistakes don't define us but can help shape us. I want them to understand and exercise personal accountability...and forgiveness if needed. I want them, most of all, to understand that their entire worth is not wrapped up in their sexuality!

My Room

The Burrows Home belongs to the Burrows Family...and when I say it belongs to the Burrows Family, what I mean is, sometimes this home is chaotic and maybe everything isn't just the way I would like it all the time ever. I have a husband. I have 3 children whom I homeschool. They have a giant dog and 2 cats. Outside the home, I have 5 chickens. Our home is regularly tidied and usually somewhat sanitary, but it is difficult to have everything clean and beautiful all the time. And...I can't really have pretty things because EVERYTHING gets broken around here. So I've settled for a simple, humbly appointed, mostly sanitary, sometimes tidy home. It isn't MY home, after all. It is OURS, and I want everyone to feel comfortable and at ease here in our place away from the outside world. A place where we can all be ourselves and enjoy one another's company without pretense.

BUT...I do need that one place where I can close the door and feel peace too, where I can be at ease and be myself, where everything does not get broken, where pets do not reside with their aromas and their shedding, and where I can enjoy some quiet time as I craft, create, write, read, or work. And sometimes sleep when Nick snores too much or I can't get comfy in our shared bed (or when the chaos of untidiness is too much for me in the master bedroom, which my husband has rather appropriated with his mountains of clothing and STUFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!

So, a few months ago I laid claim to the guest room. The picture at the top is the guest bed. The cats are normally entirely unwelcome, but someone had left the door open this day, and they did look awfully sweet. I snapped a picture and then shooed them off with my lint roller, and then promptly rolled away any evidence that they'd been here. I just love my bohemian bedding and piles of pillows! This is a bright and happy, yet calming and centering space. I must have had myself in mind (and didn't know it) when I chose the bedding.

Here below we have a recent find. It came to me from a photographer who no longer needed it as a prop. It was painted an aqua/turquoise color, so I brought it home and sprayed it down with a couple coats of mustardy yellow and hung it up to display some fun and happy memories and small paintings of my own. I apologize that the photograph is a wee blurry, but the lighting in here is not good for photography. It is, however, perfect for ME.

The painting below was done by my Great-aunt Mildred, and it hung in my grandparents' home for as long as I ever remembered, until my grandmother died. Grandpa stored it in the shed for a time. My mother got it, and then she gave it to me. It was in an awfully old frame, which literally fell to pieces as it was handled. There was no glass or anything to protect the painting (which maybe isn't a valuable masterpiece, but which has a story and sentimentality, and I love it). So I reframed it this week and hung it above the bed. It is rather larger than it looks here, so almost serves as a headboard for the queen-size bed.

Here we have an old wooden vessel of some sort. I have no idea its original purpose, nor how old it might actually be. This is another piece that belonged to my grandmother and I don't remember a time it wasn't there. I used to play with this as a child. It was everything from a witch's cauldron to a butter churn to a chamber pot in my imagination. Often, I slapped a big, round, red polka-dot pillow on top and it was a giant mushroom for the fair folk. I believe it was also a Barbie hot tub at some point. My Aunt Debbie got this after Grandpa passed and wanted me to have it. I couldn't say no because I do have such memories of it, so it has come to live in my peaceful room filled with things I love.

Last, we have another art piece. This one I commissioned, telling the artist only that I wanted something inspired by the Iron & Wine E.P. Woman King. I cried when this is what I received. I was so moved by her capturing (and her rendering of the Woman King resembling myself) everything about the music that speaks to me so strongly. This piece is 36X72 and fills a wall for me. It is the first thing I see each morning and the last thing each night. I LOVE this painting!

In this room, I sit quietly. I read. I pray. I meditate. I paint. I draw. I write. I work. I listen to quiet music. I watch my chickens from the window. Sometimes I get a good night's sleep. I love this room.

The Art of Birth and Motherhood

"Serving Women and Families Through The Art of Birth and Motherhood" is my mission statement at Woman King Maternity & Childbirth Services. "The Art of Birth and Motherhood" is a multi-purpose phrase, really. My job isn't easy to learn in books, and no 2 doulas practice the same. It is an art form, and it gets better and better with experience and practice and appreciation. There is also art in listening to and watching birth and motherhood. I see raw beauty every day. Sometimes, I am absolutely captivated by the experience and it stays with me for a long time. The most recent birth I attended was one such birth. I wrote about it at Reflections of a Woman King, and I still feel the need to write about it more, and to play around editing the handful of pictures I took during this mother's labor. Because I already wrote about that birth, I won't repeat details here again, but I just wanted to share my favorite photo with some really neat artistic filters with the Prisma app. I do have permission to share her image, but these will make it difficult to determine her identity, and client confidentiality is important to me. 

I am pretty sure that top photo is my absolute favorite. I'd like to choose one and recreate it on canvas to submit to a birth art show.

I found the second and third ones really interesting, and I do like looking at them, but they aren't my favorites.

^ This one is competing for my top favorite. It's making it really hard to choose. What do you think?

And the last two here are definitely close seconds. The last one is actually from The Great Wave Off Kanagawa by Katsushika Hokusai. My pineapple ukulele has that painting on it too, so I am a fan.

A Thing For Old Photographs

I have a thing for old photographs. This one is of my grandfather, James Sparrow (he's the handsome side-eye glancer on the bottom right-hand corner there) and his siblings. Top Left: Eugene Sparrow. Top Right: Lawrence Sparrow. Bottom Left: Clydine Sparrow-Waller. Middle: Martha Sparrow (she died in a house fire when she was 23, if I remember the age correctly). I don't know much about Martha. Grandpa never mentioned her even once. Grandma only ever mentioned her 2 or 3 times.

Nick has a pretty new interest and hobby in family history, so I thought he'd find pictures like this really interesting. My Aunt Debbie seems to be in possession of most of the old photographs that my grandparents had. She let me look through them with her while my family and I were in Illinois 3 weeks ago. It was fun walking down memory lane, or hearing stories I hadn't yet heard, or just wondering together over the pictures we didn't recognize or have any stories about which to tell. Aunt Deb said I could take whatever pictures I wanted. Some seemed too precious, or like I shouldn't have them as long as my mother and aunt and uncles are living. If they were VERY interesting to me (like this one) I snapped a picture with my iPhone.

I don't know anything about my grandpa as a boy. Nothing. He never talked about any of that. He wasn't a storyteller, and I don't think he had any appreciation for storytelling or history sharing. He was a good man. Stern, but loving. I sure miss him. He died 2 years ago this October. Grandma Bertie has been gone more than 11 years, and I still miss her nearly every single day. She WAS a storyteller! I loved listening to Grandma, and what little I know of Grandpa and his family, she probably shared it with me. Looking back at pictures like this I can sometimes hear her voice telling me this or that. In this one, I hear her telling me the story of Grandpa asking her for a date, and how she almost blew it because she was trying not to appear too eager. Grandpa didn't have a lot of patience, and being a practical fellow he would have moved right along had he thought she was trying to play hard-to-get or simply wasn't interested in him. I'm so glad they went on that date, so that I can look at pictures and think of stories like this when I feel lonesome for them. 

Kalamity Katie's Border Benedict a la Wild Eggs

I was in Bowling Green, KY last weekend picking up some beautiful young ladies after their week at EFY. They weren't fed breakfast before being released back into the wild, so I took them to a spot my friend told me about for a very delicious breakfast, Wild Eggs. We saw lots of other EFY families breakfasting there too, and I'm sure no one left disappointed at all. 

I have a fathomless love of Benedictine egg dishes...and Mexican food...so this seemed like something right up my alley. Because I can't make a 4-hour pilgrimage to Wild Eggs I needed a copycat recipe or all the world would be dark forever more. (This breakfast is powerful, people!)

Ingredients:

• 1-2 one-inch thick slices green chili cheddar corn cake (recipe below)
• 4 Tbsp. finely crumbled chorizo, drained well
• 2 eggs
• 1 Tbsp. white vinegar
• 2 oz. queso blanco dip (bought, or homemade)
• sour cream
• pico de gallo (salsa would be yummy too)
• diced avocado
• sliced fresh scallions

Instructions:

• Cook chorizo over medium heat, chopping as you cook, until all fat is rendered.
• Transfer to paper towels and tamp with paper towels to drain and remove rendered fat from the crumbles.
• While chorizo cooks, slice your corn cake. Warm and lightly toast under broiler. Remove from oven and cover with foil to keep warm.
• Fill a 2-quart pan 2/3 full of water with vinegar.
• Bring to a light boiling simmer.
• Crack eggs into a dry mug. Place bottom of mug into water and gently tip, rolling the eggs into the simmering water. Cover pan with lid, return to gentle simmer, and poach eggs to desired consistency.
• While eggs cook, warm your queso in a double boiler.
• When all ingredients are prepared, place corn cakes on plate, spoon over chorizo. Use slotted spoon to drain eggs and place over corn cakes and chorizo.
• Pour warm queso over eggs.
• Garnish with sour cream, pico, avocado, and scallions.

Serve next to fresh fruit and/or skillet potatoes.

Corn Cake Ingredients:

• 2 c. cornbread batter (lightly sweet is perfect)
• Fresh ground black pepper to taste
• 1/2 c. roasted green chilis (fresh or canned)
• Pinch of salt
• 2/3 c. shredded cheddar cheese
• 2/3 c. sweet corn, lightly pan-roasted with 1 Tbsp. butter, cooled

Corn Cake Instructions:

• Mix all ingredients until combined.
• Place corn onto parchment lined baking dish.
• Line baking tray with parchment paper. Lightly butter.
• Spread batter onto parchment. Evenly distribute to about 1-inch thickness.
• Bake at 350 ° 15-18 minutes, until done. Test center with toothpick. When it comes out clean, the corn cake is done.
• Remove from oven. Allow to cool 20-30 minutes. 
• Cut into 3-inch squares.

The Face Across The Breakfast Table

When my Grandma Bertie wanted to marry my Grandpa Jim, her father asked a simple question. "Is his the face you want to see across the breakfast table every morning?" Grandma told me that story many times. When the right man came along for me, she asked me that question too. The truth is, I couldn't imagine a face I'd be happy seeing if his weren't also there...across the figurative breakfast table. He doesn't eat breakfast, but the sentiment stands.

In just a few short days, Nick and I will be celebrating our 18th wedding anniversary. It seems like a bigger deal as each year passes. We sure have seen a lot of couples not make it, and some of them more than once. I've been tucked safely into this one's side for half of my life now, and I'm just so awesomely content!

Our marriage was recently the subject of a research paper for a college assignment. A friend asked many thought-provoking questions concerning a marriage with some longevity. At the time, I felt like I couldn't give her very satisfying answers. All of mine were so simple. There was nothing complicated, no long stories. In the weeks since that interview I have returned to those questions many times. I conclude that a few simple, loving practices build a comfortable, fun, happy marriage.

1. Don't nag. Just don't. It really is that simple. Choose not to do it.
2. Let your spouse be him/herself!
3. Encourage his/her goals, ideas, dreams, etc.
4. Be happy for him/her!
5. Lay selfishness aside. Be quick to apologize and eager to forgive.

These things are the foundation for all the rest! They are elemental to a happy marriage. I often get the question how we get on so well when we are so very different. And it's true. My husband and I don't have too much in common. Our backgrounds are vastly different. Our interests are different. Our politics are different. Our spirituality can be unbalanced. Our sense of adventure vs. safety are quite different. We just aren't similar people. But we LOVE each other so much, and we chose one another. We still choose one another every day. We are really, really good at the 5 Practices above.

We've realized that we don't have to be alike to love each other, to do those 5 things for each other. I have followed Nick around the country as he followed his career, covering all 5 elements in just one shot. I have watched friends nag at their husbands/wives and felt so uncomfortable for both of them that I resolved never to nag, and some might say to a fault. Nick is not me. He has his own personality, his own history, and his own aspirations. It isn't love if you can't let him be an individual!

Nick has given me safe, sheltered space to grow into who I am. He has loved me unconditionally and allowed me to blossom without interference. I know that he has extended me grace much more than I deserve across the years. I have never been belittled or made to feel small, and I have seen pride in his eyes when I accomplish something that means a lot to me. He's supported me as I've built 2 businesses now, letting me pave my own way. While he doesn't fully understand the obstacles I have overcome, he knows that some were huge, and he respects the strength inside of me. He isn't afraid of a strong woman. He doesn't feel the need to take that away. I can't think of a more powerful example of selfless love than that which Nick gives to me, and I do not take it for granted.

I can truly say that fighting is so rare I can count it on one hand. We don't agree on everything. We employ the 5 Practices, find a compromise, and move on. I choose Nick. He chooses me. We don't sweat the small stuff.

City Grits a la Another Broken Egg

Next to these beautiful eggs that I collected from my very own hens is a delicious assemblage of City Grits. I have never been a grits girl. I still wouldn't call myself a grits girl...except I did try my friends City Grits at Another Broken Egg when we were brunching one late Saturday morning, and fell in love. I have since given other grits concoctions a try, and I still don't like grits. Except for City Grits. Friends, these are incredible!

I think I could eat City Grits at any meal, and on the side of almost any protein. For real. These would be amazing with shrimp or fish, I think, and so now...I'm going to have to give that a go. My mouth just started watering.

1 c. water
1 c. milk
1/4-1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 c. corn grits (I used yellow)
1/4 c. (or more) smoked Gouda, shredded or chopped
1 Tbsp. butter
Pepper to taste
Diced tomato
Sliced scallions
Crispy bacon, chopped

Bring water, milk, and salt to boil. Slowly whisk in grits. Cook grits according to package instructions. Stir in cheese and butter until melted and creamy. Garnish with bacon, tomato, and scallions. Pepper to taste. Enjoy!!!

Serves 2-3 people.

Skeetyjuice

My Skeetyjuice potion sells like crazy here in Memphis, and it has a lot of fans outside Memphis too. I do sell it. While I share the recipe freely, most people don't want to mess with it, or they don't want to invest in all the essential oils, but for those who aren't local the recipe has to do. For those who are local and don't like driving out to the 'burbs to pick it up, look for Skeetyjuice in the Trolley Stop Market really soon!!!

Why does the Skeetyjuice sell like crazy? Because no one who wears it gets bitten - EVER - as long as they apply it. All of that and no destroying the environment or your health with petroleum product and toxic chemicals. It smells great. And it is safe for your family. Pregnant women and children under 5 should consult with their physicians because...you know...I have to tell you that. Skeetyjuice does contain lemongrass, which pregnant women are typically warned about, so don't use lemongrass if you are pregnant! And I suspect this would still work because it has so many anti-skeety elements.

Our family of 5 goes through a quart or 2 of Skeetyjuice from April to October. That is with a lot of camping, outdoor concerts, etc. Oh, and we share it with others a lot too.

Anyway, without further ado, I give you the Skeetyjuice recipe.

•1 Tbsp. Shaklee Basic h2 (dish soap will also do well) 
•1 Tbsp.castor oil
• 1/2 c. witch hazel (or alcohol)
•water

Essential oils:*
•35 drops peppermint
•35 drops citronella
•15 drops cedar
•15 drops geranium
•10 drops clove
•15 drops rosemary
•15 drops lemongrass

Add Basic h2 (or dish soap), castor oil, and essential oils to a glass jar (essential oils can destroy most  plastics
within a couple days). Slowly pour in witch hazel (or alcohol) and then very slowly pour in water (it will foam if you go too fast). Shake.

Shake before each use to reincorporate.

I buy these these industrial spray nozzles on Amazon. They fit perfectly on Braggs Apple Cider Vinegar bottles, which are glass. If you store Skeetyjuice in clear glass, and you won't use it within a few days, wrap the bottle in a brown paper bag or two and twist at the top to protect from sunlight. Sunlight will destroy the properties of the essential oils. Amber glass is ideal.

My Daughter's A Teen - The Emotional Challenge of Parenting

Loving mothers love their children. I don't want to devalue another mother's love and devotion to her children by assuming that I appreciate my motherhood more because it didn't come easily. It took several years for me to have my first baby, and I experienced several difficult miscarriages throughout my childbearing years. That colors my every experience as a mother, and I mindfully cherish my role because I understand what it means.

My daughter turned 14 this month, and she has truly been off in the world (though not too far) with a great deal of fledgling independence this summer. This was her 3rd year at Young Women's Camp. 5 days there. She was able to attend Youth Conference because the cut-off date was her actual birthday. 3 days there. She is currently at EFY for 5 days, and this is the furthest she's ever been from me without at least her dad. None of our familiar local ward members are there supervising. It was a big step, and I encouraged her in taking it. Not without some heart flutters, mind you, but with excitement for her as she grows and finds her way. She has been so eager to go, and she saved part of the registration cost herself.

Isabel and 2 other girls from our ward set off on the 4-hour drive with the other girls' dad Monday morning. By 4:00 I was hearing from Isabel and she was crying and having a tone that was so far from her bright, adventurous spirit that I was ready to jump in the car and go get her. Nick and I prayed for and with her, and I was restless all night hoping she'd feel better after a good night's rest. She wasn't home even 48 hours between Youth Conference and EFY, so I thought it was possible she was just exhausted. By this morning, she sounded slightly more hopeful, but I still felt something was off. She called again when it was time to settle into their rooms tonight and there was a clear shift for the better in her mood. I felt so much relief. I knew I couldn't leave her there through the week if she didn't come around, but I wanted to give her the chance to rally. She shared about her day and some of the fun they had, and I mentally put my keys away for the night.

Isabel has always been a steady thing. Happy, content, easy-going. "Seeing" her out of sorts really turned my world on its ear. I find myself wondering if I struck the right balance of protectiveness and faith in her that she would find her way. I am not a helicopter parent, so I'd hate to startle her by suddenly squashing an opportunity for her to learn and grow free from my intervention. But what if I fail her by not coming to the rescue when she really needed it? I think I succeeded, but I won't be surprised if this comes out in therapy someday. There has to be some therapy fodder in here somewhere.

I've spent the last 14 years mindfully parenting in precisely the opposite manner to which I myself was parented. I'm hoping to minimize the damage to my own children, but I feel almost as if it is impossible that they won't be angry at me for something someday. How can someone with so much baggage not shove some of it off on their own kids, right?

The Humble Stragglers Dinner

It's 3:41am. I can't sleep. I hear the cicadas, crickets, and tree frogs, and the occasional barred owl or coyote outside. Summer sounds. The sounds of the oppressive heat. Longing for cooler weather and life outside of climate controlled confinement have me thinking of all the things I love in the Fall and Winter months. One of my favorites is the humble Stragglers Dinner. My grandmother used to refer to this sort of event as "scruffy hospitality."

Though I am an introvert, I enjoy being around good people. I enjoy observing and listening. Occasionally, I enjoy interacting when I feel I have something meaningful to contribute. As an empath, I can sometimes wear other people's energy like a cloak. It can be dark and heavy, or it can be light as gossamer. Selfishly, hosting a Stragglers Dinner gives me a chance to surround myself with people who are bright, humble, compassionate, mindful, happy, generous, open, and loving. It also brings me back to my childhood in rural Illinois. People visited. It was okay just to pop in somewhere, or for others to pop in at our house. It didn't matter if there was laundry being sorted and dishes in the sink, and when a mealtime came around, we'd scrounge something together to feed everyone. It could be buttered rice, sausage patties, and cornbread. It could be chili or soup, spaghetti, or whatever we could cobble together out of the pantry and fridge. It was never ever fancy. The adults would sit about and chat, or sometimes work in the garden or at some other project, helping each other out. The children would run free in the fields or small-town streets and alleys, only coming back when the moon was all the light left, or when the streetlights shone in town.

Longing for those simple feelings of friendship and community, wanting my children to have some of that experience, I began hosting what I call Stragglers Dinners. It's slightly more formal. I do invite people. I don't even know anyone who just drops by anymore. I cook up a big batch of soup or something, maybe make a salad or dessert. Everyone brings something to share, and I encourage them not to be fancy. We make a fire in our fire bowl in the backyard and put out the s'more makings and Skeetyjuice (my homemade mosquito repellent). Everyone is invited to bring their hula hoops, glow sticks, camp chairs, musical instruments, singing voices, and leave their worries at home. The children run free in the backyard. The adults gather in the living room, in the kitchen, or outside around the fire. Sometimes people will sing and play their instruments, sometimes not. Sometimes someone will be inside playing the piano, which mostly becomes background noise.

This is a social scene I cherish. It's good energy by design. I can sit quietly and mind the fire, enjoying the interactions around me. I can sing or hum along. I can strum a ukulele or clap out a beat. I don't worry people will judge my week's worth of laundry sorted and unwashed in the laundry room, or a freshly utilized litter box. They look over our bookcases, overlooking the dust, and we have a good conversation about literature. I marvel at how their babies are growing. We hate to call it a night, but slowly people straggle away to put their little ones to bed, or to snuggle up in a warm bed themselves. Me, I tidy up whatever is left to tidy, pray with my family, tuck my babes in bed, and cuddle into bed smelling of woodsmoke and a crisp evening outdoors. All is well.