Mostly Cozy: Photos and Adventures

Baby is scooting and rolling around the floor. Boo and Ji are running through the sprinklers. I'm still in my jammies, listening to Baby gurgle and sing. James is fixing our vent covers since it's June and we're freezing from the air conditioning upstairs.

A few days ago, my brother-in-law told me that I might have more than four readers. That was sort of exciting news. So, sitting here in our cozy living room, I decided I should share some photos and thoughts from the last few weeks.

Halfway through May, we celebrated James's thirtieth birthday. In the spirit of Abbie Hoffman, he declared it was the Never Trust Anyone Over Thirty party.

We are fortunate to have good friends and family who are amazing artists.

Our friend Jeremy is a balloon artist extraordinaire. (He's the famous Balloon Guy.)

He also created this life-size portrait of James as the circus strong man:

If you want to see something even more impressive, watch his Balloon Bag End video.

Our friends Jen and Mark, who are both professional illustrators, came and created terrific caricatures for our guests:

Their oldest daughter decided to join in the fun.

You can see how they really captured their subjects.

James's sister Elisabeth is a fantastic henna artist (and photographer) and shared her talents.

Boo's fortune telling booth was wildly successful.

She would have her guest close his or her eyes and hold out a hand while she cracked open a fortune cookie and read the fortune. The guest was then given the fortune and the cookie. She came up with the idea herself. I'm so proud.


James decided he and I needed to man a booth for Limericks. Who doesn't want to be the subject of a bizarre, possibly insulting, poem?

James was the much more prolific limericist. I roamed around a lot, and I'm much slower. James's genius is quite unparalleled. Here's a sample:

Mark gathers and hunts at DI
With his weapon: a very sharp eye
He'll find games or a toy
From a girl or a boy
Who'll come home from their mission and cry.


Pin the tail on the pinata is all the rage this year. . .

 

Followed closely by pinata futbol.

 

 Which one is the real James?

All in all, it was a truly fantastic party.

If having a big party weren't enough for May, we thought we might as well spend some time with our family in California.


Boo and Ji spent the first day in Pawan and Mahavir's pool.

Uncle Mahavir was a good tiger with Ji and taught Boo games on his phone.

Our adventure day was at the Los Angeles Zoo. (I know it's not the San Diego Zoo, Dave, but we couldn't put our children through all those extra hours on the road.)

 

 

 

Mona's wedding was awesome, of course.

 

 

 

The newest family members were glad to meet each other.

Brothers together

Boo adores her Aunt Lizzy

Uncle Paul was as dedicated a photographer as the one they hired.

Grandma and Bapuji with Baby

Nacheter Uncle, Harjinder Uncle, Surinderpal Uncle, Kulwinder Auntie, Mohinder, Bapuji with Baby, Bacheter Uncle, Balbir Auntie. Quite a group!

Mona and KP, the bride and groom

Beautiful sisters: Sheila, Janice, Vilo, and Susan

Pawan has assured us she's kidnapping our children. (James is supposed to be photoshopped out of this picture.)

We went north from the wedding and spent time with our newest nephew.

 

And Grandma Vilo is always the best storyteller.

 

We spent Memorial Day in the magic of Muir Woods. It is a faeryland.

 

 

 

 

My little geese in the goosepen tree.

 

 

 

It was a fantastic two weeks. Needless to say, we were exhausted and happy by the time we returned.

We are indebted to the family who let us stay in their homes and so generously invited us into their lives.

We are looking forward to more adventures this summer. :)

Reflections from Mothers' Day

The week before Mothers' Day I stayed home from church with a very sick, unhappy baby. He was sleeping fitfully and struggling to keep food down. During church, while James was gone with the other children, Baby couldn't catch his breath. He sputtered, choked, then started to turn purple. I laid him flat on the floor, blew in his face, and gently pumped his chest: CPR light---since he was still conscious. I felt emotionally drained before the three hours of church were through. I didn't let Baby leave my sight.

The first counselor in our bishopric came to our house that afternoon and asked if I would be willing to give a talk on Mothers' Day. The topic? Being a mom. I started to cry. Being a mom on that day was too much to bear. But I assured him I would love to give a talk.

I spent the week in reflection, something I don't do very often. My brain is constantly listing, organizing, prioritizing, wondering, remembering, and analyzing---not reflecting. It was a good experience. I think I might try reflecting more often.

James recommended I post my talk on this blog, and I agree with him. I have, of course, changed my children's names as I always do and reworked the beginning, but here is the basic talk. I'll have to write a new ending since I didn't write an ending and only said what I felt from the Spirit would be an appropriate closing.

The Mother Ring at Muir Woods

I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to reflect on my thoughts about mothering and the women who have influenced me in my life.

Like many young people who grew up in the Church, mothering was crucial in my personal development. My mother primarily cared for her five children. My grandmothers dedicated themselves to their children and grandchildren and were present for special occasions and, sometimes, just for special visits. Primary teachers carefully crafted lessons, and Young Women’s leaders dedicated themselves to my spiritual development. As an adolescent I was given responsibilities to mother my younger brother and children I was hired to babysit. The women who had dedicated themselves to my personal and spiritual education were my models for mothering. I still look up to mothers I know to help guide me now that I am a mother.

In October 2001, Sister Sheri Dew, then second counselor in the General Relief Society Presidency, gave a talk titled, “Are We Not All Mothers?” In Sister Dew’s talk, she broadens the definition of motherhood from women who bear and/or raise children to the caregiving all women give to others to build up the Kingdom of God. We have been raised in the church with the righteous desire to marry and have children, but, as Sister Dew explains, “For reasons known to the Lord, some women are required to wait to have children. This delay is not easy for any righteous woman. But the Lord’s timetable for each of us does not negate our nature. Some of us, then, must simply find other ways to mother. And all around us are those who need to be loved and led.” So mothering is a work of loving and leading those children and young people who come into our lives—in whatever capacity.  I admire women in our ward who dedicate so much time and energy to their children and to all of the ward’s children through their callings. I appreciate the mothering done by our Primary and Young Women leaders. I love that the Primary presidency is led by such different mothers: two without children of their own, one raising small children, and another who is a grandmother helping raise her grandchildren. Isn’t it remarkable that these women come each week ready to mother the children of this ward and teach them gospel principles?

Motherhood is the greatest blessing and greatest challenge of my life. Mothers make sacrifices for those they teach; it may be time, talents, energy, patience, attention, or other interests. Women who bear and raise children even make physical sacrifices during pregnancy, breastfeeding, and carrying those thirty-five pound toddlers who try to run away from them.

While I like to embrace my other roles—teacher, sister, editor, friend, scholar, reader— my primary role is a mother of three young children: an energetic eight-year-old with a big imagination, a curly-haired toddler who outweighs most children his age, and a baby with special medical needs. Most of my thoughts are centered around these three little people. They are the experts on my mothering skills, so I asked them what they thought mothers do. Unfortunately, the youngest can’t speak but he’d probably say it has something to do with holding and feeding him. Boo said, “They make dinner”—with the disclaimer that her dad also makes dinner. She said dinner is important because we all gather together and spend time talking. Ji said, “Batman,” which, in our family, is accurate. If his mother weren’t such a Batman fan, he wouldn’t have inherited so many cool Batman toys and movies.

I want to talk a for a minute about how my children see my influence in their lives and what that means as each of us works to build the Kingdom of God as mothers. Baby has the most basic needs: love, warmth, and food. He needs what all of us need from the women in our lives who mother us. Boo expressed a similar need: eating and talking. She thrives on the attention family dinner gives her and loves to give the same attention to us. Ji brought up different needs: play and shared passions.

Looking to these three children in different phases of life, we can draw some conclusions as to what people need from those who mother them. Last night James was talking with me while he was holding Baby. Baby gave a long screech until James looked down at him and started interacting with him. While some of us are more subtle in our requests for interaction, this is a need we all share. We thrive on the reassurance of love and acceptance we can gain from our caretakers. Likewise, each night during our family dinner, Boo opens with the same question, “So what do you want to talk about?” Sometimes the answer is a question, “What did you do at school today?” Other times James might say something silly like “the production of plastics.”  Listening and talking are extremely important to each of us. We all want to feel valued by the people who take care of us. Batman, on the other hand, may not be directly applicable in all of our lives (although I know it’s also important to other families). But, finding a common ground wherein we can play with children, or discuss issues important to them, or just go have fun are fundamental in our mothering role. I know that I don’t necessarily want to be Catwoman while I’m making dinner or changing a diaper, but sometimes Ji comes in and says, “You’re Catwoman. I’m Batman,” and we begin the imaginative chase. He needs to develop relationships through play as much as he needs food and shelter.
  
I hope that every woman, little girl, and young woman understands how important her role as a mother truly is. Again, it is not bearing children, as Sister Dew has told us; motherhood is about serving and caregiving. In this world that we have inherited, Brothers and Sisters, motherhood is not valued as the sacred responsibility it is. Some people might dismiss the woman who leaves a promising career to raise her children. On the other hand, others may demean the woman who works to help provide the best life for her children. James’s grandfather will often hug me and tell me, “I’m so proud of you.” As a retired BYU math professor, he was excited when I joined the family because of my academic aspirations to get a PhD and teach. So I was really confused by what made him so proud of me at this time. James recently discovered his grandfather’s reasoning. He is proud of me for choosing to postpone my doctoral studies so I can dedicate my time to my children. On the one hand, getting that PhD is an accomplishment he admires. But he is more proud of my choice to embrace the divine role of motherhood. In the same talk Sister Dew expressed a similar view, "When we understand the magnitude of motherhood, it becomes clear why prophets have been so protective of woman’s most sacred role. While we tend to equate motherhood solely with maternity, in the Lord’s language, the word mother has layers of meaning. Of all the words they could have chosen to define her role and her essence, both God the Father and Adam called Eve 'the mother of all living' —and they did so before she ever bore a child. Like Eve, our motherhood began before we were born. Just as worthy men were foreordained to hold the priesthood in mortality,  righteous women were endowed premortally with the privilege of motherhood.  Motherhood is more than bearing children, though it is certainly that. It is the essence of who we are as women. It defines our very identity, our divine stature and nature, and the unique traits our Father gave us."

Now I want each of you to consider what Sister Dew said: Motherhood “is the essence of who we are as women. It defines our very identity, our divine stature and nature, and the unique traits our Father gave us.” Boys and young men need to see this divine stature and nature in their own mothers. Men need to remember that their mothers, wives, daughters, and sisters also possess the divine stature of motherhood—as given by our Father in Heaven. And sisters, young and not-so young, need to better appreciate “the essence of who we are as women” by embracing our mothering natures.
  
Every person who has ever taught a Primary class, a youth group, or family home evening lesson understands that teaching children and youth is the best way to gain an education. As mothers, we continually teach children correct principles, information, ideas, habits, and skills. But we are the ones who learn the more important traits of  patience, persistence, endurance, and Christlike love. Often times, the energy required to learn these traits can push even the most faithful of us to our limits. Anyone who has ever watched a child suffer physically or emotionally knows how difficult it is to endure to the end. Words cannot describe the heartache I felt after my tiny son returned from his first surgery, lines and tubes all over his body, needing to stay perfectly flat, and cringing in pain. It feels so helpless to a mother. But remember that our Heavenly Parents allowed Jesus Christ to suffer so that we might live with them eternally. We are developing these attributes so that we can have eternal life.   
 
But motherhood is about more than what the mother herself gains. We know that we have a responsibility for those who follow us in this world. We want to give the best future to the rising generation. That is the true purpose of motherhood. Sister Dew says, "As daughters of our Heavenly Father, and as daughters of Eve, we are all mothers and we have always been mothers. And we each have the responsibility to love and help lead the rising generation. How will our young women learn to live as women of God unless they see what women of God look like, meaning what we wear, watch, and read; how we fill our time and our minds; how we face temptation and uncertainty; where we find true joy; and why modesty and femininity are hallmarks of righteous women? How will our young men learn to value women of God if we don’t show them the virtue of our virtues? . . . We just can’t let the Lord down. And if the day comes when we are the only women on earth who find nobility and divinity in motherhood, so be it. For mother is the word that will define a righteous woman made perfect in the highest degree of the celestial kingdom, a woman who has qualified for eternal increase in posterity, wisdom, joy, and influence."

Motherhood is a gift. All women are blessed with this gift whether or not she has children. I hope we can all show gratitude to our Father in Heaven by honoring this gift and embracing this responsibility.

Not Really a Mommy Blogger

I have this cool part-part-time job that consists of reviewing all of the master's theses that go through the BYU graduate program. This semester I reviewed fourteen, so you can imagine how little time I spend on this work, but it's nice to see what people are doing, and I do like helping them format it right. It is easy enough for me, even though I sometimes have weird conversations with James like "Is that an adjective or a pronoun in this sentence?" and we review the content until we are satisfied with the answer.

The latest thesis I read (which isn't yet published, so I won't tell any details) was a rhetorical analysis of readers' responses to Mormon mommy blogs. It was a really interesting take on how people perceive themselves through the lens of the optimistic, domestic Mormon mama. It was obviously inspired by an article that appeared on Salon a couple of years ago. The author feels like she's nothing like the women who post photos of their pretty babies and make elaborate birthday parties for their children, but she feels hopeful about motherhood when reading about these women's lives.

So, I'm not really sure where I fit in the Mormon mommy blog world. I'm not a consistent blogger. Obviously. I haven't posted beautiful photos of my children for months, maybe even a year. I like to cook, but I can't bake anything pretty. Ever. I tried on Friday, but the brownies that were beautiful in the pan came out crumbling and cracked on the plate.

But I do scrapbook. And I throw a mean birthday party. I mean, I like crafts. Hobby Lobby is a fun store to wander through. I used to bead and watercolor and draw. I'm not really sure how anyone can sew and craft and bake and pintrest and all of that with a bunch of little kids.

I guess I'm a domestic Mormon mama with a bit of cynicism and playfulness who sings "You're So Vain" and "This Is Halloween" with my children and has pillow fights and crawls around like a tiger (or tells the tiger to go away because we're not afraid), and takes really, really long naps when James is able to take care of the kids. I'm also the mama who snaps at the older two to get ready for bed and forces them to pick up toys. So mean. I have a good job and a good family. I like them both, but I also like getting away from them both sometimes.

I think the main thing is that I'm not the mama that other women envy.

And I like that.

But my children are beautiful.

I'll show you.

What Are Women's Issues?

I am sort of a Facebook moron. I don't have a Facebook account of my own, but I sometimes look on James's page to try to figure something out: to read comments about a contest we're running, to look at photos of friends, to laugh at my brothers' insults to each other.

But since I don't have a Facebook account, I'm not really sure how to maneuver it and end up scrolling around forever. About two weeks ago, I was scrolling and found several people had shared an article or editorial or commentary about how women will give prayers at the next General Conference of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Sisters did give prayers during General Conference this weekend. They were sincere, heartfelt prayers. Like prayers I've heard from men in general sessions and women during the Relief Society or Young Women broadcasts over the past thirty-odd years.

It's cool. But I have to admit: I've never really thought about who was giving the prayers. Mainly because my eyes are closed the whole time and I'm trying to listen to the Spirit and participate in the thanks and blessings.


I remember when I was a little kid thinking the prayers at General Conference were the longest prayers ever given. Part of me wanted to absorb everything and be able to pray with such calm conviction, but most of me wanted the prayer to end so I could open my eyes again. I didn't think about involving myself in the prayer, nor did I consider any of the thanks or blessings were mine. I knew what amen meant, but I didn't understand the gesture of amen.

So I guess I've always taken for granted that members of the Quorums of the Seventy would be giving prayers since they don't always give talks. It never bothered me that men were the ones praying. And it's cool that women are being invited to pray also. I mean, we all have the capacity and right to pray, so I am fully supportive of invitations to pray.

But I'm also a little weirded out by the number of people who shared the article link. And how some people were touting this as a real gender-equality triumph in the Church. I feel like I am an educated, independently minded woman who believes women can accomplish anything. So why does wearing pants to church and women praying in General Conference feel so arbitrary?

Maybe it's because I think there are real issues out there affecting women that go way beyond who prays in General Conference.

On my way to work a couple of weeks ago, I listened to a broadcast of Fresh Air with author Shereen El Feki talking about female genital mutilation in the Arab world--and how this practice is mostly perpetuated by mothers and grandmothers who have religious, social, moral, or political beliefs that drive the practice. She also talked about college students who earn money as sex workers in Casablanca but are completely unaware of the risk of contracting sexually transmitted diseases or infections. Another problem she described is marriage expectations: men can't afford all of the financial demands during this economically and politically tumultuous time, so couples will enter into short-term "pleasure marriage" contracts that last only a few weeks or months.

The broadcast two days before that featured Emily Rapp, a woman whose baby was diagnosed with a terminally degenerative disease and died in February after two years of struggling to live.

And most all of us have heard of the sixteen-year-old girl who was molested, raped, humiliated, and threatened in Steubenville, Ohio.

These seem like very serious issues affecting women. A woman losing her young child to a terminal disease is much closer to my heart than a woman being called as an LDS bishop. Children who are sexually molested by family members, women who are blamed for enduring abuse, pre-adolescent girls on near-starvation diets, and elderly women who cannot afford to pay for heat in the winter, seem like they are at a much greater risk of degradation and suffering than a middle-class, educated woman who thinks equality means sameness.

Maybe I'm old fashioned. But I don't think so.

I like being a woman, a daughter of God, with unique thoughts, attributes, and challenges. I would rather be recognized for who I am as an individual rather than thrown a line because I'm female. I think real empowerment for women comes from valuing what women create, think, feel, and do. It's not a matter of making women into men or men into women. It's a matter of celebrating who we are individually--even if we have been sociologically molded into specific gender roles.

I'm okay with that. I'll keep working here at the university. And scrubbing bathtubs. And changing diapers. And analyzing literature. And praying with my family.

I'll keep doing what I'm doing and thinking how I think.

And those people who feel that women wearing pants to church one week or getting ordained to priesthood offices is better can keep thinking how they think.

But let's consider real issues that hurt women every day. Let's talk a little more about what we can do for each other as sisters, rather than how we can battle against men.

Resurfacing

Spring is coming.

I felt it on my face as we walked to church yesterday morning. The cool air competing with the warmth of the sun. It felt vibrant. Alive.

Ji wore a little red riding hood cape Boo has in her dress up and said he's Superman and ran with his fisted hands out in front of himself. Boo admired the silvery shimmer of her white dress, the dress she wore into the temple the day she was sealed to us.

Our goal has been to survive the winter. Now winter is ending. We are nine days away from spring. So far we have survived.

But survival hasn't eased the pressure in my abdomen, nor has it cured my baby of his challenges.

Tomorrow Baby will see two doctors. The cardiologist anticipates a procedure to help his delicate heart close up. The other suspects a stricture in his esophagus where he had his first surgery the day after he was born.

 Autumn and winter have been unkind this year. In the changing leaves and earliest snowfalls, we were a family divided--the hospital, aunt and uncle's houses, grandparents' homes, school, and work. Amidst the chaos, I have never seen so many people willing to help: Aunt Lizzy slept over Sundays and Thursdays with Ji and Boo, so James and I could spend more time with Baby at the hospital. We made new friends of the Scalleys who opened their doors and let us sleep in a bed and eat their breakfast cereals. Our neighbors kept watch of Boo, so she could be safe after school. Our church family brought meals, gave rides to and from Salt Lake City, and slipped us gas money.

Here's a miracle: James and I calculated the amount of money we spent on gas for those 47 days Baby was in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit. Friends and family gave us that exact amount. Honestly.

My mistake was thinking everything would be fine once Baby was home with us.

He came home with 2 1/2 inch stents in his nostrils, needing suction, humidity, and extra oxygen. The stents came out within a few weeks, but the doctors' appointments are continuous: surgery, ENT, cardiology, pediatrician, nurse visits for shots or weight checks, dieticians, and development nurses.

It is better. I can hold him in my arms without worrying about leads or tubes that are connected to his body. He can play on the floor and work his leg and neck muscles. I can read books with my two little boys cuddled up on the couch. Home is more quiet and private, and that's worth the dozens of doctors' appointments.


But my body hasn't forgiven me for the neglect I inflicted upon it those seven weeks. Maybe for the way I've distrusted it for the last five years. The mastitis went away quickly with antibiotics, but I had an allergic reaction to the medicine.

On Christmas Eve James flew to New Delhi, explored Punjab and parts of northern India, experiencing the grandfatherland firsthand. At last. He came home with presents and a traveler's sickness.

I felt overwhelmed but all right. Baby's home. James is home. We are all together. I could still cook dinner, wash the laundry, nurse the baby, and bathe the children.

And then the cyst appeared. It felt like a plugged milk duct at first. But it grew bigger. Quickly. At its worst, the milk-filled cyst (called a galactocele, for real) was about the size of a softball. That was the night of the abscess and needle aspiration. I screamed and cried at the clinic. The next day they sent me to the emergency room.

No more breastfeeding. No more milk or the cyst would come back. The frozen milk from two months of pumping would only last so long. Baby didn't even eat for his first month. He didn't breastfeed until he was two months old. And then he only got about six weeks of breastfeeding.

I don't know why that makes me so sad. I produced so much milk while he was hospitalized, but had so many problems when he came home. Maybe the transition was too hard for my body.

Maybe all of this has been too hard on my body and that's why a resistant infection lingers inside of me. I suspect that an explanation exists. I just haven't found one yet. I mean, it's all right. It's mostly abdominal discomfort, some in my kidneys and pelvis, but I am tough. Packing an open wound with gauze for two weeks was worse. Much worse. I could see my insides. It made me want to wretch. I'm not tough when it comes to open, fleshy wounds. Gah!

But have you seen the color of the sky? It looks like heaven: with its fat white clouds, perfect for an afternoon stroll. The air smells green and every tree is ready to burst its leaves out.

Spring is coming. Winter can't stay forever.

Any Insights?

Tonight feels . . . strange.

My children are in bed and, presumably, sleeping.

James has gone to a friend's house seeking publishing advice and offering food.

The house is quiet, and maybe that is strange. Maybe it feels strange because after having two months off work, I went back for a week and then had a week off because of Labor Day. Maybe I've been listening to too much public radio in the car. I heard from both the Democratic and Republican National Conventions. I've had enough of politics for a while.

But that's just me avoiding the issue.

Boo has a friend who comes to our house after school three days a week. Boo's friend brought over a friend today. We had never met the little boy who came over, and he wasn't even sure where he lives because he's new to the area. He was a polite boy, according to James. (I was at work and only met him briefly when I came home after 7:00 tonight.) But bringing home a child we'd never before met, whose parents we don't know, without prior arrangement was quite stressful. Especially because the boy's mother said she was on her way an hour and a half before she arrived at our house.

A few things stood out to James, though. The boy has two older brothers. One is in prison. When a child tells you that, how do you react? He was eager to meet Boo's "baby brother" who was napping when the children came home from school. He was excited when he heard Ji stirring. So excited that Boo ran into the room and woke Ji from his nap too early. The boy was amazed that a prayer was said before dinner. He praised James's pasta, saying it was so good. He seemed unconcerned by his mother's delay in coming to get him. After all, he was having a lovely time playing with Boo's dolls.

But how do address this situation emotionally? Obviously, this child felt a sense of comfort from the stability and routine of our home. He was happy here. But James was surprised at how stressful the situation felt. And I was more than surprised to see an unknown child at our house after seven o'clock at night. Not really upset but definitely confused.

I don't know what to think about this situation. James may have briefly met his mother in the car when she came to pick him up. He spent four hours here, so he's no longer a stranger. But the situation is strange. It makes a pit in your gut that you can't shake. It's not that his mother must be irresponsible or that his home must be unhappy; it's that you aren't sure how to feel.

Even though Boo didn't bring him over, we told her that we need to make arrangements before children come over to play, especially right after school. She seemed to understand, but she couldn't take responsibility, obviously.

But maybe he needed to come over today.

Maybe he needed to hear a prayer over dinner.

Maybe he needed to eat James's delicious pasta sauce.

I don't know.

When I was a teenager, my parents let a couple of my brothers' friends live at our house. There were problems. These young men had been involved in some trouble. My parents wanted to help them. My dad told me recently that he realizes now that he was "naive enough" to think our family could influence them for the better and give them some stability. After one of the young men introduced some bad habits to some of my siblings, my dad realized that the influence had gone wrong. Maybe that's why I feel skeptical. Boo is only eight, and a little boy who plays with dolls is certainly no threat.

But it feels . . . strange. It feels strange in the familiar way that I felt strange when one of the young men would try flirting with me, even though he was eighteen or nineteen and I was only thirteen. Nothing ever happened, but I felt uneasy. I felt uneasy in my own home because we had opened our door to him.

But we can't close our door. It doesn't seem right. 

So how do you manage your feelings in such a situation?

The Phone Takes up a Lot of Phone Time

James and I are responsible adults.

It only took two years and eight months of marriage to create our own phone plan and get off our parents' plans.

Very responsible.

Unfortunately, switching two already-existing numbers into a new account is tricky. Really tricky.  But it shouldn't be so tricky. It should be simple to transition in to responsible adulthood. Right?

The young woman who helped me set up the new phone plan a month ago was really enthusiastic and helpful. As we concluded each step, she'd say "Awesome!" and move onto the next item of business. Maybe her awesomes addled her brain a bit because that weekend I had a voice message that there was some problem with the billing for the new phone. My name had been entered wrong. Which was weird since she had put me on hold to make sure the payment went through. I know because she told me it was awesome afterward.

So I talked with some other customer service representative who got the payment all worked out and spelled my maiden name wrong and forgot to put my married name on the account.

Then I received a notice that there was some change on the account, so I called. They said it was all right. I shouldn't have believed them.

But the phone that was supposed to have come within five business days still hadn't arrived after two weeks. I lost my temper with the poor young man who was only trying to do his job.

After the phone was finally delivered, some other customer service representative told me that I had only signed up for a single line. "No," I told them, and explained the plan we had set up three weeks before.

Finally, after the phone came and we got things straightened out with my name and James's contacts (by going into the store, of course), I was able to transfer my number and start using the account. We still had to wait for James's number to be released by his parents, but it was all right. We had our two lines, our texts, our minutes, our account, and the latest in a string of customer service representatives assured me we wouldn't be charged for the entire month of June since we didn't activate the account until the end of the month.

We got the information we needed for transferring James's number, so we called today. Pretty straight-forward. Here's the previous account number, pin, and account holder name. Yes, they'll release the number. Automatic text message comes up, telling us the phone now uses the old number. It's all set. Yes. Oh, but we need to check that one weird message we got about adding data. We didn't add data. Let's create an account online to see what happened.

What does "?!" sound like? Maybe some kind of groan or shocked guttural sound. That was the sound we made---in unison. We had a $407 bill. Ummm  . . . What happened?

So two and a half hours of calling (and losing the call and calling back and transferring to supervisors and talking with multiple customer service representatives) later, they dropped the excess charges for "changing" our plan to the plan we had initially signed up for, and blocked the data option, and moved the billing date to the end of June instead of the week before we had first called.

Fixing phone problems is a really time-consuming way to spend a Tuesday afternoon. I'd rather have a Moody Blues kind of day with quiet reflection and whistling, but at least we have saved about $250 in unjustified charges.

It's just one of those things responsible adults have to deal with.

Don't get me started on insurance . . .