It was October; I was in a singles ward and in charge of planning Family Home Evening. With Halloween nearing, I decided to not use an ounce of creative planning and just carve pumpkins with the singles. It was a great ward, we always had a great turnout and a Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin carving event was a safe way to not disappoint. Any activity was good as long as we had some sort of food. You can get single guys to any event with a little food and the ladies always seem to end up where the cavemen are…. get us together and you may as well be serving up a big pot of steamy pheromones. So pumpkin carving and treats it would be.
I was in charge of going to pick up ALL of the pumpkins for our activity. I found a couple of boys with a truck because I surely did not want to put the dirt covered pumpkins in the back of my car and more importantly I did not want to be the work horse hauling them. Who honestly wants to carry thirty pumpkins from the front of the store to the checkout, from the checkout to the car, from the car to the church? I was taught that girls are not supposed to get dirty, you know, the sugar and spice and everything nice thing, and I kind of wanted to keep it that way.
I was a little nervous about picking up the pumpkins, as I was dirt poor, barely making my bills, - the National Debt had nothing on me. My calling called for a lot of “you buy it now and we’ll reimburse you later” receipts. I was living with only one roommate making rent a little higher than I was used to, having my fair share of car problems for the month and paying off some credit cards which I had cut up so I could not be tempted to use them. To be extra cautious I checked my bank account balance minutes before I headed to the store just to make sure I had the funds to cover this bill until I got paid two days later.
There were three of us headed to the store… me, Will and Scott. Will was really nice and had a liking for my roommate so he was more than happy to help me to as to win some extra brownie points with my roommate. Scott irritated me to no avail but as long as he would be my pack mule I could handle him for the thirty minuets this was going to take.
We arrive to pseudo “pumpkin patch” and start picking out pumpkins of all shapes and sizes. Tall, skinny ones. Short, fat ones -- some with “warts”-- white ones -- orange ones. You name it, we got it. I could almost see the singles now, running as fast as they can, elbowing the person next to them, pulling hair, calling names in order to win the prize of the “perfect pumpkin”. I’m lost in this vision with a goofy Lucy smirk on my face as we head to the check-out stand.
We decide to go to “self check-out” for some lame reason. I would not recommend doing this on such a huge pumpkin buying feat – it was a lot of work and you should definitely let a trained checker do that work for you. I watch the pumpkins ring up one at a time… $2.43, $6.74, $14.87… the number slowly rises with each pumpkin that we scan. $24.58, $39.31, $56.49 and half way done. I’m beginning to get a little nervous in my mind. I know I have exactly $132.91 in my bank account; surely I’d have enough money to pay for this. My heart is beating faster $64.87, $83.75, $104.54. Just a few pumpkins left to scan and I feel sweat beading up on my forehead. I am suddenly feeling quite overheated in this crisp October weather. $117.34, $121.43. One more pumpkin to scan. $126.34.
Hallelujah! My heart slows down; I wipe the sweat from my brow. Everything is going to be all right, I have enough money in my account. There wont be much left after this, but I can live off of $6.57 for two more days, I did only live ten blocks from work, I could go in on my roller blades if I had to and I had an unopened box of Wheat Thins in the cupboard, and if I cut the mold off the cheese I knew I’d survive. I’d be able to pay for the pumpkins and not be humiliated so I could live off nothing if I had to!
I’m lost in these thoughts of gratitude when I realize that Will and Scott are looking at me. “Are you going to pay” they say. “Oh of course, I was daydreaming” I say. I rummage through my purse and find my debit card. I walk to the check out. I swipe my card. Waiting, waiting, waiting. DECLINED. What? How? WHY?? This can’t be right! I knew how much money I had in my account, why is it not working? I don't even have a credit card on me, why did I think it was a good idea to cut up all my credit cards?? I try again. Swipe. Waiting, waiting, waiting, this time it seems to be thinking longer than before. DECLINED. My face goes beat red. Heart sinking into my stomach now. I’m certain there are sweat rings in my armpits. I feel like throwing up.
“You don’t have enough money?” Scott says belittling. “Do you seriously live pay check to pay check?” He continues. I am speechless. I don’t know what to do. Of course he does not offer to pay. Of course he judges me for living pay check to pay check. He is living under his parent’s roof, working for his millionaire dad, driving his fancy car so of course he has money saved – how can he honestly judge me when we live totally different lives? I feel like dying now when Will pipes up. “Don’t worry about it, I got it”, “Its no big deal he says”. I’m so very thankful to say the least. Words can’t express how grateful I was that the conversation with Scott did not have to continue.
It was a quiet and awkward ride to the church, it was only six blocks but it felt like six thousand. I was now wishing that I would have gone to the store by myself and left my work horses home. Getting dirty from the pumpkins and a sore back from the lifting would have been much less painful than what I had just been through.
We got the pumpkins to the church and I quickly ran to the bathroom to unwind. Once I regained my cool I go out to greet everyone, avoiding Scott like the plague. No one fought over the pumpkins as I had hoped. But a good time was had by all.
I learned a lot that night. First, that I should not plan activities where I’m required to bankroll the event. Second, that it really does suck living pay check to pay check. Third, don't ever leave home without a credit card. And the most important of all, fourth, not to ever judge another person until I’ve been in their shoes.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
A Special Gift
In the last singles ward before I got married I was called to be the Family Home Evening Mom - this was of NO surprise to me as was my eternal calling. Every year I'd move and with every new ward i was the FHE Coordinator, FHE Mom, Actives Planner.. whatever you want to call it. I did not mind though, I really enjoyed it - way better than teaching - which is the only calling I would have to decline - I guess its a good thing they have never asked.
On my FHE committee was a boy who we'll call Doug. Doug was a nice boy - very awkward - but nice nonetheless. He took me out on a date once (actually the last person to take me out before I met Joe) and we went dancing at the Murray Arts Center, to dinner at the Training Table and then to the Nicklecade. He made it very clear to me that I was to wear my "Sunday best" which I did, to my dismay everyone else in our group were in jeans and t-shirts. It was just the kind of boy Doug was, proper and polite - a little more high strung than I'm used to.
One Thursday evening at a FHE planning meeting Doug asked me if I would be at the next FHE. Being the woman in charge I assured him that I would be there. We were heading down to Temple Square to see the lights, and I love Christmas Lights almost as much as I love fireworks - I was not about to miss this one. He is excited that I'll be there as he has a surprise for me. He said he knows I like it because i told him I did on our date. For the next four days my roommate and I go over my date, minute by minute trying to figure out what I told him I like. Chocolate? Flowers? Anything from Banana Republic? Diamonds? As much as I like all of those I seriously hoped I would not get them from him. I hoped we knew we were "just friends" after all.
I end up at FHE by myself that Monday - none of my good friends in the ward are coming. Being the dead of winter its of course snowing outside - I love the Christmas lights but hate the snow - I have a love/hate relationship with the month of December. Cars are beginning to fill the parking lot of the church, everyone staying in the comfort of their heated cars. I'm getting anxious and a little nervous for Doug to arrive - he is bringing me a surprise gift. What on earth could it be? How am I going to react?
I've got my head resting on the back of my seat (second best to laying in my bed), listening to Sarah McLaughlin (my favorite), with the heat on full blast (what a treat). All of the sudden i hear a tap tap tap at my window. Tall, awkward Doug is smiling in my window. I roll it down with a curious look on my face. He quickly hands over a fifteen pound frozen ham. "I got you this delicious Christmas Ham, you told me you liked ham" he says. I am in absolute shock - no one had ever given me a ham. How do you react to such a gesture? It seemed more like I was watching Napolean Dynomite than real life. "Thank you so much, I LOVE ham!" I say with enthusiasm. He smiles and turns and walks away- I was relieved to not have to respond any further. I sat in amazement over this odd gift. Looking back what else would I have expected as a gift from big awkward Doug? I don't remember telling him that I liked ham. To this day, no one has ever given me such a unique gift - but boy was it tasty!
On my FHE committee was a boy who we'll call Doug. Doug was a nice boy - very awkward - but nice nonetheless. He took me out on a date once (actually the last person to take me out before I met Joe) and we went dancing at the Murray Arts Center, to dinner at the Training Table and then to the Nicklecade. He made it very clear to me that I was to wear my "Sunday best" which I did, to my dismay everyone else in our group were in jeans and t-shirts. It was just the kind of boy Doug was, proper and polite - a little more high strung than I'm used to.
One Thursday evening at a FHE planning meeting Doug asked me if I would be at the next FHE. Being the woman in charge I assured him that I would be there. We were heading down to Temple Square to see the lights, and I love Christmas Lights almost as much as I love fireworks - I was not about to miss this one. He is excited that I'll be there as he has a surprise for me. He said he knows I like it because i told him I did on our date. For the next four days my roommate and I go over my date, minute by minute trying to figure out what I told him I like. Chocolate? Flowers? Anything from Banana Republic? Diamonds? As much as I like all of those I seriously hoped I would not get them from him. I hoped we knew we were "just friends" after all.
I end up at FHE by myself that Monday - none of my good friends in the ward are coming. Being the dead of winter its of course snowing outside - I love the Christmas lights but hate the snow - I have a love/hate relationship with the month of December. Cars are beginning to fill the parking lot of the church, everyone staying in the comfort of their heated cars. I'm getting anxious and a little nervous for Doug to arrive - he is bringing me a surprise gift. What on earth could it be? How am I going to react?
I've got my head resting on the back of my seat (second best to laying in my bed), listening to Sarah McLaughlin (my favorite), with the heat on full blast (what a treat). All of the sudden i hear a tap tap tap at my window. Tall, awkward Doug is smiling in my window. I roll it down with a curious look on my face. He quickly hands over a fifteen pound frozen ham. "I got you this delicious Christmas Ham, you told me you liked ham" he says. I am in absolute shock - no one had ever given me a ham. How do you react to such a gesture? It seemed more like I was watching Napolean Dynomite than real life. "Thank you so much, I LOVE ham!" I say with enthusiasm. He smiles and turns and walks away- I was relieved to not have to respond any further. I sat in amazement over this odd gift. Looking back what else would I have expected as a gift from big awkward Doug? I don't remember telling him that I liked ham. To this day, no one has ever given me such a unique gift - but boy was it tasty!
Black Pegged Pants
I was painfully shy as a child. PAINFULLY. The sound of my name would send my dry eyes teary and my pale cheeks a rosy red. I was even too embarrassed to tell my mom to stop washing and drying my black pegged denim jeans with the towels so they would not have little lint balls all over them. I was too shy to tell my mom I HATED the material and the pattern of the outfit she made me one summer. I wore it to Lagoon, silently humiliated as my leg dripped with blood because a pin happened to get sewn into the hem of the shorts. I had a speech impediment… I could not say my s’s… and my name was Le”th”lie Wei”th”enburger. You’d think Weisenburger alone would be ridicule enough even being able to say your s’s. I was the family ‘peacemaker’ which now I realize was only because I did not dare to defend myself for anything. I could not tell anyone NO, so I was at my older sisters (only by 20 months) beckon call. She wanted water, I’d get her water. She wanted toast, I’d get her toast. She wanted to watch her TV show when I was in the middle of mine, I’d let her. I’d do anything for anyone as long as I was not brought to the center of attention.
When I was around 12 years old I went to my best friend Brittany’s birthday party at her cabin near Heber. There were six of us girls sleeping on two pull out couches. Brittney’s older brother Kurt and his friend came along too – they were going to take us river walking the next day. Of course I did not want to go in the river, I’d nearly drowned when I was 4 and was STILL terrified of the water. But there was no possibility of me staying at the cabin, because that would mean I would have to tell someone that I DID NOT WANT TO GO. The thought of telling someone that was more terrifying that the river, so I went. This may have been one of the all time WORSE decisions of my life.
The river was about a half mile walk from the cabin, not to bad of a walk for my portly figure – except my stomach was feeling a little queasy. I knew we’d be back soon enough so I’d be just fine. Right? Well, maybe not. We get to the river and in the cold, murky water we go and our journey begins. Kurt is telling us about the cool things he’s done in the river in the past and my mind can hardly concentrate. My stomach is a bit more than queasy now and I’m feeling like I am going to have some major gas. Oh no, what to do? Logically I think to myself “can I hold it in until we get back?” “or should I just let that fart out? After all, we are underwater, no one will be able to smell it.” The second option seemed like it would work so I work my way to the side of the river and let everyone pass me so I’m in the rear of the group. As everyone passes, gas bubbles start popping on the water.
I feel much better now, so we keep walking. Then all of the sudden my stomach begins to growl at me. Loud and furious. Uh oh. What am I going to do? I have to go to the bathroom IMEDIETLY!! The internal battle begins, “If I tell someone I have to go to the bathroom I’ll be absolutely humiliated and embarrassed – but if I don’t tell someone then I am more than likely going to poop my pants in the river.” Looking back, I’m not sure why I sided with option two, but I did.
I POOPED in the river. In my black pegged jeans. Water up to my waist at the back of the line hoping that no one would notice. “Ill be fine, no one would know” I keep reassuring myself. “I’ll change when I get back to the cabin.” As I’m thinking this in my head I hear Kurt all the way at the front of the pack yelling… “Ew… what is that smell? Sick! Did someone poop their pants??” I froze. My face beat red, my eyes watering. Looking around at the other girls – just as they were doing, trying to figure out where that awful smell was coming from. “Not me”, I piped up in unison with some of the other girls – inside felling more humiliated by the second!
Then, unknowingly to Brittany she came to my rescue. “I’m heading back to the cabin to get some sun block” – I’ll quickly take my chance to get out of the water. “I’ll go with you I say”. We both get out of the water and start to walk away. In the back ground I hear Kurt yelling – It must have been one of you who pooped your pants – it does not smell over her anymore! I keep walking without turning my head to look.
We get to the cabin. I immediately grab my overnight bag and head to the bathroom to clean up. I get my shoes off and then comes the hard part. Taking off wet jeans that are pegged at the ankle is hard enough… but its MUCH MUCH harder knowing that that are filled with diariaha. But I have to try, I’ve got to get them off before Brittany finds her sun block. Before I know it she is knocking at the door. “Hurry, I’m ready to go” she says. I try to explain to her than I’m trying to get my wet jeans off so I can change because I don’t want to go back in the river. She says to let her in and she will just help me! NO – panic sets in. “I’m almost done – I’ll be fine, I can do it.” . “Well hurry, everyone is waiting”.
Finally, I get my disgusting pants off and change into clean clothes. I find a black garbage bag under the sink and put my dirty jeans inside. I’m looking at my very soiled underwear wondering what to do – most logically thinking 12 year olds would put them in the bag with the jeans, but not me. I proceed to flush my panties down the toilet the runs off a septic tank. I turn off the light and shut the door behind me as. I follow Brittany back to the group, relieved that I’ve survived this awful ordeal. We have lunch by the river and head back to the cabin all together. Brittany’s mom is there to pick us up. She asks if anyone knows why the toilet is clogged. Once again I chime in with the other girls - “I’m not sure, nope, I did not use that bathroom”.
We clean up and head home. I choose to sit in the very back of the Ford Explorer on the way home with my hefty garbage bag of poopy pants by my side – what a long ride home. They drop me off and I run into the house humiliated. I hand my mom the garbage bag and being to cry “I pooped my pants” – being the amazing mom that she is she says ‘its okay, I’ll wash them. Everyone poops their pants sometimes”. I believed her. My favorite pair of black jeans were washed and ready for me to wear to school on Monday – lint balls and all.
When I was around 12 years old I went to my best friend Brittany’s birthday party at her cabin near Heber. There were six of us girls sleeping on two pull out couches. Brittney’s older brother Kurt and his friend came along too – they were going to take us river walking the next day. Of course I did not want to go in the river, I’d nearly drowned when I was 4 and was STILL terrified of the water. But there was no possibility of me staying at the cabin, because that would mean I would have to tell someone that I DID NOT WANT TO GO. The thought of telling someone that was more terrifying that the river, so I went. This may have been one of the all time WORSE decisions of my life.
The river was about a half mile walk from the cabin, not to bad of a walk for my portly figure – except my stomach was feeling a little queasy. I knew we’d be back soon enough so I’d be just fine. Right? Well, maybe not. We get to the river and in the cold, murky water we go and our journey begins. Kurt is telling us about the cool things he’s done in the river in the past and my mind can hardly concentrate. My stomach is a bit more than queasy now and I’m feeling like I am going to have some major gas. Oh no, what to do? Logically I think to myself “can I hold it in until we get back?” “or should I just let that fart out? After all, we are underwater, no one will be able to smell it.” The second option seemed like it would work so I work my way to the side of the river and let everyone pass me so I’m in the rear of the group. As everyone passes, gas bubbles start popping on the water.
I feel much better now, so we keep walking. Then all of the sudden my stomach begins to growl at me. Loud and furious. Uh oh. What am I going to do? I have to go to the bathroom IMEDIETLY!! The internal battle begins, “If I tell someone I have to go to the bathroom I’ll be absolutely humiliated and embarrassed – but if I don’t tell someone then I am more than likely going to poop my pants in the river.” Looking back, I’m not sure why I sided with option two, but I did.
I POOPED in the river. In my black pegged jeans. Water up to my waist at the back of the line hoping that no one would notice. “Ill be fine, no one would know” I keep reassuring myself. “I’ll change when I get back to the cabin.” As I’m thinking this in my head I hear Kurt all the way at the front of the pack yelling… “Ew… what is that smell? Sick! Did someone poop their pants??” I froze. My face beat red, my eyes watering. Looking around at the other girls – just as they were doing, trying to figure out where that awful smell was coming from. “Not me”, I piped up in unison with some of the other girls – inside felling more humiliated by the second!
Then, unknowingly to Brittany she came to my rescue. “I’m heading back to the cabin to get some sun block” – I’ll quickly take my chance to get out of the water. “I’ll go with you I say”. We both get out of the water and start to walk away. In the back ground I hear Kurt yelling – It must have been one of you who pooped your pants – it does not smell over her anymore! I keep walking without turning my head to look.
We get to the cabin. I immediately grab my overnight bag and head to the bathroom to clean up. I get my shoes off and then comes the hard part. Taking off wet jeans that are pegged at the ankle is hard enough… but its MUCH MUCH harder knowing that that are filled with diariaha. But I have to try, I’ve got to get them off before Brittany finds her sun block. Before I know it she is knocking at the door. “Hurry, I’m ready to go” she says. I try to explain to her than I’m trying to get my wet jeans off so I can change because I don’t want to go back in the river. She says to let her in and she will just help me! NO – panic sets in. “I’m almost done – I’ll be fine, I can do it.” . “Well hurry, everyone is waiting”.
Finally, I get my disgusting pants off and change into clean clothes. I find a black garbage bag under the sink and put my dirty jeans inside. I’m looking at my very soiled underwear wondering what to do – most logically thinking 12 year olds would put them in the bag with the jeans, but not me. I proceed to flush my panties down the toilet the runs off a septic tank. I turn off the light and shut the door behind me as. I follow Brittany back to the group, relieved that I’ve survived this awful ordeal. We have lunch by the river and head back to the cabin all together. Brittany’s mom is there to pick us up. She asks if anyone knows why the toilet is clogged. Once again I chime in with the other girls - “I’m not sure, nope, I did not use that bathroom”.
We clean up and head home. I choose to sit in the very back of the Ford Explorer on the way home with my hefty garbage bag of poopy pants by my side – what a long ride home. They drop me off and I run into the house humiliated. I hand my mom the garbage bag and being to cry “I pooped my pants” – being the amazing mom that she is she says ‘its okay, I’ll wash them. Everyone poops their pants sometimes”. I believed her. My favorite pair of black jeans were washed and ready for me to wear to school on Monday – lint balls and all.
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