Kyra Moon

Based on my last post , it probably sounds like I wanted to do everything when I grew up. I didn't. There were some careers that I always knew were out of my reach. Either that, or I figured it out in time. 1. Athlete. You guys, I have never been on an organized sports team. Never! Not even a little soccer team in kindergarten. Soccer was a boy game, and boys were gross, so I refused. Never even did cross country in high school. I enjoyed running and aerobics well enough, but I have no hand-eye coordination. (The strongest memory I have of PE in junior high is learning how to hit a birdie with a badminton racket. It took several class periods for me to figure it out, and my friend Meagan was by my side basically the whole time coaching me.) This one has never ever ever been on the radar. 2. Hairdresser. If my hair ever looks good it is an accident. It is surprisingly thick, so I had a lot of trouble finding the time to put it up or curl it. Thus, I never bothered to really learn ho...

This post is dedicated to Kaylie, who told me I should publish it even though it's long, and who wanted to be a mailmom when she grew up. Also dedicated to all the people who share a dozen or so things about themselves on Facebook the past few weeks. Here's my response. As a kid, I don't think I ever really knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, but there were plenty of things that I wanted to be right then. This led to many short but illustrious careers. Here are the ones that I remember: -I think the first thing I wanted to be was a mom. I can't remember for sure, but it makes sense. I mean, that's who I hung out with all the time. I liked the idea of a job where you drove to the bank and got Smarties for free. In practicing being a mom, I gave birth to lots of dolls that were hiding under my shirt. -The next job I considered was an engineer. I didn't quite know what it was, but I knew there were two kinds -- the kind that drove trains and the kind that my d...

The Primary Program is coming up in our ward, so we've spent the past two weeks in the chapel after Sacrament Meeting practicing. Primary is always fun regardless, but it's especially fun to hear the whole big group, some in tune, some horribly out of tune, but all of them very loud. Being back in Primary has brought back lots of memories of my days in Primary. In particular, seeing all the 4 and 5 year-olds (there are tons, especially compared to the whole senior Primary) has reminded me of me back when I was that age. Back then, our family didn't go to our regular family ward but instead went to the USU 28th ward. My dad was in the bishopric of that married student ward from the time I was almost three to the time I was almost six, and so for three years we would drive past our regular church building to the one by Willow Park Zoo. I don't remember much about the first year, but there is a snapshot etched into my brain. There I am, standing in the nursery, surrounded ...

Sometimes I think about parenting techniques God uses and if any of them are the same I use. For example, today I was about to start cooking dinner when I realized that unless I did something, Jim would spend a lot of time asking to be held or tugging on my pants. So I decided to let him help! I put him in his high chair and gave him a random bowl and strainer and some Cheerios. And then gave him an official looking spoon and asked him to stir the bowl. He got very excited about the prospect of helping. While I was over cutting the onions, I reassured him that he was being extremely helpful, which, technically, he was. This trick didn't last too long, but you take what you can get. Anyway, I wonder if God ever does the same thing with me. Like I'll get to heaven and ask, "So, did me indexing actually do any good?" And He'll say, "No, not really. You were pretty bad at it. But it sometimes kept you distracted from reading the comments, so it was better t...

When I get into the zone, I actually really enjoy cleaning, especially organizing. I like having a place for every paper and toy. But then real life happens, and things get disorganized. And then I lose track of things. Yesterday, that happened again. I was planning to run some errands, but I realized when I was heading out that I didn't know where my keys were. I had used them earlier that morning, so I knew they were somewhere in the apartment. So I hunted, and hunted, and hunted (and prayed). And finally after fifteen minutes of searching, I found them in the diaper bag (which I had checked twice before). I guess I had dropped them in there instead of into my purse. Phew. Then I realized that I still needed to find the celery I was going to give a friend of mine. The day before, a neighbor had given us more celery from his garden than we could hope to use, so I thought I would share some. I mean, nothing says true friendship like celery. But I didn't know where it ha...

It seems that we hear a lot these days about the negative subliminal messages which Disney princesses and Barbies can send. Since many are carbon copies of each other in terms of appearance and size, it can convince girls that they have to look a certain way. In many ways, I agree with these naysayers. But you know . . . I don't really think I ever felt inferior because I didn't look like Barbies. It seems like I always knew that Barbies looked like Barbies, and people looked like people, and there was nothing wrong with not looking like a Barbie. I wonder how I came to this conclusion. Perhaps it was that I was surrounded by people who didn't look like Barbies, and I still wanted to be like them. Perhaps it was that I was taught that personality matters more than appearances. Perhaps it was that it looked really uncomfortable to have Barbie's figure. Or maybe it's that when it came down to it, our Barbies weren't that attractive. It always seems that some...

One of Sister Hinckley's most famous (and incorrectly attributed) quotes is “I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully, tailored clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long, perfectly manicured fingernails. I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp. I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbors children. I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someone's garden. I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder. I want the Lord to know I was really here and that I really lived.” Well, maybe it's just that I haven't lived as long as she did, but I can't quite say I fully agree with her. Sticky cheeks? Peanut buttery shirts? No thank you. A bit of spit-up on my shirt might be okay. And if there's dried f...