Waxing Political

People have been wondering why I wrote the last post. It's because I'm more than "marginally appreciative" that Obama won but I'm so used to repressing all political thought that writing a political post was somewhat difficult for me.

So my last post ended up being not very politically charged at all.

I'm one of those un-American Americans. I voted for Obama and I'm happy that he won.

I grew up in Canada, as I've mentioned before and I thought for my whole life that I was more of a Republican. And then I moved to Utah and learned that the Republican ideology didn't fit well into my own. I became a misfit of sorts, doomed to suffer through morbidly "patriotic" testimony meetings on 4th of July weekends and never opening up my mouth, politically, for fear of being painted an unpatriot or having my soul condemned by some well-meaning Republican.

I've felt relatively unfree since moving to the States. Granted, a lot of that is probably because I was a democrat living in a republican state. Part of it has to do with my upbringing. I grew up in a social democracy, in a mixed economy, and I believe there's nothing wrong with that. Part of it may even have to do with the current administration and its several "big brother" initiatives.

At any rate I've most often held my mouth shut, but I kind of feel like I want to explain a bit about how I feel.

I am pro-Palestinian. But I'm not anti-Israel: I don't understand why Israel was formed. It was Palestine. People lived there; they were wronged when Israel was formed. We had no right. But what's done is done and Israel now exsists. There are people in Israel who were born in Israel and it would be wrong to just kick them out and give the land back to Palestine. So now the topic is a little more confusing than simply whether or not you are for or against Israel. I don't believe that forming Israel as a country constitues the "gathering of Israel" because I thought that was done through missionary work. Not through oppressing other people. And I don't know why the United States whole-heartedly supports Isreal through almost anything. I think there needs to be more fair discussion about the rights of Palestinians in Israel.

Arabs are semites: I've always found the whole anti-semitic thing a little funny when used against Arabs since Arabs are semites. I realize that anti-semitism technically only refers to Jews, but I personally think we should expand the definition to include Arabs as well since they are being persecuted today. That way Arabs against Jews are anti-semitic and Jews against Arabs are anti-semitic and non-semites against either Jews or Arabs are anti-semietic, so basically everyone winds up being anti-semitic. I realize the ADL isn't exactly on my side here. But maybe they should be because they claim to want justice and fair treatment for all.

Arabs aren't terrorists: They just aren't. I personally have never met one Arab who has been anti-America, although I've met many Americans that are anti-Arab, and I've met a lot of both Americans and Arabs. Islam really is a religion of peace; it's the few radical extremists that give Muslims a bad rap. I've never been threatened because I'm Christian. I don't have to wear a veil. And I believe that the Qur'an was an inspired book.

Maybe we should talk to Iran: For years America has been all talk and no ears. We've been impossible to work with, taking a "my way or the highway" approach to anyone we disagreed with, only to our own demise. If we happen to disagree with someone we seem to, in recent years, either bomb them or put sanctions on them. Heaven forbid we actually talk to them and work out an agreement.

Socialism is not a dirty word -or- the cold war is over, people: Yes, I've read Ezra Taft Benson's words. And other prophet's words as well. Still, I think that the definition of "socialism" has changed since the writings of Karl Marx and since Ezra Taft Benson's speech in 1977. And I must say that I kind of agree with Harry Reid....and he wasn't berated by leaders of the church or excommunicated or anything, so I think that's probably alright.

I think that socialism is not the same thing as Soviet communism. We are a government of the people, by the people, for the people, after all and I believe that I should have a say in the economy. We aren't going to become the USSA just because we get socialized medicine. I've lived in more than one socialized country and they aren't all bad.

I'm against gay marriage: And I would just like to point out that California, a democratic state, voted to pass the ban on gay marriage. So obviously not all democrats are "bad." I believe that marriage is between a man and a woman. I believe that we need to be working harder to preserve families. I think that Obama will help do some good in this area. I like that he is encouraging America to switch off the TV and actually spend time with their families--if only for doing homewok.

I'm pro-life: Both abortion and euthanasia are tricky topics. As a general rule I'm against both, although there are a lot of grey areas. I simply think that people should endure to the end of whatever trials are handed out to them. I think passive euthanasia is fine since that still leaves the life/death decision up to Heavenly Father, but active euthanasia is not alright. I also disagree with doctor-assisted suicide.

I kind of want to live in Star Trek: Trust me, six months ago I didn't ever think I'd be a "Trekie" on any level. But now I guess I kind of am. I like that people can speak whatever language they want and everything done is for the common good of the whole. I think having Spanish and Chinese and whatever else on signs is perfectly alright with me. I don't care if not everyone speaks English, even in America. I think that we, as Americans, should be seeking to learn other languages rather than insisting that everyone speak English. Sure, learning English is great, but other languages are wonderful, too.

So, anyway, that's kind of my political views in a nutshell. Obviously it's not my opinion on every topic out there and I'm not the greatest source for political musings. I didn't major in political science...but chances are, neither did you.

I do wish, though, that we had more "active" parties in America that could actually voice their opinions and have it be heard; that actually had a chance at getting any votes in an election; that wasn't absolutely laughable. I've never heard much about any other parties and I doubt that any party out there will ever win the popular vote.

But maybe I'll start my own party. Anyone want to join?

Opposition

I believe in the American dream. I believe, as James Truslow Adams, that "life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement."

I believe I can do great things.

I believe in world peace.

I believe in Christ.

I believe in helping others.

I believe in the goodness of human nature, but that we need to "[put] off the natural man and [become] a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and [become] as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [us]". (Mosiah 3:19)

I believe I, as a person, can and should do better.

I believe in love.

I believe in forgiveness.

I believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men.

I believe in change.

I believe in miracles.

I believe in God.

But I also believe in hate, anger, and abuse. I believe in Satan, in trials, in temptations. I believe people can do horrible things. I believe in war. I believe in depression. I believe in hurting.

For what need have we of miracles without trials or love without hate? Forgiveness without offense? Peace without war? Change without stagnancy? There is an opposition in all things.

Build-a-Bed

When we first got here, the Lewises were nice enough to lend us their pack'n'play so that Rachel wouldn't fall out of bed anymore. She was still such a baby when we came here!

A few weeks ago, though, she decided she'd prove herself a big girl and started waking up every night between midnight and 2 AM screaming her head off. Each time I walked into her room she'd be hanging on her hips over the side of the pack'n'play. I was so worried that she'd eventually just fall flat on her face, so Andrew and I built a little railing to go on the big queen-sized bed in her room. That way she would have an exit available but still wouldn't fall off the bed.

It didn't take long at all. Rachel helped a lot. That's probably why it was so easy.

I'll help you, Daddy!

My turn, Mommy!

She was so excited to try it out for nap time!


Oddly enough she ended up at the foot of the bed where there really isn't very much keeping her on the bed. I've tried explaining the whole "back to sleep" thing to her but she must just take after her daddy and this is her preferred sleeping position.


She's actually done fairly well with sleeping in a big bed so far. She's even (mostly) stopped throwing tantrums at bedtime and will only cry until we shut the door instead of until she falls asleep. She still ping-pongs her way around the bed all night long and we can hear her crashing into the wall or the side. Every time we go to get her in the morning or after a nap she's at the foot of the bed where there is no railing.

This hasn't really been a problem, until last night when we heard a few crashes around midnight. Rachel cried for about 30 seconds and then stopped. I wasn't really worried about her since that is a perfectly normal thing to happen.

When I went to check on her before going to bed, however, I panicked.

I opened her door a crack and peeked my head inside. I couldn't see her. So I opened the door up some more and slid inside her room. I still couldn't see her. So I walked over to the foot of her bed. I still couldn't see her.

I wasn't panicked enough to warrant turning on the light, yet, but I noticed that her blankets were piled up by the railing, so I ran over to the side of the bed so that I could feel around for her. And that's when I saw her, nestled peacefully on the pillow we keep on the floor by the "exit" of her bed for nights (exactly like last night) when she falls off the bed.

My poor little baby fell off the bed and I didn't even go check on her. What kind of a mom am I?

She's a tough one, though. And so practical. I can just imagine what the short seconds of her crying translated to in adultese.


"Waa! What a rude awakening! Where am I? This place is hard and cold. I'll just crawl around until I find something soft. Oooh, lookie here! Here is something soft. I'll just lie down here and... *yawn* ...good night!"


To redeem myself for not checking on her after she fell off the bed (oops!) I did pick her up and put her back on the bed after only a short internal debate. She looked so serene on the floor but kneeling on a hard stone floor all night long just didn't sound too comfortable and my motherly instincts won out...

...after Andrew said, "Of course you should put her back on the bed!"

Hey, she did look peaceful.

There's a sand castle in my living room

You know you live in Cairo when you sweep your front room and pick up enough sand to make a small fortress.

If you can't remember what my front room looks like, here it is.


And this is the pile of sand that I swept up from just that little stretch of hardwood floor.


I just finished swemopping* the four front rooms and this is what ended up in the dustpan.


Isn't that disgusting? Between Cairo dirt, my hair, and my one-year-old I'm fighting a losing battle and I'm losing something harsh!

At least I will be able to walk around barefooted for the next 24 hours without cringing. And then I'll have to swemop again.

*Swemop is a coined word formed by splicing together the words "sweep" and "mop." Swemopping is the act of sweeping and then mopping in rapid succession, either alone or with a partner. When swemopping alone the swemopper first sweeps and then mops the entire floor. When swemopping with a partner, one person sweeps and the other follows behind with the mop.

White on White

For some reason Rachel seems to like the white crayon best. She could color for a half hour straight with that thing--on white paper, mind you. I think it's really funny because she doesn't even seem to notice that whatever it is she's drawing isn't showing up.

Sometimes when I want to actually see some artwork I confiscate the white crayon before giving her the box.

Maybe I'm just not artistic enough to appreciate her white-on-white artwork. Maybe she just can't talk well enough to say, "Mom, give me back that white crayon so I can finish working on my drawing. It's called Polar Bear in a Blizzard Covering its Nose."

Or maybe she's conducting experiments on art mediums for the blind.

Or maybe, just maybe, she is drawing really detailed illustrations for a story she's working on and simply doesn't want me to know that she's a prodigy of sorts.

Gee, maybe I should just give her back her crayon....

Vote Early, Vote Often

Besides at mock poll stations in my social science classes, I've never actually exercised my right to vote.

Perhaps I'm overly modest (what, really, is the likelihood of that since I have a blog?) but I always just figured myself too stupid to have my opinion count. I, in all honesty, also didn't feel American enough to vote.

My family moved down to the States the summer before my sophomore year of high school. In Canada this would have been known as grade ten.

In an effort to both brainwash and educate me, my counselor threw me into remedial English and mathematics classes...and US History Honors.

There were 10 students in my English class. I was the only one who could read aloud. I'm not even sure if the other kids in there could read. I never heard any of them open their mouths. I asked to be transferred out of it, but my counselor told me that all the other English classes were full. Besides, I had moved from Canada and needed to "catch up."

I didn't learn anything new in my math class, but since math and I don't get along so well I didn't even bother asking to transfer out of that class.

Given my counselor's opinion that I needed to "catch up," I was quite shocked to see US History Honors on my schedule. If there was any subject I would need remedial help for (well, besides math), it was US History.

I walked into class the first day and Mrs. Eisenhart announced that we would be quizzed on the 50 states and their capitols the following week. We had to know the state names, their capitol, and where they went on the map. We also had to spell everything correctly.

I just about cried. There was no way I could do this. I went up and told Mrs. Eisenhart that I had just moved from Canada and had never taken a US History course and couldn't name all 50 states next week if my life depended on it. Sure, I knew some of them, but where in the world is Topeka?

I don't think she heard me. She told me that she didn't care, that this should just be a refresher, and that I would come prepared or suffer the consequences.

That wasn't the only time I was embarrassed in her class, either. I spent most of my time in her class embarrassed, actually.

One of my favorite embarrassing moments, however, was the day before we started some random unit on past presidents of the United States. She didn't really introduce the lecture very well, in my opinion, but maybe that's because I hadn't heard of half these men before.

"Tell me something about Abraham Lincoln," Mrs. Eisenhart started the class off, selecting some poor, unsuspecting student who gave some silly fact like "He's on the penny," or "He chopped down a cherry tree," or something. Whatever they answered with, she seemed pleased.

"Tell me something about George Washington," she said next. Whoever answered probably gave some obvious fact like, "He was the first president of the United States." And she surely gushed over their answer.

"Now, Nancy," she said, looking at me, "Tell me something about U.S. Grant."

I stared at her. She stared at me. I gulped.

"Uhhhhhh..." I began. I had no idea what she was talking about. "It's money available for...uhhhh.... I don't know."

She puckered her lips at me, "You can't tell me one thing?"

"No."

"Not one little thing?"

"Not one."

"I think someone needs to read up on their presidents," she chastised me.

Oh! U.S. Grant was a president! Not that I could have offered her any interesting facts about him had I known, but the whole situation would have been much less embarassing if I had known he was a person.

I also once, due to her atrociously American accent, distinctly heard her refer to the "Liberty Ball" and was left in the dark for a few minutes until I clued in that we were talking about the Liberty Bell. (I did know what that was).

I also had to lead the presidential debate in our class. It was 2000 and the candidates were George Bush and Al Gore.

Having just moved from Canada, I really had no idea what either candidate stood for, but I was pretty sure that Mormon Americans were republicans so I was pretty sure I was republican, too. Everyone seemed to want Bush to win, so I did, too.

And then I was selected to lead the "Gore side" of the debate.

I spent the next few weeks watching debates and reading news articles--something that I hadn't really done in the past. I'd never been too keen on politics--and I learned that I actually agreed with Gore frequently, although I'd never admit this, and debated beautifully his platform in my class. So beautifully that he actually won our mock election. Man, am I ever good at persuading fickle high schoolers!

That was really my one glory moment in Eisenhart's classroom, besides getting an A. Most days were just embarassing.

You'll be happy to learn that the next year I made my own schedule and filled it with Honors and AP classes. I, however, was completely unimpressed with what I learned and was bored the whole year through. I dropped out of school so that I could get my Associate's degree and used my college classes to fulfill my high school graduation requirements.

I took American Heritage at UVSC from Dr. Winkler, who lived in my stake at the time and who also worked at BYU. On the first day of class he said something to the effect of,

"Forget everything you learned in your high school history classes. It was all a load of crock."

His class was one of my favorite classes. Perhaps that was because Mrs. Eisenhart's was one of my least favorites. He valued my opinion as a recent immigrant* instead of demeaning me as happened in high school.

I've been working at becoming more involved in politics since then--like, you know, reading newspapers and stuff like that--and cultivating my opinions. I'm happy to say that this is the first election I have felt American enough and educated enough to vote.

And then I saw the ballot.

We got email ballots this year since we live so far away in a land of unreliable mail service and let's just say it isn't what I was expecting at all!

There were Federal votes, State votes, District votes. Presidential votes, Representative votes, Govenor votes. Judge approvals, ammendments, etc., etc., etc.

I was a little intimidated.

So the email sat in my inbox. It sat in my inbox for five days.

Andrew helped explain some the ammendments to me and showed me where I could find Republican, Democratic, and Independent thoughts on the issues. And I mulled things over for a few days before actually voting...not that there were really any huge state-level issues presented.

When I was ready to vote I had Andrew stand right beside me and walk me through it. I figure that was okay because I had already given up my right for a secret ballot by asking to vote via email.

I don't know what I was expecting, but I wasn't expecting a two page multiple-choice test! Seriously with all the typing I had to do, it was almost like there was an essay portion at the end, too!

When you go to a real polling station, do they let you run out of the booth screaming and pulling out your hair? And if they do, do they let you come back five days later for a second attempt? Do they let you phone a friend?

No wonder Gore demanded a recount.

*I've always been an American citizen but was born and raised abroad. I don't know if that counts as immigrating.

Waking up

Last night it was Andrew's turn to pray. We have a little habit of squeezing in a thought or two (or more) about sleep. I think that carries over from when Rachel was a non-sleeper. Old habits die hard.

So usually we pray that she can sleep through the night. Can you blame us?

And then we pray that we'll both get a good night's rest and that we'll be able to wake up on time in the morning.

That last part is very important because Andrew is rather difficult to get out of bed in the mornings. He's done really well this semester and has only missed the early bus twice. It doesn't help that his daily Arabic class is first thing in the morning everyday. He has to be out the door before seven, which is rather early. For him.

So, last night after we'd finished praying I began to nag Andrew about the alarm clock. It's another one of our nightly rituals. For some reason he never wants to set it, even though it's on his side of the bed and he's the one who has to get up. So if you think about it logically...

Anyway, he finally rolled over to set the alarm and randomly decided to put it on the radio setting instead of the beep setting. I told him that that was probably a bad idea since I don't always wake up to the radio and will instead incorporate whatever dialogue or song into my dreams. Beeping just works better at waking me up. Andrew could sleep through anything...except being poked repetitively by me, or the threat of water being dumped on his head, both of which require me being awake first.

Since I didn't want Andrew to miss the bus a third time I suggested that I set the alarm on my cell phone as a back up. He thought that was a good compromise, so that's what we did.

This morning we woke up to my cell phone alarm.

Obviously I didn't have my glasses on, so I fumbled around for my cell phone and checked the time. 6:10 AM.

I squinted at the alarm clock. It's a new one from America that Karen brought over to Egypt for us. It has very big numbers so I didn't have to squint very hard. It read 5:10 AM.

"Get up!" I told Andrew, nudging him several times.

"It's 5 AM," he moaned, rolling over and putting his head under his pillow.

"Only maybe," I said.

"Huh?" he wondered sleepily.

"My clock says it's 6,"

"What?!" he asked.

So apparently our clock set itself back with the end of American daylight savings. It's a good thing we prayed to wake up on time this morning! So many blessings in life often seem like mere coincidences!

Bat-o-Lantern

We're a day late, but we finally got around to carving our pumpkin! Last year we carved our pumpkin so early that by the time Halloween rolled around it was caving in and moldy. Since we are planning on cooking our pumpkin so that we can make some pumpkin pie and other such things, we wanted to make sure not to repeat last year's mistakes.

Besides Rachel doesn't know the difference! She was just excited to be doing something new.

Since Andrew's been so busy lately we chose one of the easier patterns (from the same book we used last year) and carved up our pumpkin in no time flat. Not as intricate as last year but I think it still looks cool.

Even Rachel got to "help" a little. No we did not give her a knife.


We all had a lot of fun together and are looking forward to next year when Rachel will be able to help a little bit more.


I tried to get Rachel to model her costume for the camera, but she's still afraid of it so we had to take it off. She was a belly dancer this year but I only got her to stay in the dress once so she'll probably end up being a belly dancer again next year. If you want to see it, you'll have to look at the pictures of her making her ghost--that's the only day she let me put it on her.

Instead of wearing her costume she wore a little Halloween outfit she inherited from either Olivia or Sabrina. She was so excited when I brought it out to see if it fit because it had kitties on it. So even though it doesn't fit (because it's size 2T) I let her wear it. She'll also be wearing it next year. I figure I may as well get as much use out of it as I can.

This is my jack-o-lantern

He's my best friend!

Service Cupcakes

October's theme in primary was "Because I am His child, I will serve God with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. “Therefore, O ye that embark in the service of God, see that ye serve him with all your heart, might, mind and strength, that ye may stand blameless before God at the last day” (D&C 4:2).

As a presidency we decided that it would be fun to give the primary children an opportunity to serve the branch. So often children are left out of planning events. We decided that the primary children could host the next "Linger Longer." The fifth Friday of the month just happened to fall on Halloween this year, so we had the children decorate cupcakes for the entire branch.

Deneece, Simmone, Phyllis, and I each backed 30+ cupcakes--we ended up with well over 150 cupcakes. Michelle got all the icing and decorations for the kids.

Michelle and I set up some tables outside while the kids practiced songs for the sacrament meeting presentation with Deneece. They sang so well and so loudly that we could hear them all the way downstairs in the kitchen! I was impressed since there are so few of them.

When they were finished singing they washed their hands and flocked to the cupcakes.

The Penrod children working together

Phyllis, Emma and KJ rearranging the cupcakes

We had a quite the battle keeping their hands out of their mouths, but I think they ended up doing a fabulous job. I was impressed with how excited the older boys were about this activity--I didn't think they'd have much fun but they ended up being some of our most dedicated and creative decorators.

Jacob and one of his masterpieces

When they had finished decorating the cupcakes, we knocked on the door of our bowab, Hussein, so that we could sing to him and give him some cupcakes. Usually he lives alone, but his family happened to be visiting so we were able to give him more cupcakes than we were planning, which was great because we had so many cupcakes!

Singing to Hussein

The branch presidency had forgotten to announce our cupcakes in sacrament meeting, even though it had been brought up in branch council. The primary children were more than pleased to go and get the grownups from the building and show them their cupcake creations, though, so it worked out. Everyone seemed happy about the cupcakes and the children were happy with their opportunity to serve.

Cupcakes, cupcakes everywhere

But not a bite to eat.

They even learned that it is possible to have too many cupcakes. Originally they were suggesting that, since the grownups weren't coming out, they could eat them all themselves. After gorging themselves they found that sharing is a blessing. And the grownups were happy that there's a large lawn behind the church where the kids could burn off their sugar high before going home.

Most of our primary children with their cupcakes

Rachel was probably the biggest cupcake fiend around. When I went to get her from nursery she was still sitting at the table eating goldfish. Jennifer said that she had been eating goldfish for the last hour and had been systematically stealing everyone else's goldfish the minute they left them unattended.

She cried when I told her it was time to go home...until I told her that we were going to go get cupcakes from downstairs. She was really excited about that!

I left her alone with Andrew while Lora and I visit taught Simmone. He fed her five cupcakes while I was gone. She was such a sticky, hyper mess!

I'm just going to open my mouth like this....

...and if that cupcake gets in the way, it's its own fault!

Cupcakes make me happy!

Andrew asked Jennifer how Rachel was during nursery and she, jokingly, said, "Oh, man! She was so bad! She is banned from nursery for the next seven days."

It's so nice to have her in nursery! In the words of Andrew, church is church again!

We all found this Friday exhausting though and, after our home teachers left, all settled down for a long Friday's nap. We meant to only sleep for an hour but ended up sleeping for three. Oops!

When we got up we took the muffin tins over to Lora so that she could make muffins for the next day's Relief Society breakfast (that was this morning, and it was awesome. Thanks for asking). Then we had to hurry and have dinner (leftovers) so that we could go to the Mason's to play games.

Finn was still awake when we got there because of sounds of the crazy youth hooliganizing the neighbourhood that were drifting up from the streets into their apartment. Rachel was thrilled that he was awake and the two of them managed to stay awake until after 10 PM (too many cupcakes, for sure).

At one point, Finn started shrieking and banging on the tray of his walker.

"He's so ready for bed," Melissa moaned.

Not to be outdone, Rachel ran down the hall screaming and shaking her head, with her arms held up high. Upon entering the living room she ran straight into the couch and bounced her face against the coushins several times before finally falling over onto her tushie.

"So's she," I said, sighing.

"You win," said Melissa sympathetically.

"Thanks," I said with shagrin. I'm not sure that's a contest I'm excited about winning.

Things quieted down pretty quickly outside and after we played a round of Cranium, we were able to put both Finn and Rachel to bed. They went rather willingly, I thought. I don't know about Finn, but Rachel was for sure coming off a sugar high.

Flashback Friday: A Halloween Special

For today's flashback, I tried to think of something spooky that had happened to me, it being Halloween and all, but I just couldn't think of anything. So I was all prepared to write about the time a classmate called me a socialist, which I thought might give a scare to all the republicans out there.

But then I read Bridget's blog and my memory was jogged, so I'll spare you the socialist story this week.

Instead I'll tell you about one of the scariest nights in my life, which is actually two nights, the second of which was a whole lot scarier than the first.

I don't remember what year it was, quite, but I was old enough to babysit and we still lived in High River so I was no younger than 12 and no older than 15. My friend Jocelyn had invited me to sleepover. She lived out by the river on an acreage. Her family had their own swimming hole that we frequented, a hot tub, a tree house, and many other cool commodities we in-towners just had to do without.

It must have been summertime because this particular night we decided to sleep out on the back deck. We built a fort out of sheets and blankets and put sleeping bags down. It was going to be fun, and just a little bit scary.

Maybe I'm a wimp, but I've always been a little nervous about sleeping outdoors under the stars. Tents make me feel safer, although I'm not sure why. That thin layer of nylon isn't going to do much against a cougar or bear.

So I was already a little nervous about sleeping outside when Carlee, Jocelyn's older sister, started telling us a ghost story. It was more of an urban legend, which for me is worse than a ghost story because it could actually be true. Although I don't believe in ghosts, I do believe in people.

In a nutshell, the owners of an old house had hired a babysitter and went out for the evening. The babysitter put the children to bed and turned on the television. She heard the pipes rattling around in the basement, blamed it on "house noises" and turned the television up a little louder. The banging pipes got louder, so she turned the television up again. And on it went. The banging on the pipes got louder and louder, and she'd turn the television up louder and louder.

Finally she couldn't handle it anymore, went and got the kids out of bed and ran over to the neighbour's house. They called the police, who came and looked in the basement and found an escaped serial killer banging on the pipes with a wrench, trying to lure the babysitter downstairs.

Just typing that sends shivers down my spine. I was so scared after hearing that story, but I somehow managed to make it through the night, outside, without getting eaten alive by a cougar or attacked by a serial killer. Two of my greatest fears, if you couldn't tell.

A few nights later...maybe even a week or two later...the Blocks asked me to babysit for them. I babysat for them a lot and always had a lot of fun. (As a side note, Camille, the older of the two kids I babysat, is apparently engaged. That also kind of freaks me out, but has nothing to do with this post.) She was like 10 at the time, and her brother was probably like 5. I really have no idea and it isn't really all that important. I was babysitting them.

Sister Block had made dinner before going out and the dishwasher was almost completely loaded. My instructions were to feed the kids, finish loading and start the dishwasher, play until bedtime, put kids to bed. Simple enough.

So we had already eaten and started the dishwasher and were on step three: playing until bedtime.

Most of the toys were in the basement, so that's where we were playing. The basement was mostly unfinished, so that meant there was a lot of room to run around uninhibited by walls and things. The only finished parts were the furnace room and an office, both behind closed doors.

We were having a great time. And then the noises started. Bang! Bang! Bang!

At first I was able to ignore them, passing them off as "house noises" and wishing them away. As seconds ticked by, though, I became increasingly panicked.

Bang! Bang! Bang! I heard again.

My heart stopped, but I tried to keep my thoughts logical.

"The dishwasher!" I thought. I ran upstairs and threw it open to see if anything was rattling around inside but the wash cycle had already finished and the dishwasher was silently drying the dishes.

I ran back downstairs and heard the noise again. A distinct banging noise. Bang! Bang! Bang!

All I could think about was a serial killer lurking somewhere in the basement.

"Let's go upstairs," I suggested to Camille and Hayden.

They insisted that upstairs was boring and that they still wanted to play. Could they not hear the banging noise? I didn't want to frighten them, so I didn't mention it.

"I think we should go upstairs," I suggested again.

They countered that it wasn't quite bedtime yet.

"Get upstairs now," I said, on the verge of screaming.

They hightailed it upstairs, brushed their teeth, and went to bed without even being told to.

The banging noise continued. Still trying to be rational, I checked the doors. The front door was locked, but the back door was unlocked. Not exactly an uncommon thing in the small town I lived in, but even there I was an obsessive compulsive door-locker and could not imagine that I would leave the door unlocked. But there it was, unlocked.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Now I was completely on the verge of hysterics. I picked up the phone and dialed home. 652-5555. I'm dead serious. That was our home phone number. When my dad went in to set up our phone he asked for something easy. That's what he got. Another benefit of living in a small town, I guess.

My mom picked up and I'm sure she could hear all the emotion in my voice. I've never been very good at hiding my emotions.

"Can you come over?" I wailed, "I'm hearing noises and I'm scared."

"Where are the kids?"

"They're in bed." *sniff, sniff*

"What's wrong, exactly?"

"Well, the backdoor is unlocked and I keep hearing banging noises in the basement and..."

I was going to say that I didn't know what I was going to do but just then the phone went dead. I hung up and checked for a dial tone. Nothing. Someone had cut the line. I was doomed. I started sobbing like only someone who knows they're about to be attacked by a serial killer sobs.

Three minutes later I was startled out of my crying fit by heavy steps on the front porch and a fist pounding on the door.

This is it, I thought, It's over.

I ran to the door and peeked outside. It wasn't a serial killer. It was my mom. Yes, she loves me.

Another benefit of living in a small town is that your mom can come running to your rescue anywhere in town in under five minutes. She brought along our friend Joe Hirsche who was staying at our house for the week while his parents were in Hawaii. I don't know why she brought Joe and not my dad or my brother. I can only assume it's because Joe...well, he's big and slightly intimidating.

So my mom and Joe checked the whole house with me and we found nothing. No serial killers anywhere. Go figure.

But they did hear the banging noise and agreed that it did sound at least a little scary. My mom suggested that I just calm down and read my book and that if anything did happen to just run next door to where Constible Carpenter lived. Why hadn't I thought of that?

So that's just what I did. I'm not sure if I ever managed to calm down completely, and I didn't end up having to run over to the Carpenters, but I did sit on the couch with my paperback novel and pretended to read.

The Blocks returned shortly before midnight and escorted me home.

My mom met me at the door and asked me how things went. I told her things went fine. She asked if I had told the Blocks about the noise. I said I hadn't. How could I? It was far too embarrassing since it turned out that there was no serial killer.

So my mom talked to Sister Block about it at church the next day. The noise was their cat playing in the rafters in the basement. She gets up in the ceiling and walks on the sheet metal heating pipes (whatever they're called--they're called "heating ducts," by the way. Thank you, dad!), making an awful racket. So there really was nothing to be worried about all along. The telephone going dead was just a strange coincidence, I guess.

Ever since that night, though, I always made sure to take a voluminous hardback whenever I went babysitting. A flimsy paperback novel is of no use against an assailant!

If you're up for more scary stories staring me thinking I'm about to be murdered by a serial killer, read about the near-homicide in our old apartment, again a memory triggered by one of Bridget's posts. Obviously Bridget is somewhat of an inspiration to me. Without her I would have died of writer's block long ago.