Also, I’ve been composing lots of posts in my imagination.
Like the post about everything that’s wrong with the movie “The Invention of Lying” (in spite of its clever concept and great cast,) and thoughts about lying and truth-telling in general.
Or the post about faith and the necessity for real religion for civilization to survive.
Or my criticism of the saying, “As long as someone lives on in our memory, they’ll always be with us.” Also thoughts on the problems of memory and family history-keeping in general.
Or my response to Doug Thayer’s excellent book, “The Tree House.”
Or the post about fighting my feelings of absolute futility that sometimes arise in my efforts to raise kids and run a household (as I told my sister today, “If I’ve been doing this for thirteen years and I’m not even close to succeeding, it doesn’t bode well for my ever mastering it.”) Retorts to self: a) I’ve been sick, pregnant, or had one or more sick kids for most of those thirteen years and b) I’ve gotten better at all kinds of things in ways that are nearly invisible to me (whereas my failures are so very, very visible.)
Or a post about how the escalation of Halloween observance sometimes dampens my love for the holiday.
These are some of the things I think about while I’m trying to catch up on the laundry and ironing.
Come to think of it, I think I’ve covered most of these topics in real-life conversations over the past few days–which was pleasant for me, if not so great for my blog. In fact, I kept interrupting with my thoughts on faith and the need for real religion while Dean was trying to read aloud from Alma 42 in the Book of Mormon this evening with the kids, and at one point he read a verse and I said “Exactly!”
While I’m here, here’s a Henry story: My friend’s son is two years older than Henry. I go to her house about once a week for a Relief Society meeting, and Henry plays with her son, but a couple weeks ago after we came home, Henry said, “M. is not my friend. He say he not my friend.” I told my friend about that later and said, “I’m sure M. just said that because he’s thinking that he’s older than Henry and doesn’t normally play with him, but it kind of broke Henry’s heart, especially since most of the kids his age in our neighborhood are girls so he doesn’t have many friends that are boys.” So, the next time we saw them, Jennifer said, “Henry, M. has something to say to you.” M. said, “I’m sorry I said you’re not my friend,” and, at further prompting from his mom, “I do want to be your friend.” Henry gave him a big grin–and two thumbs up.