I can only recall one time in my life in which I’ve experienced truly paralyzing, spine-tingling fear - the kind that breaches the emotional realm and becomes physical*.

In high school I dated a Mormon boy. He was a nice boy, very intelligent, and we got along very well because we had a similar sense of humor and I enjoyed his stories and intellectual discussion.

He was also very religiously devout. One day he brought me a copy of The Book of Mormon and asked that I read it. There’s a claim that those who read the book will know its truth because they will feel a burning in the chest. At least, I think that’s how it goes - it’s been several years.

Though rather underdeveloped in practice, I have always had a strong interest in learning about other religions, so I was interested to read the book. That night, I went to bed early so I could devote some time to it, and started at the beginning.

I got through a few chapters and suddenly became acutely aware of the perception that I was no longer alone in my room. I glanced up at the doorway. There was nobody there.

Then something brought my gaze to the papazan chair in the corner of my room. And there I saw them. There were two. Two, quite distinct and separate…

Beings. I don’t know how to describe them. I could see them. But couldn’t. It was like looking at two voids in space. Two … living … shadowy … voids. One sat in the chair, and the other seemed to perch on the side of it. They sat there and looked at me with eyes that I couldn’t see.

Fear. Bone-chilling terror like I have never experienced before or since shot straight through my body.

My arms and muscles became completely incapable of responding to any command from my brain. I was rendered physically unable to move, completely frozen, able to do nothing but stare at my supernatural visitors.

The beings didn’t move and didn’t show any physical signs of aggression. It was though they were simply there to observe me, to be present.

And yet they were ominous in a way I can only describe as evil. Not “evil” in the sense that our Commander in Chief defines terrorists, which is a weak descriptor of deed or thought.

Evil in substance, something that is menacing in its very existence, a physical incarnation of the unimaginable, like a black hole.

I sat there for what seemed like hours, though I know it was only minutes - bound captive in my frozen state.

Eventually, I let out a prayer. It was nothing more than a whisper for deliverance, a simple, shaky invocation of something my mother taught me.

And they left.

I sat there in solitude, staring at the utter emptiness of my room, questioning my own sanity. Would they return? Did I really see them? What did they want?

Eventually, I laid the book down, turned off the light and went to sleep.

I told the boy what had happened. He quickly consulted his elder and reported back to me the determination that because I was opening a book of Truth, demons had been sent to me to frighten me away from it and prevent its revelation to me.

I kept the book. That was the last time I read from it though.

*There is a train of thought that brought me to this, which I will deal with in a later (most likely private) post.

We’re being somewhat non-traditional this year and I’m not sure how I feel about it. On some scales, tradition is very important to me. It’s a way to connect to years past and people I may not have ever met. A little bit of history, lived out in the present. It’s something to look forward to every year, and reminisce about years before.

On the other hand, there are times when I tire of formality and doing things just because they have always been done that way. For instance, one year J and I and his immediate family decided to scratch the gift-giving thing (for the most part) and run off to Canada to stay at the Four Seasons hotel for Christmas - then we enjoyed Boxing Day afterward. That was a fun way to escape the monotony of Christmas Day, and the crowds of pre-Christmas shopping.

Although I will say that the pre-Christmas crowds have got nothing on the Boxing Day crowds. The stores quickly exceed their fire code limit on the number of people permitted inside, so you have to take a number and wait in line just to get IN. And for all the hype, the “great deals” on Boxing Day aren’t really that great.  I think my grand total of loot for the day was a sweater.

This year we aren’t forgoing the traditions lived out each year, generation after generation. We’re mostly forgoing the traditions we set ourselves.

We’re not sending out Christmas Cards/Newsletters. That has been something I have been religious about most years. This year I find that I just don’t want to spend the money and energy writing, printing pictures, putting them all together, addressing, etc.

We have no lights outside. I’m sure the neighbors are beginning to think that we don’t ever celebrate a holiday. Christmas is the only holiday we have ever taken the trouble to decorate for, and we’re not even doing that.

We don’t have any decorations on the inside either. Last year was our first Christmas in this house, and I probably single-handedly supported the commercial holiday industry by bringing home 500 tons of Christmas decorations over the course of the season. This year they are all in boxes in a closet.

We’re not having a Christmas Party. This was a tradition we started last year because we finally had a house worth inviting people over to and really enjoy hosting parties. We had a great turnout last year and loved seeing all our friends and family and with the exception of a flying pot of cyder and some mysterious sticky stuff that ended up on the carpet, it went smoothly and was nothing but fun. Unfortunately, this year we just couldn’t afford it and presents. So we opted for presents.

We’re not getting a tree. Mostly because we have a 1-year-old that likes to remove objects from their place and distribute them around the floor, and a dog that likes to confiscate anything he finds on the floor and chew it into itty bitty pieces. I have no interest in walking in to find that all the glass ornaments hanging at the bottom 3 feet of the tree have been stripped off, and distributed in tiny shards around the house.

There will be no array of presents spread about the base of the tree, because a) no tree, and b) our 1-year-old also likes to dismantle wrapped gifts. All presents will be securely stowed out of reach and probably transferred to my parents’ house for safekeeping.

For the time being, none of these changes really bother me. I just hope that when we’re sitting around on Christmas Eve, I don’t start to wish I was curled up on the couch with my hot chocolate, staring at the twinkle of a tree, and basking in the glow of 10,000 little lights strung up around the house (inside and out); stockings hanging over the fireplace and a warm and peaceful aura all around. That’s one of my favorite parts of Christmas and this year it won’t be happening.

So, I’m curious - is anybody else out there a traditionist at heart?  Do you have any annual traditions that will be going by the wayside this year?

There are times when I am completely in awe of the strength some people are able to display.  I thank God regularly for my healthy, happy, beautiful baby.  It seems that there is no measuring stick with which fortune is dealt out or held back.

I didn’t know Jackson, and I doubt I will ever meet his parents.  But I have the utmost respect for two people who could endure what they have been through and watched their son go though.

He’s so tiny on that hospital bed hooked up to all those tubes and machines.  As a human being, it breaks my heart.  As a mother, it’s almost unbearable.

Bill and Lindsey, my prayers are with you.

One of the things that puts me in a very awkward state of being is when large people make fun of themselves for being fat.

I have no idea how to react to that. For instance, the following conversation:

“Look at those adorable chubby feet (referring to Button’s very square feet). S would love her feet. She thinks chubby things are cute. That’s why she likes me!”

Suddenly the record in my brain squeals to a halt and I have no idea what to say. Basically, it seems to boil down to two alternatives, equally displeasing.

Laughing with the joke feels like the equivalent of “Yeah, you are pretty fat, aren’t you?”

On the other hand, I could totally lie and say something absurd like “Oh don’t be silly, you’re not overweight at all!” But that would be really obvious, and in addition to feeling dishonest, that kind of insincerety is rarely appreciated anyway.

Look, I’m glad that some people are comfortable enough with their weight to take it lightly. I just don’t know what to do with that. And you never quite know if they’re REALLY joking, or just testing the water.

So what usually ends up happening is a short, awkward pause in the conversation, until I abruptly change the subject. Which, I fear, is equally as obvious and comes accross more as “Well, yeah, you’re fat but I wasn’t going to say anything…anyway…” which is not what I intend.

I don’t really notice when other people are overweight. It doesn’t make a difference in whether I see them in positive or negative light.

I can understand that there are a lot of them who are very sensitive about it, and that’s pretty easy to deal with by avoiding the subject.

But the other 10% who deal with it by joking…THAT I have yet to learn how to handle gracefully. Especially since the whole topic is so “taboo.” I’ll probably get hate mail for mentioning the word “fat” in this post.

Looking over the past several posts, I realize that I must have sounded a bit like a PMS-ing Eore on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  Every recent post was in the “Feelings” category - like an artist’s first attempt at a depressed-chick album, sitting on the pier clutching her guitar and singing about her last breakup. 

While I totally believe in a blog for the purposes of venting, I hope I didn’t serve as a depressant for you all over the past week.

Last night, for the first night in a week, I got a decent night’s sleep.  I was only awake for about an hour in the middle of the night, and Button slept straight through until almost 6am this morning.

The world, she begins to make sense again.

Over the past several days, I have been having “secret” conversations with my bosses regarding the possibility of working mostly from home.  They were not entirely thrilled about the idea, but yesterday told me that they would be willing to work it out on a part-time basis for half my salary.

On the one hand, this was music to my ears.  See, we’re currently in a financial position where we don’t necessarily need all of my income, but were I to quit completely, we would be in rough shape as far as making the monthly ends meet.

But half-time…that is something that can be done.  And it allows me to stay home with my child three days a week.  My mom and J can pretty easily cover the other two days. 

In addition, it provides me with an easy way out of the rather uncomfortable situation I was trying to handle.  “I’ve decided to stay home so we don’t need a nanny” sounds much better and is less likely to destroy a relationship than “You’re fired because we trust you with our kid.”  Don’t you think?

Yes, I am fully aware that the above paragraph suggests a lot about my cowardice when it comes to confrontation.  I admit that freely, I have come to terms with it, and I’m totally over it.

If you notice, I used the phrase “On the one hand” earlier.  Naturally, that implies that there are two hands and the second hand will not be nearly as manicured as the first.

Basically, I’m sort of having a hard time with the idea of going part time.  Not the being home with Button part, I’m really looking forward to that.  The not being at work part.  I haven’t nailed it down exactly, but something just feels a little weird about it.  I’m not sure if it’s just the change of routine, or the fear of disconnect, or what.

J says I’m just uncomfortable with it because I feel like I’m being demoted.  He’s probably right.  Isn’t it annoying when your spouse seems to know you better than you know yourself?  Yeah.  It is.

Hopefully it’s all in my mind.  It’s just odd because when I make plans for my future and choices, etc. I generally know what “feels” right, and that’s the direction I should go.  Kind of an intuition thing.  That would surprise a lot of people that know me, because in general I’m a very logical person, and don’t put that much stock in the intangible “feeling.”

And it’s confusing me because in this particular situation, NONE of the options feel completely right.  This is the option that “felt” right a few days ago when I was trying to work out a way to make it possible.  But now I just don’t know.

I probably just need to catch up on some more sleep.