Who the heck is Mae Jemison

About a month ago my 5th grader, Sophia, came home with the information on the school's wax museum. She was to pick an American hero to impersonate. They gave her a list of great choices such as Eleanor Roosevelt, Helen Keller, and Rosa Parks. We talked the choices over and forgot about it.

A few weeks later, after a long night at work (I now work 4 nights a week to subsidize what we call the Obama tax/health care) I came home and helped LG with the delayed bedtime rituals. As we went through Sophia's backpack, she remembered to tell me that she had chosen her wax museum hero that day because it was the deadline. (Way to be an absent mom! - And how I would pay) My excitement was immediately erased as she informed us that she had chosen....wait for it......

Mae Jemison.

"Who the heck is Mae Jemison?" my hubby and I questioned simultaneously.

"The first female African-American astronaut," Sophia answered innocently enough. (But I know that deep down inside she was really like, "I'll show you, mom, for being at work."

My mom radar immediately alarmed, "Did you say African-American?" as I carefully reanalyzed my 11 year old very blued eyed, very blonde haired, very Caucasian daughter.

It's times like these that I am 100% convinced someone has hidden a secret "gotcha" camera somewhere in the couch cushions. And times like these happen every day at our house.

LeGrand couldn't contain his overly exuberant smile headed in my direction with the subliminal message of, "Thank heavens I have the Y chromosome. It's all you babe."

Today I am proud to announce that I not only immediately committed, but embraced my daughter's dream of being the first Caucasian girl dressed as the first African American female astronaut.

After 2 hours at the thrift store, 1 hour at the sewing machine, 5 hours at the computer, 1 hour printing, taping, and pinning (and re-washing and pinning after the other daughter's judgement error of spilling a bottle of coke on the orange outfit waiting to be worn on top of the nightstand ), 1 hour of wig trimming, 2 hours overseeing the poster making, 1 hour of help with the speech, and 3 hours of searching for the right make-up, a stroke of genius with the snow boots that look like they belong on the moon, and 30 minutes of haggling (and losing) to the girl to let me do it before she went to school, I gladly share the end result.

And yes, she tore off the wig in less than 

two seconds after I turned off the camera.

(I forgot to mention the special trip to Sally Beauty Supply

 for what I learned is called a wig cap.)

And even then the wig was still too itchy.

White girls are so whimpy

about their beauty aides.

It's at times like these that

homeschooling doesn't sound so crazy.

And just in case you moms are ever

called upon for the same task,

here is everything you ever need to know

about

Dr. Mae Jemison

in the first person

 I was born on October 17, 1956 (which would make me 57 now) in Decatur, Alabama. My parents were Charles and Dorothy Jemison and I was the youngest of three. I am still alive today and achieving many things.

            I was raised in Chicago and graduated high school at age 16 and went to Stanford University on a scholarship. I graduated from Stanford with two degrees! One was a Bachelor of Science degree in Chemical Engineering, the other an Associate Bachelor degree in African and Afro-American studies. I later attended Cornell medical school and achieved the requirements to become a medical doctor.  I then went to West Africa with Peace Corps to be a medical doctor from 1983-1985.

            I then came back to America and became a doctor in Los Angeles, California. I was also a dancer so at the time I was deciding which I should be. Should I be a dancer or a doctor? And I still wanted to achieve a childhood dream, a dream I had since kindergarten, I wanted to go to space. Many people told me that I couldn’t go to space because I was a woman. But I applied to NASA to become an astronaut and they accepted me.

            On September 12, 1992, I blasted off into space becoming the very first African-American women ever to go to space. I went into orbit on the Space shuttle Endeavor and I was in space 7 days 2 hours and 30 minutes. My space mission was called STS-47. On that mission I was the science mission specialist. My mission was a joint operation between the U.S.A and Japan. My experiments dealt with bone cell research. With me I brought a picture of my old dance crew. I proved many people wrong that day. I also fulfilled my dream to be an astronaut.

            Since getting back from space I quit working at NASA. For a while I was a professor of developing countries and advanced technology at Dartmouth College. I got to be the only person who has been to space to act on the TV show “StarTrek: The Next Generation”. I have created the Jemison Group which works to bring advanced technology to people worldwide and fosters a love for science in students. Now I speak at a lot of engagements, am the President of two technology companies, and love to spend time my cats in Houston, TX where I live.

Next year, I am hoping Bella will be wise enough to pick Bill Gates, like this smart neighbor.
Of course, we would have to chop off all her hair and dye it blonde.

The Mom Test

It's 12:50 a.m.

Because I am a mom

this is how I spent the last

15 minutes of my life.

I was in a dream

and then there appeared

Sophia

 my 11 year old

at the side of my bed.

I opened my eyes

because

she was covered in

florescent paint

and saying

something

that 

I couldn't quite understand.

She called to me

and so I knew

it was important

but I couldn't

get a handle of what

was happening

in my dream

until I let it

register

"Mom, I just puked."

I wasn't dreaming.

I flew out of bed

using the wings

that God installed

just for moments

like these.

If I would have looked

back I would

realize that

my partner in crime

couldn't help it

that God didn't

make him for this job

and that is why

he hadn't moved

an inch

or an eyelid.

Before I knew it

I had stripped

down every inch

of that top bunk.

Of course

it was the top.

And of course

I needed those wings

so as not to

wake the one

sleeping on the bottom.

No need to mention

the smell or color

of the foulness

or how it sloshed

from pillow

to sheet

to comforter.

I looked down at my

daughter

to see her

use the trashcan

I had somehow provided

before flying into action

on the bedding.

The florescent

colors were gone now.

I blinked to make sure.

Before I could get my bearings

I started to remake the bed

and then thought to ask

"Sophia,

do you want to sleep on the couch?"

The answer came quietly,

"Yes mom, that's a good idea

but I have all this gross stuff

all over me."

"Is it just on your shirt?"

"I got a little on my cast,

and it's all in my hair."

In to the bathroom

we flew.

I cleaned

off her arm cast

(and chuckled

at the thought

of the flu

and a broken arm

at the same time)

with a Clorox wipe

in between

the heaves into the toilet.

I applied

the two plastic

bags and rubber bands

that I had so

neatly stored

under the bathroom sink

yesterday.

I then turned her around

and stripped her down.

She's at a private age.

11 is tricky.

Somehow I was

instinctual enough

to just know

to have her step into the

shower before removing

her soiled clothes.

"Sophia,

did you start your period, too?"

As in,

on top of

the broken bone

and puking.

She looked at me confused.

"Or did you

just poop your pants?"

She sheepishly answered

that she thought

that wasn't her period.

I plugged

the tub

and started the warm water.

Then I gathered the

dirty clothes

and the dirty linens

and headed to the laundry room.

I got the worst

loaded into the washer

and realized that the 13 year old

never started her laundry

like her told her to

before heading to work

this afternoon

or yesterday afternoon,

depending on the time.

Thank goodness

for adolescent

irresponsibility.

I grabbed

an extra blanket

and headed back upstairs

to the couch

where I found an

almost empty roll

of duct tape

which someone

had not put away.

The item that

had been alluding

my memory

for the past two days

came to me.

Compound W

needed to be added to

the grocery list.

Baby Caroline's

wart must be attended to.

Compound W

combined with

duct tape

is the best

antidote

for warts.

I actually

learned that

before I had

kids

if you don't

count the hubby

and his massive

wart on his right knee

that I cured

shortly after marriage.

I washed and rinsed her hair.

twice.

And handed her

some soap

to take care

of the backside.

I held up her right arm

wrapped in plastic.

Placing back the soap

I told her to rinse with water.

I took care of the towel

which I had given her to rest

her broken arm on.

I guess the ledge on the tub

wasn't big enough,

it was floating at her feet.

I ran (I mean flew)

into her room

and grabbed her

comfy shorts,

undies,

t-shirt,

and a cami

because times like

these are too harsh for bras

(even if she does

normally wear hers to bed)

and she will appreciate

the extra layer

of support.

How do I know?

Because I am a mom.

And I always pass the test

even when I am failing.

Here I sit

watching, typing,

shaking my head in disbelief,

not even longing

for sleep to come back to me.

Because I am a mom.

And I am always on duty.

Always.

Notice her favorite

scooby doo blankie?

I made it for her

when she was seven

and without even realizing it

I had grabbed it off

the couch downstairs

while fetching

the other warmer

blanket

just

before flying

back upstairs

30 minutes ago.

Sophia the Wise

The name Sophia means wise.

When my Sophia was born 

I took one look into her eyes

and I knew she was an old soul.

Sophia was on our short list,

I knew it meant wise,

and I knew the name belonged to this

little one.

Whenever I take the time to think about it,

I realize that I made the perfect name choice.

I was supported

when yesterday Sophia came home from school.

Her teacher is really into the Chinese zodiac

and Sophia's class has been getting their fill.

Sophia said that she was born in the year of the snake

and that snakes are wise.

What a coinkydink.

I am so proud of my Sophia.

She is many of the traits listed above:

quiet, unassuming, prefers to work alone,

sympathetic, intuitive, and amorous.

She is an angel.

Truly.

She is also very talented.

I would love to take all the credit

for her compassion, kindness, and nurturing ways,

but she came to us with them.
I know that she is

not just special to me and LG

but she is also special to God.

She embodies God.

She embodies love.

She has blessed my life so much

and she makes me want to be

a better person.

The school rewarded her

yesterday

for being the way she is.

I told her she should call her Grammy

and tell her thanks

because she is so much like

my mother-in-law.

The funniest part of Sophia's

character connection award

is that Sophia came home

and said,

"Mom, I was so weird-ed out.

I am 11,

I don't want to be known

for love."

I am so glad I don't have to retire yet,

we obviously still  have a lot to learn

about love.

Well Sophia doesn't,

she has it down.

Maybe I just need to explain.

My Brother's Take on Mormon Feminism

There has been a lot of talk lately

about a movement of

anti-Mormons

who have penetrated the active church-body

by inviting the women to wear pants to church this Sunday.

I'm privvy to these things because I live in Utah.

It was on the front page of the paper.

LG read part of the article to me

when he was home for lunch

the other day.

We discussed the stupidity of it.

Women have always been able to

wear pants to church.

Why would any woman

want to be a Bishop?

We laughed.

Then LG made my day.

"Alice you look so sexy in a skirt."

So I posted this on facebook.

Feminist Mormons are planning a "wear slacks to church day" 

to celebrate the similarities between women and men. 

I'd rather celebrates our differences. 

Besides my husband thinks I look hot in a skirt. 

If that means I'm objectified, so be it.

It got a discussion going.

Perhaps my favorite part of the discussion

was my ultra-conservative, gun-slinging, Limbaugh-loving,

football-coaching, huge-dog owning, Idaho-dwelling

brother saying this:

(for my non-Mormon friends -

this first question is what is asked of 

the members to determine

worthiness to attend the temple)

(YM is short of Young Men

YW is short for Young Women)

• Erick Wills Do you support, affiliate with, or agree with any group or individual whose teachings or practices are contrary to or oppose those accepted by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?

  Yesterday at 9:15am · Like
• 

  Alice Wills Gold Erick Wills, the answer is no, but I do have an opinion about giving the YW the same budget as the YM. 

  Yesterday at 9:27am via mobile · Like
• 

  Erick Wills I am good with that. My opinion and what we did in my ward when I was over finances was the YW had a bigger budget. Crafts cost more than firewood.

• Alice Wills Gold Who woulda thought Erick Wills is a feminist?

  23 hours ago via mobile · Like
• 

  Erick Wills No, I am an equal differencialist. The sexes are different and should be treated as such, just not lesser or greater.

Yes, feminist crazed ladies,

the men of the church

are not anti-women.

In fact,

they are 

what my brother calls

equal diffrencialists.

I am proud to say

that I now

have a great term to describe

what I am too:

an

equal diffrentialist.

And so is 

this Mormon scholar.

She touches on some deep

Mormon doctrine here

and I loved her article.

I'm so grateful for the women of the church

who magnify their callings

and bless the lives of my daughters.

Here are some recent photos

that Sister Seale

e-mailed

of Sophia and her buddies

at their 

female only

activity days

held

every other week.

I love how these photos

showcase what we teach

Godly girls.

Choose the right.

Be modest.

Be tough.

Be beautiful.

It's crazy to me
that scorned
women can
find these things
wrong.

I don't want my daughters
to be anything
but
equal diffrentialists.

And trust me,

no woman

should ever want to

be in Cub Scouts instead.

I know,

I've been a Scout leader

three different times

in my

"mom only to daughters"

lifetime.

We will have a perfectly happy picture!

My mother-in-law requested family photos for Christmas.

In an effort to keep the Christmas budget,

we opted for my mad raw camera skills.

Yeah, I took one photography class

so that makes me qualified right?

Wrong.

So very wrong.

Add in
a dog on a leash,

a crappy crappy tri-pod

some cold weather

and a

"as stubborn as I'll get out"

nine-year-old

and

wa-la

eventually

you have me screaming:

"We will get a perfectly happy picture.

Gosh danget."

That got some smiles.

We can always count on laughter

to see us through.

And laugh, we did.

Like always.

Here are some good outtakes.

I was trying to test the shot
and I had already set the timer
so they entertained themselves
through the 10 sequential shots.

We got a bunch of great shots
and in about 10 of them
Caroline was sticking out her tongue.

I like to call this one
"Don't drop the dog."

The funniest part was that
I had no idea this was even happening.

When we got home, 

Sophia came into my room and said,

"Mom I learned something important today.

You can't put a dog in the simba pose for a picture

like you can a cat."

It wasn't until I went in to edit the photos that

I understood what she was talking about.

Please, don't eat my head.

 These are the best that we got.

I really like how the scarf pose

turned out

minus Abigail's expression

and the random blanket

on the grass.

Don't even worry about the discarded

old fashioned sled.

Geez.

I really don't know what I am doing.

We got our perfectly happy pictures.

Merry Christmas Faye.
These will be on their way to you
in your Christmas package
as I know you won't be able to figure
out how to print them from here.

Oh and sorry,
I forgot to do a pose
with LG.

Maybe next year.

Happy December

Sophia's drawing was chosen

as the December feature

in her elementary school

calendar.

It makes me smile

every time I catch a glimpse

of it

hanging on my fridge.

It also makes me smile

that we live in a state

famous for its

awesome snow.

Freckles

Sophia is at 5th grade camp

for one night.

It's crazy how

one night away

can make a mom so sentimental.

I love you my

sweet sweet Sophia.

I hope no one ever

hurts you.

Ever.

One in four

has blue eyes.

One in four

has polka-dots.

Brought on

by the sun.

One in four

so fine.

One in four

so easy-going.

One in four

so patient.

One in four

so peaceful.

Two of four

in line.

One in four

so tender.

One in four

so sweet.

One in four

so witty.

One in four

so kind.

One in four

of my girls.

One in four

so quiet.

One in four

all dad.

One in four

so mine.

But perhaps

my favorite

one in four

are those

freckles

on your nose.

So unique.

So special.

Just like

one in four.

The Art of Trading Candy

First you must sort the candy.

Then you go for the jugular.

Offer up their very most favorite.

Sophia's happens to be lemonheads.

And Bella happens to be a stealth

BatGirl.

Here is a VERY funny guide.

The Art Fart

I really hope Sophia doesn't decide to read the blog today.

I do believe she'd die of embarrassment.

I must write though

because it's stories like this that I don't want to forget.

And I do forget.

I forget as early as next week if I don't write it down.

LG's been playing with new camera more than me. I love it.

We finally got Sophia into an art class.

She has shown a real propensity for art since she was a toddler,

and I am so grateful we finally have the means to help her along.

Check out her very first project.

I dare you to say she's anything less than a prodigy.

And now, here's a little art fart funny from Friday.
I went into the studio to tell Sophia that I was there to take her home.
She was happily working on a picture of SpongeBobSquarePants in colored pencil.
Next to her was the cutest boy about the same exact age
working on what looked like a tribal tattoo.
They were both having a blast doing the art thing while bantering back and forth.
It made this mom very happy to see Sophia in her element.
When you know something about your kid, you just know.
And I have always known that Sophia has the soul of an artist.

Minutes later Sophia bounds out to the car and we head home.
I zone out thinking about all I have to do
to get out the door that evening in time for
a friend's birthday party and a choral concert of my nephew at BYU.
All of the sudden Bella and Sophia are cracking up.
I ask them what was so funny.
Through fits of laughter they tell me.

Sophia - Nooooooo, don't tell her.
Bella - I have to. Sophia likes __________!! (I can't remember his name)
Me - (Not surprised in the least.) What' so funny about that?
Sophia - Nothing. Nothing.
Bella - Well, Sophia and _______ were messing around hitting each other and being silly.
Sophia - STOP! Bella don't tell her.
Bella - And then Sophia...
Sophia - (butting in because if the story is going to be told, she's going to tell it) We were just playing around, and all of the sudden I farted. It just came out. I couldn't help it.
Me - Oh my gosh, how embarrassing. Did you just die?
Bella - It gets worse mom.
Sophia - So then the teacher comes in and asks us if we need anything.
Bella - And _____________ says, "Do you have a clothespin?"
Me - Did it stink?
Sophia as red as a beat - "I guess so."

This may not seem funny to any of you, but it's moments like this when I just love being a mom. It is so fun to watch your kids grow up and become adults who are embarrassed by bodily functions.

Now, here is something to make it up to Sophia whenever she reads this story.
Sophia brought this home last year from school after the class all wrote down anonymous compliments.
She is one cool kid, even with the gassy gas.

And me, you ask?

How's the photography going?

Well, it's going when I squeeze in the time.

Here is one of my practice shots

while I was outside the art studio waiting on Sophia.

We are learning about aperture.

Photography is art.

Maybe I should leave it up to Sophia.

It's a lot more complicated then I expected.

(That's why I've dragged LG into the hobby,

he's my scientific go-to man.)

Check out my the website of my super cool teacher.

Here's a photo of another one of my cool kids.

She's taking a cooking class right now.

I've always known that Bella would grow up to be a beautiful cook.

Shooting action is more difficult

especially without the right lens

but here is our Abigail.

I always knew she'd grow up to be a soccer star.

Caroline.

Notice that she's reading dad a bed-time story.

At 6 pm.

That's how it goes around here.

Isn't he cute?

I do believe my car is in need of a wash.

And here is LG's latest project.

An expose about the life of a housewife.

Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning.

All the time.

Even on Sunday.