Family Joke Night

Short anecdote of the day: prophets have counseled us to set aside an evening a week to spend with our families. The prescribed evening is Monday. My family, however, has always had Family Home Evening (as it's called) on Sundays.

When I was small, Sunday night FHE included family joke night during dinner.

My dad told most of the jokes. Being children and therefore easily entertained, we made him tell us the exact same jokes every. Single. Sunday. And then we would tell them to him every. Single. Sunday.

And then, slowly at first and then suddenly, family joke night was dead.

Why?

I'll tell you why.

Little Sister, that's why.

Little Sister didn't understand jokes at all, but she insisted on telling them anyways.

Dad would tell this classic: "Knock knock."

"Who's there, Dad?" Older Sister and I would shout.

"Olive."

"Olive who?" We were now at a fever pitch of excitement. We'd already heard the joke 1,342,569,986 times, but somehow we were still on the edge of our seats.

"Olive you!"

Hysterical.

"Knock knock," Little Sister would then say.

"Who's there?" Dad obliged.

"Pizza."

"Pizza who?"

"Olive you!"

At first it was kind of cute when she did that. Then it was mildly annoying. Then it was terribly, horribly, mind-numbingly boring. We wanted to hear corny jokes, not Little Sister ruining corny jokes.

"Knock knock," she'd say.

"Who's there?" we'd groan.

"Banana."

"Banana who?" (With much rolling of the eyes.)

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana."

"Banana who?"

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Apple!" Little Sister said triumphantly.

"Apple who?" we asked, already cringing. We knew what was coming.

"Orange you glad I didn't say banana?!"

Rockin' Around the Christmas Chair

Please ignore the title of this post. This post has nothing to do with Christmas. I was just explaining to La Petite that writing titles is the hardest part of blog posts, which is why most of my titles are quotes or song lyrics, and then I didn't have any song lyrics about chairs so I adapted.

And why was I counseling with La Petite about blog post titles? Because she's sitting next to me. And why is she sitting next to me at ten o'late in the evening? Because we're roommates!

Me, La Petite, and our other roommate the Seamstress. It's been a party and a half.

As you know, I'm a writer. La Petite and the Seamstress are a social worker and a financier, respectively. "A writer, a social worker, and a financier live together." It sounds like the beginning of a great joke. I haven't come up with a punch line yet and I'm running out of time, because it has transpired that La Petite is going to leave us and get married.

But in the meantime, she lives with us. So does her stuffed caterpillar named Alfie that is taller than her fiancé and which lives in our living room.

The other day when I built that box fort, La Petite helped me knock it down with Christmas ornaments and stuffed animals. And then we turned the boxes into a tall tower (though not as tall as Alfie; we checked) and knocked that down with Christmas ornaments and stuffed animals.

(I forgot there would be Christmas ornaments in this post. It actually does have something to do with Christmas. Sorry for the false advertising in my attempt to correct my false advertising.)

Then we cut all the liquor boxes up and used colored folders and packing tape to turn them into a beautiful chair that matches Alfie almost exactly.

Alfie and the chair. Which would be an excellent band name btw. Also, there's a matching footrest.

We are going to throw a party and make people sit in the chair and also compliment it.

I don't even know how the Seamstress can stand us how cool we are.

What's With Mormon Temples, Anyway?

I recently went to the temple to be endowed.

You may or may not understand that sentence. Let me break it down for you.

The temple is the House of the Lord. It's pretty much literally what it sounds like: Heavenly Father's house. Like your house or mine. If someone wanted to be near me, the surest way to find me would be to come to my house. When you want to be near God, you go to His house. It's the surest way to feel Him and His Spirit.

Inside the temple, we perform ordinances. Saving ordinances are ordinances that have to be performed in order to return to God's presence after death. These are baptism, confirmation, receiving the priesthood (for guys), initiatory, endowment, and sealing.

Last week in the temple, I did initiatory and then an endowment session. Together, these two ordinances are known as "being endowed" or "going through the temple," "receiving your endowment."

Obviously, it doesn't make sense for only members of one religion to receive the ordinances necessary to return to the presence of God. He loves all of His children. That's why in the temple, we not only perform ordinances for living people but also perform ordinances by proxy for dead people who did not receive these ordinances while upon the earth. The spirits of the dead can then choose to accept or reject the ordinances done on their behalf.

When a member of the church is twelve years old, they can interview for a limited use recommend. This recommend allows them to do baptisms and confirmations on behalf of the dead in the temple. In order to do further ordinances on behalf of the dead, you interview to receive another recommend, which I will explain further.

The endowment process starts with the bishop. If you decide to be endowed, you talk to him first.

Now, there are three reasons a person might get endowed: mission, marriage, or maturity. The third is the hardest to pinpoint. If you haven't gone on a mission and you haven't gotten married but you feel like you have reached a sufficient age and maturity to be endowed, you go and talk to your bishop. That's what I did.

Actually, I am a little younger than most who go through for reasons of maturity. But I knew there was nothing wrong with asking, as long as I was asking for the right reasons and was willing to accept that the answer might not be what I was hoping for.

I went to my bishop and counseled with him. We decided it would be appropriate for me to move forward. So I started studying and then I went in for a temple recommend interview.

At this point, I should explain that the same levels of worthiness are required for either type of temple recommend. The distinction between a limited use recommend and the full recommend is that when you have a limited use recommend, you don't make covenants in the temple. That's why you have to have a certain maturity to get a full recommend. Twelve-year-olds can have the same worthiness as adults who are getting married or going on missions, but they probably aren't ready to understand sacred promises, let alone make them.

Some people are critical that there are worthiness requirements to go to the temple at all. I'd like to make two points on this matter. One, you aren't going to be accepted into, say, Harvard Medical School if you aren't qualified. If they accept you but you aren't qualified, you aren't going to do well in your classes or be a very good doctor.

That's kind of how it is in the temple. Letting you into the temple when you aren't worthy makes about as much sense as letting you into Harvard Medical School when you aren't qualified. It would be pointless. It wouldn't do you any favors.

The second point I'd like to make is that the temple is not supposed to be exclusive. Actually, the idea is that everyone on earth should be temple worthy. Everyone on earth should be able to make covenants with God and be near Him. We're working hard to make that happen.

Receiving my endowment was one of the best experiences I've ever had. It was very much as it literally sounds--I was endowed with knowledge and felt endowed with power. I came away having a better understanding of my own purpose and identity as a daughter of God, a better understanding of God's purpose, identity, and love, and a better understanding of the atonement of Jesus Christ.

A Pithy Summary of My Life as Given by Baby Brother

It's true that I no longer live in the Obnoxious residence. I now live a whopping three minutes away. Which means that it's a separation in name only, because I still see my family several times a week.

However, technically losing my citizenship in the family home apparently means losing my rights as a member of the family.

I came over for dinner the day after I moved out. When I offered my two cents during the typical Obnoxious family banter, Little Sister said, "Well...you don't live here anymore, so what you think doesn't count!"

My other siblings have started saying that, too. It's gotten old. It was old before they even started. But my brothers and sisters think it's as new and entertaining as the iPhone whatever-number-we're-on-now.

Last week, I took Baby Brother to a work party. The conversation in the car went as follows:

BABY BROTHER: Why am I in this car with you, you weird girl?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: I'm not a weird girl. I'm your sister.

BABY BROTHER: No you're not. You don't even live in the same house as me.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Whatever. I'm taking you to a party.

BABY BROTHER: You mean you kidnapped me to go to a party?

BABY BROTHER: That's why you kidnap people. To take them to parties.

BABY BROTHER: The only way you can get people to go to parties with you is to kidnap them.

Thank you, Baby Brother, for summing that up.

Eighteen Months

Well, well, well.

I am eighteen months older and wiser than when I started this blog. So are you. So are the hobbits. In fact, it's Frodo and Bilbo's birthday today! Cue the confetti, balloons, and noisemakers.

I love you all, people who read this blog. Probably. Maybe not. I don't know half of you half as well as I should like. And I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve. And yes, I do quote Lord of the Rings every chance I get. So sue me. Except not really because suing people won't solve your problems. Are you listening to me, America?

In other news, I've been trying to train myself so that I will eat carrots as snacks instead of eating sugary things as snacks. Whenever I am successful in eating a carrot, I give myself another carrot as a reward.

It is not actually very motivating.

Moving Out

Moving really is a strange thing.

I mean, think about it. First, you obtain a great deal of cardboard boxes. Then you take every single solitary thing that you own, put them in said boxes, transport them to your new residence, and take them out of the boxes. Then, you dispose of the boxes you went to such trouble to get.

It seems pointless when taken out of context.

Also, within context.

I started packing a week and a half before moving out of my parents' house. The process began with my beloved books. I figured that I would stack them alphabetically in the large cardboard box that my pots and pans had come in.

This was a good plan, except for not being a good plan. And it wasn't a good plan due to two unforeseen (by me) problems.

First problem: I have too many books. Except not really, because there's no such thing as too many books. But I have enough that they cannot all fit in one large cardboard box. As I soon discovered.

Second problem: Cardboard is stupid.

"A cardboard box can't hold that many books anyway," said my mother (whose mother skillz allowed her to foresee this problem). "It will rip. You're going to have to divide your books between several boxes."

Which was cool and all, except I didn't have several boxes. I had failed to complete the first task of moving: obtaining a great deal of cardboard boxes.

Word on the street was that boxes were free at the State Liquor Store. It was a pretty sweet deal minus the fact that my relationship with the State Liquor Store is exactly like my relationship with Alaska.

I've never been to Alaska.

After a week of not being able to progress with packing because I had no boxes, I finally took my journey to the uncharted territory of the State Liquor Store.

Immediately when I walked in, I knew something was amiss. It was me. I was amiss. (And also a miss.)

"Yes, yes, Awkward Mormon Girl," you say patiently, "We all know that you don't drink and that you've never been to the State Liquor Store or Alaska. That's why you were amiss. And you're an unmarried woman, which is why you are a miss. We all know this. Do stop being so dramatic."

To which I say, no. You do not understand. As I entered the store, the gravity of everyone's focus readjusted to include me in its orbit. I could feel people's eyes darting towards me and away. I could almost hear them asking themselves, "What are we going to do?"

They thought I was a teenager.

I look like a teenager. I do. I worked at a fast food restaurant when I was in college. Patrons frequently asked me which high school I was attending. A sixteen-year-old coworker hinted that he would like to date me--until he found out my real age, after which he only spoke to me to ask me to cover his shifts.

My youthfulness can be annoying, but it's not a real problem...unless I'm in the State Liquor Store.

Somehow I made it to the cash register without being carded.

"Yes?" said the cashier, looking at me warily.

"I just need to get some boxes," I explained. I swear everyone in the store gave a collective sigh of relief.

I filled my car with as many liquor boxes as it could hold. Obtain a great deal of cardboard boxes = check. Now I could properly move onto the next step: put every single solitary thing I own into cardboard boxes.

Baby Brother helped me. And by "helped" I mean "helped but mostly sat on my bed and critiqued my packing techniques." Because Baby Brother is an expert on packing, Rubik's cubes, and mortality (among other things).

The night before I moved, I spent six hours straight packing. I stayed up late packing. And then woke up early the next morning to finish packing.

I had never packed up all of my possessions before. I've always thought that I don't have very much stuff or very many clothes.

Packing showed me that I was wrong. Wrong. WRONG. I had four boxes full of knickknacks. Why do I have four boxfuls of knickknacks? Knickknacks don't even do anything. And I had some dozen pads of notepaper, like a million clothing items, and a mysterious bounty of shoes for a girl who doesn't even like shoes and has never bought herself a pair in her life.

I was all, "Wow. I'm so over this materialistic stuff. I'm going to go live in the mountains with just a knapsack and these Eeyore socks that have been in my dresser for ten years but don't actually belong to me."

But by the time I finished packing up my boxes, I had no desire to also pack a knapsack, so I decided that I would go ahead and move into my new apartment and worry about enlightenment later.

I was done with packing just before the time I was scheduled to arrive at the apartment. My family and I and one of my future roommates transported all of the millions of boxes to the apartment. Upon completion of which act I began to unpack all the stuff I'd packed just hours before.

It took three days. When I was finally done, I congratulated myself on completing this rite of passage into adulthood.

Then I built a box fort in the living room.

In Which I am Not a Princess

On my way out of the temple, I tripped on the third-highest stair, lost my shoe, stumbled onto the landing, and collided with a wall.

The wall I collided with was made of marble. Somehow, I came away unscathed. #blessingsofthetemple

Upon finding myself intact, I walked back down the staircase I had just tripped up. My shoe was sittin' pretty on the stairs.

As I slipped my foot back into my shoe, an older lady walked up the stairs and exclaimed, "You're like Cinderella!"

And then I cried a little inside.

Because I had just run into a wall, obviously.

Ask Little Sister

Dear Little Sister,

What is the number-one thing you should buy when moving out of the house?

Toilet paper

2. Cheetos

3. A house to move into because you just moved out of your other one and are probably homeless. If not a house, then a mediocre car or a very nice dog igloo.

How can I get my hair to look as fancy as yours?

and

If a train going 45 miles an hour leaves New York City and a bus going 57 miles leaves Ontario and they are both going north in perpendicular directions, at what point will it start raining gummy bears?

Thanks ever so much.

Answer to question 3: Neither, because tatertots and turban don't rhyme.

Just kidding. They can't be going north AND perpendicular. Just testing you. Obviously.

YOU FAILED.

I actually took a second to think about how things could be going north and perpendicular at the same time and it really hurt my brain

Until I realized this is obviously taking in a place where the North Pole is constantly moving.

So they are just traveling perpendicular to each other, and they both are headed north at some point in their journey.

You never answered the hair question.

I will now.

Your hair can look as fancy as mine with the following things:

The boldness of this

The bounciness of this

 

 

The urgency of this

The ferocity of this

 

The creativeness of this

 

Lots and lots of this

 

 
And of course the ultimate key and all time most powerful well kept secret hair tool:

 

This.

 

Wow.

That's, like, the only thing better than hairspray.

Use all those and your hair can look like this:

 

 

In no time.

How beautimus.

You're welcome.