I dream of milk flowing from my breasts. I wake to find that in reality, the rivers have run dry. I’ve been writing this essay in my head in the middle of the night when I am feeding my baby for the past six months. Ever since the day my pump broke, and I knew I would fail at breastfeeding and possibly as a mother.
I never knew how emotionally involved, challenging, and draining motherhood could be. I knew that I would love my baby more than anything else in the world, but I didn’t really know what that would feel like or what that might entail. I didn’t know how devoted I would be to giving my baby the very best of everything because of this deep love. I didn’t understand how deeply those desires and how powerful that drive would be until she came.
I knew from multiple classes and just common sense that mother’s milk is the best for a baby. It gives them everything they need plus some. It’s made specifically for them. The mother’s body is an amazing thing. It produces exactly the amount they need, and it contains just the right amount of nutrients, vitamins, fats, everything even down to the exact amount and kind of antibodies. All so the baby can thrive, be healthy, and grow up to be big, strong, and even smart. I knew all of this, yet when it came down to it, I flunked. We flunked.
I knew I was losing it. I knew that she wasn’t getting enough; I wasn’t making enough; it wasn’t healthy enough. I didn’t know what was wrong exactly, but I was losing my supply. I knew that eventually it would be gone. I couldn’t stand the thought. I tried everything. Did I? Did I really try everything? Did I really try hard enough? If I didn’t, does that mean I don’t love my baby as much as I should? Because I couldn’t give her what she needs? Or did I, in fact, give her what she needed by losing my pride and finally filling her tummy. Finally making her happy. Finally making US happy.
People tell me this all the time. “Well at least formula is a lot better than it used to be.” And “It comes down to doing what’s best for the baby.” But why, then, can I not let it go? Why can’t I let it go like my husband told me to after multiple nights, maybe even a week or more of crying myself to sleep at night? “Just let it go, Leanna.” Why can’t I? Why does it still hurt every time someone sees me or hears about me feeding my baby formula and they ask “You don’t nurse?” It’s like a statement yet a question at the same time. Wondering why I don’t do like I should. Why don’t I do what’s best for my baby? And all I can give them are lame excuses. Actually it’s just what happened, and I did try, but when I explain it to someone else I feel like it wasn’t enough. Like there was more I could have and should have done. Like I just gave up. I know I used to judge people harshly, and I hate that it’s coming back at me. I remember watching girls in church mixing up a bottle for their baby and thinking that they thought they were too good to breastfeed or thinking that they probably just didn’t try. I remember wondering when I saw a mom pull out a bottle if it was pumped breast milk or formula. And I remember thinking that it should be breast milk or else they just don’t care.
I wish I knew what had happened. I wish I knew how I could have fixed it. I am afraid of it hurting my baby because I didn’t go longer. That I didn’t try harder. I’m afraid that she won’t grow up to be smart. That she won’t grow up to be strong, and it’ll be all my fault. I don’t want that guilt. I don’t want that guilt over all my babies, and if I get it right on the next try, I don’t want my first one to be the mistake child. I don’t want her siblings to pass her up academically, or even health wise because I just didn’t try hard enough. Because I just didn’t love her enough to keep trying. Or did I love her enough? Did I love her enough because I finally did what I thought was best. I filled her tummy.
It’s not so much that I fear for future, while I certainly do that, but it’s that I am her mother, yet I could not give her what she needed. I had never felt like such a failure as I did when we took her to her doctor’s appointment. She had lost too much weight, and I could see the “I told you so” look in my husband’s eyes. And he had told me so, on multiple occasions. He was always bringing her back to me just minutes after I had finished feeding her, saying “I think she’s still hungry.” And I would say “She can’t possibly be hungry. She just ate for an hour!” Then at night before we’d fall asleep, he’d quietly say “I don’t think you’re making enough milk.” He knew I would get angry. He had said it several times before, but I always dismissed him saying that my body knew what it was doing. My body would not let my child starve. Yet, in fact, it was. I was.
3/16/09
If Matt Were European and Old This is What He Would Look Like
So Matt has always kind of reminded me of someone but I could never think of who it was and then today I saw the cover of "Taberly" and I realized that that was it. Matt looks like a young, American version of Eric Taberly. Please say you see it.
3/14/09
Spring is coming. I woke up this morning and I just barely realized that.
The funny thing is that I have been teaching about the season of "spring" for the past two weeks. I've explained that birds will return to the trees and build nests, that flowers will push up from the ground and bloom all around us, that my students will get to go outside for recess again. I've taught these concepts with confidence and conviction. Spring will come.
But the keyword in this is "will." My consciousness was not aware of "will." I've been telling my students spring will come, but within myself I've asked, Will spring come? I hoped that it would. I think that I was even inwardly praying for it. But I didn't know for sure. It was as if the White Witch from the Chronicles of Narnia had swooped down and cast her spell of perpetual winter in my head. I didn't know if it would end.
And then it was here. I woke up and there were flowers pushing mulch that covers the small space of ground that I can call my own. Birds infested our feeder outside the window--Goldfinches, Mourning Doves, Black-eyed Junkos, and a Downy Woodpecker. I walked outside and my lungs didn't constrict. They expanded.
I asked David if he saw the birds at the feeder. He looked at me confused; the birds had been at the feeder for two weeks.
Even the squirrel who eats our birdseed has emerged. Last spring, David and I tried to throw water on him to chase him away because he scares away our birds. I hid by the sliding door and David waited outside at the bottom of the balcony. On the signal, I opened the door and threw water at him from a cup. He dove to the safety of the ground, only to be assaulted by another cup of water. But he came back the next day anyway. Now we just let him stay and hope that the birds will take care of themselves.
Spring is here, and I missed its coming. A finch hops around the ground as I sit here and type this. I pause to watch it. I don't want to miss anything else.
The funny thing is that I have been teaching about the season of "spring" for the past two weeks. I've explained that birds will return to the trees and build nests, that flowers will push up from the ground and bloom all around us, that my students will get to go outside for recess again. I've taught these concepts with confidence and conviction. Spring will come.
But the keyword in this is "will." My consciousness was not aware of "will." I've been telling my students spring will come, but within myself I've asked, Will spring come? I hoped that it would. I think that I was even inwardly praying for it. But I didn't know for sure. It was as if the White Witch from the Chronicles of Narnia had swooped down and cast her spell of perpetual winter in my head. I didn't know if it would end.
And then it was here. I woke up and there were flowers pushing mulch that covers the small space of ground that I can call my own. Birds infested our feeder outside the window--Goldfinches, Mourning Doves, Black-eyed Junkos, and a Downy Woodpecker. I walked outside and my lungs didn't constrict. They expanded.
I asked David if he saw the birds at the feeder. He looked at me confused; the birds had been at the feeder for two weeks.
Even the squirrel who eats our birdseed has emerged. Last spring, David and I tried to throw water on him to chase him away because he scares away our birds. I hid by the sliding door and David waited outside at the bottom of the balcony. On the signal, I opened the door and threw water at him from a cup. He dove to the safety of the ground, only to be assaulted by another cup of water. But he came back the next day anyway. Now we just let him stay and hope that the birds will take care of themselves.
Spring is here, and I missed its coming. A finch hops around the ground as I sit here and type this. I pause to watch it. I don't want to miss anything else.
3/12/09
Mad World - Gary Jules
Hey. Great idea. We should dance outside the Library and have it filmed. What 'ya think? I love this.
3/8/09
What a wonderful World - Eva Cassidy and Katie Melua
It's a good day. Snow banks are crumbling into the river, and the Golden Eye ducks ride the waves. A stray cat climbs onto the porch, and the wind is blowing the air clean, clean , clean.
3/7/09
A Realization
A few weeks ago, Matt dropped by my apartment and after chatting for a bit, our conversation turned to discussing various personality traits. He asked me whether I was more energized by spending time alone or spending time with others. Honestly, I can't remember what I answered that night. But last night, the answer to this question slapped me in the face.
In high school, I was fairly extroverted; I had a lot of friends, and I loved being with them. However, I also loved being alone. There's a creek about a quarter of a mile away from my house in Kansas, and I used to go there several times a week all by myself, just to think, or to sing, or to dance, or to sit and let the water play between the cracks in my toes. I was energized in those moments.
My freshman year of college, I was unfortunately deprived of any nearby creek, but I still found times and places to be alone, and despite the fun I had with my roommates, I cherished those quiet times of solitude: in bed looking out the window at the night sky, or running in the early morning before others had emerged from their houses.
Now it's my Sophomore year of college. Which, by the way is weird. But my thoughts on aging should probably be saved for another post. Anyway, this year has been significantly different than any other year of my life. I've been lucky enough to have had friends throughout the years, but this year, I've made more friends in less time than ever before. Naturally, when you become friends with a person, you want to hang out with them, and they (presumably) want to hang out with you. So over the past two semesters, I have honestly had very few nights when I was not doing something with someone else. Whether it be dinner, or watching a movie, or chatting, or playing the piano, or going out for hot chocolate, or going for a walk, or studying in the Writing Center until the library closed...I have spent nearly every evening engaging in some sort of activity with someone--almost never by myself.
Perhaps it's understandable, then, why last night felt so...odd. I returned home after class/work around 6:45 PM. Three of my roommates were home watching TV. I checked my phone: no text messages. No missed calls. I shrugged it off and started heating up some frozen vegetables to eat with my crusty bread and string cheese. When the microwave dinged, I gathered my food in my arms and plopped onto the couch to enjoy American Idol.I had my computer on my lap as well, although I don't really know why. I couldn't do homework and watch TV at the same time (I've tried this before and have failed miserably), and I had deactivated my facebook account the night before, so it's not like I was going to chat with anyone online. So I set my computer aside.
After American Idol finished, I checked my phone again. Still nothing. For some reason, I didn't feel comfortable with that. I began to fidget a little. My roommates started to watch some movie on TBS and with nothing better to do, I just continued to sit on the couch and watch with them.After fifteen minutes or so, I started to feel tired, so I reached for a quilt sitting by the couch, laid it over me, and slept for about an hour. I woke up at 9:30 PM, and realizing I had been asleep, I reached for my phone again and flipped it open. Nada.
This was weird.
Eventually, my roommates went to sleep, but I stayed up. I alternated between studying for my Nutrition test and playing Colbie Caillet songs on the guitar for a couple of hours. But I couldn't get rid of this sinking, self-pitiful feeling I had. I felt sluggish. I felt unfulfilled. Still, I wasn't ready for bed, so I looked on Old Navy's website and then read for a bit before finally deciding to hit the sack around 3:30 AM.
Then, just before I closed my eyes, it hit me: I had had no energy tonight. For once, I had an opportunity to spend time with myself, alone, to catch up on homework, or to think, or to revel in solitude. Instead, I was disgusted by the solitude. I had longed for the companionship I've become so accustomed to. I had been alone, finally, for once, but I had not liked it. And this realization did not make me happy.
In high school, I was fairly extroverted; I had a lot of friends, and I loved being with them. However, I also loved being alone. There's a creek about a quarter of a mile away from my house in Kansas, and I used to go there several times a week all by myself, just to think, or to sing, or to dance, or to sit and let the water play between the cracks in my toes. I was energized in those moments.
My freshman year of college, I was unfortunately deprived of any nearby creek, but I still found times and places to be alone, and despite the fun I had with my roommates, I cherished those quiet times of solitude: in bed looking out the window at the night sky, or running in the early morning before others had emerged from their houses.
Now it's my Sophomore year of college. Which, by the way is weird. But my thoughts on aging should probably be saved for another post. Anyway, this year has been significantly different than any other year of my life. I've been lucky enough to have had friends throughout the years, but this year, I've made more friends in less time than ever before. Naturally, when you become friends with a person, you want to hang out with them, and they (presumably) want to hang out with you. So over the past two semesters, I have honestly had very few nights when I was not doing something with someone else. Whether it be dinner, or watching a movie, or chatting, or playing the piano, or going out for hot chocolate, or going for a walk, or studying in the Writing Center until the library closed...I have spent nearly every evening engaging in some sort of activity with someone--almost never by myself.
Perhaps it's understandable, then, why last night felt so...odd. I returned home after class/work around 6:45 PM. Three of my roommates were home watching TV. I checked my phone: no text messages. No missed calls. I shrugged it off and started heating up some frozen vegetables to eat with my crusty bread and string cheese. When the microwave dinged, I gathered my food in my arms and plopped onto the couch to enjoy American Idol.I had my computer on my lap as well, although I don't really know why. I couldn't do homework and watch TV at the same time (I've tried this before and have failed miserably), and I had deactivated my facebook account the night before, so it's not like I was going to chat with anyone online. So I set my computer aside.
After American Idol finished, I checked my phone again. Still nothing. For some reason, I didn't feel comfortable with that. I began to fidget a little. My roommates started to watch some movie on TBS and with nothing better to do, I just continued to sit on the couch and watch with them.After fifteen minutes or so, I started to feel tired, so I reached for a quilt sitting by the couch, laid it over me, and slept for about an hour. I woke up at 9:30 PM, and realizing I had been asleep, I reached for my phone again and flipped it open. Nada.
This was weird.
Eventually, my roommates went to sleep, but I stayed up. I alternated between studying for my Nutrition test and playing Colbie Caillet songs on the guitar for a couple of hours. But I couldn't get rid of this sinking, self-pitiful feeling I had. I felt sluggish. I felt unfulfilled. Still, I wasn't ready for bed, so I looked on Old Navy's website and then read for a bit before finally deciding to hit the sack around 3:30 AM.
Then, just before I closed my eyes, it hit me: I had had no energy tonight. For once, I had an opportunity to spend time with myself, alone, to catch up on homework, or to think, or to revel in solitude. Instead, I was disgusted by the solitude. I had longed for the companionship I've become so accustomed to. I had been alone, finally, for once, but I had not liked it. And this realization did not make me happy.
2/28/09
A Dilemma (di - two; lemma - proposition)
This past December my mom asked me, as I gushed about a snake documentary I got for Christmas, "Why don't you go into something with critters? Zoology, or something?"
"I don't think scientists actually get to do much field work," I replied, "and I don't think I'd like lab work. And I don't think they get paid much. And even if it was cool, I think they have to leave their families for months at a time to do fieldwork, and I don't want to do that."
2/25/09
How my view of myself changed forever in a single day and will be that way for the rest of my life.
My life and identity changed forever today.
I approached the desk at the ophthalmologist’s office. Lots of big windows with slate colored light flowing into the large, mostly empty room. The lady I spoke to had dyed black hair, almond skin, and a shiny gold necklace lying on top of her black turtleneck. No eyeglasses, though.
“I need to have this eyeglass prescription filled, please.”
“Okay. Are you a patient with us?”
“Yes, I had an eye exam yesterday with Dr. Hatch.”
“Okay, go ahead and pick out your frames.”
“Actually, I already did that yesterday. I just had to talk to mom and dad about money.”
“Oh, okay. Go ahead and grab the frames you like and we’ll see if we have the lenses in.”
“Alright.” I turned around to the glowing display wall and found the black full-rimmed glasses with red stripes I’d liked yesterday. They were $40 less online, but the wait was several weeks, and my eyes were constantly sore from focusing too hard. I tried them on again (My neck looks fat with these on, I thought,) and brought them to the counter. “Here they are.”
“Okay, let me go see if we have the lenses.” While she walked behind a cabinet of manila folders and files, I looked around the office. Just like at Wal-Mart this morning, they had signs indicating Men’s and Women’s sections above the displays of frames. I’d wandered cluelessly around the glasses the day before until the overly-nice twentysomething secretary came over to help me figure out which glasses weren’t wussy.
The lady walked back to the front. “Okay, yes, we have them in. It should be about ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Wow, alright. Can I leave and come back?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
After eating my McBreakfast, I strolled back through the glass double doors and waited around in the waiting area. Over 25 minutes had passed. I didn’t see the lady from before. After waiting another ten minutes, I finally approached the desk and another secretary handed me my glasses wrapped in crème colored cleaning cloth; they looked like an eyeglass burrito.
The first thing I thought when I tried them on was, “Crud, this actually works.” The fine details I used to always see are back; everything is so crisp and clean, with a sharp “pop” to it. I actually do need glasses.
Fashion wise, I’ll need to cut my sideburns shorter so I don’t look like one of the Lone Gunmen. Also, I think they make my neck look fat, but that means I need to keep jogging. The gooey peripheral distortion when I move is uncomfortable, so I don’t think I’ll wear them while walking. Reading is nice, though, and feels good. Less eye strain.
In a daydream, I imagined myself visiting my sister at BYU when she starts there in the fall. I pulled my glasses out of a backpack and knew Kris would make fun. She made fun of my sideburns last weekend when I visited home, so naturally she’d make fun of this.
Suddenly, out of the daydream, I realized that I’d have to take my glasses with me on all of my trips. Every quick weekend away would require my glasses. I’d need them for every flight home or even staying at a friend’s place overnight. There’s no going back to pre-glasses, I thought. For the rest of my life, I will need glasses.
I have joined the glasses club. Old Navy and its spring lineup wouldn’t let me join the cardigan club, so this will have to do for ironic-nerd style.
I approached the desk at the ophthalmologist’s office. Lots of big windows with slate colored light flowing into the large, mostly empty room. The lady I spoke to had dyed black hair, almond skin, and a shiny gold necklace lying on top of her black turtleneck. No eyeglasses, though.
“I need to have this eyeglass prescription filled, please.”
“Okay. Are you a patient with us?”
“Yes, I had an eye exam yesterday with Dr. Hatch.”
“Okay, go ahead and pick out your frames.”
“Actually, I already did that yesterday. I just had to talk to mom and dad about money.”
“Oh, okay. Go ahead and grab the frames you like and we’ll see if we have the lenses in.”
“Alright.” I turned around to the glowing display wall and found the black full-rimmed glasses with red stripes I’d liked yesterday. They were $40 less online, but the wait was several weeks, and my eyes were constantly sore from focusing too hard. I tried them on again (My neck looks fat with these on, I thought,) and brought them to the counter. “Here they are.”
“Okay, let me go see if we have the lenses.” While she walked behind a cabinet of manila folders and files, I looked around the office. Just like at Wal-Mart this morning, they had signs indicating Men’s and Women’s sections above the displays of frames. I’d wandered cluelessly around the glasses the day before until the overly-nice twentysomething secretary came over to help me figure out which glasses weren’t wussy.
The lady walked back to the front. “Okay, yes, we have them in. It should be about ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Wow, alright. Can I leave and come back?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
After eating my McBreakfast, I strolled back through the glass double doors and waited around in the waiting area. Over 25 minutes had passed. I didn’t see the lady from before. After waiting another ten minutes, I finally approached the desk and another secretary handed me my glasses wrapped in crème colored cleaning cloth; they looked like an eyeglass burrito.
The first thing I thought when I tried them on was, “Crud, this actually works.” The fine details I used to always see are back; everything is so crisp and clean, with a sharp “pop” to it. I actually do need glasses.
Fashion wise, I’ll need to cut my sideburns shorter so I don’t look like one of the Lone Gunmen. Also, I think they make my neck look fat, but that means I need to keep jogging. The gooey peripheral distortion when I move is uncomfortable, so I don’t think I’ll wear them while walking. Reading is nice, though, and feels good. Less eye strain.
In a daydream, I imagined myself visiting my sister at BYU when she starts there in the fall. I pulled my glasses out of a backpack and knew Kris would make fun. She made fun of my sideburns last weekend when I visited home, so naturally she’d make fun of this.
Suddenly, out of the daydream, I realized that I’d have to take my glasses with me on all of my trips. Every quick weekend away would require my glasses. I’d need them for every flight home or even staying at a friend’s place overnight. There’s no going back to pre-glasses, I thought. For the rest of my life, I will need glasses.
I have joined the glasses club. Old Navy and its spring lineup wouldn’t let me join the cardigan club, so this will have to do for ironic-nerd style.
2/18/09
Within The Walls
Note: Remember how I taught the "Blood Essay" to my sophomores? Well, it went so well that I decided to teach it to my honors juniors/seniors class. Before they began writing them, we talked about trusting each other, and I decided that if they were going to trust me enough to let me read their essays, I should trust them enough with one of my own. Hence, the essay below. I changed the church lingo for them.
Within the walls of my home, my world is perfect. Every night, Brad and I come home to our clean, cozy apartment with pictures and homemade quilts in every room. We burn apple-scented candles and sit in our lamp-lit dining room and eat our dinner, made from scratch, together. We play darts in the spare bedroom on the dartboard that hides behind our American flag. We read together every night before he lays in bed with me until I fall asleep. Then he goes into the other room until he finally gets tired a few hours later.
Sometimes, when we’re both busy, Brad sits on the squeaky couch with me, and we work separately, but together, on our laptops.
In the cool evenings, we put on our gray sweats with our matching man slippers and snuggle as we tell each other about our day.
Inside my apartment, life could not be more magical.
But outside of these walls, something happens. I change. I’m different. And I long to be in my apartment where I’m safe. Where I’m loved.
I used to have friends. I was maid of honor for four different girls because I was each girl’s best friend. Truthfully, none of the girls was my best friend, but I felt obligated to call each by that title because I knew they called me “best friend.”
During college once, I went on 11 dates in 14 days with different guys each time. Then, it was normal for me to go out for a lunch date and dinner date most days. Once, I got asked out on a date six weeks in advance because the guy wanted to make sure I was available.
But now, in Vegas, I have no friends. Thankfully I have Brad. He’s the only one. If I moved today, no one would know. It would leave no void in anyone’s lives here in Vegas because no one knows I exist.
I tried to make friends when I first moved here. During my first week of Relief Society, I walked in with confidence. I was on top of the world: one week prior, I married the greatest man alive; I was wearing a new outfit; I had a nice summer tan; I was confident in my skin. From a distance, I saw several girls sitting together. They were about my same age. Instant friends, I was sure. I could hear them giggling and calling to each other: Come sit by us! Oh, you’re so cute! Friendly girls, I could tell. I’d fit right in. But as I approached, they quickly silenced themselves, shoved their purses on the empty seats near them, and looked forward so their eyes wouldn’t meet mine.
I sat by myself.
Alone.
No one spoke to me.
They still haven’t spoken to me six months later. For several weeks, I tried smiling at them in the halls, tried making small talk, tried. And now I don’t try anymore because for several weeks, their eyes dodged mine, their small talk was fake, and it was clear that they didn’t care about me.
I’m no longer confident in my skin. I hide behind Brad like a shy child hides behind his mother. I dread going places alone. I dread knowing that I used to be someone, knowing that now, I’m a mere shadow. A ghost, even. I dread knowing that I might be here for more than a year, and my confidence outside of my home will atrophy even more.
I don’t need friends to hang out with every night or call every day. I have that with Brad. All I want is someone to notice me. Someone to speak to me. Someone to let me know I’m still visible. I want to be the same comfortable girl outside of my home that I am inside of my home.
2/16/09
Just thought I'd officially announce....
That I got my mission call.
I'll be serving in the Puerto Rico San Juan West Mission, Spanish speaking.
2/14/09
Birds on a Saturday
I love waking up to the chattering of Birds on a Saturday morning. Their songs let me believe Spring is here. Without looking out my window, I see the sun shining on each blade of dark green grass, casting spiky shadows on the heated sidewalk. I hear a plane fly over head, and see its tiny frame surging in the cloudless sky, leaving a string of puffy white behind it.
Then I hear some loud commercial downstairs and wonder why my grandparents are watching TV instead of enjoying the weather outside.
I then relapse into the present, realizing with a certain sadness that snow is everywhere. Icicles are clinging to rooftops and hanging under the frames of cars. The sun is hidden by a dull white—there’s a lifeless mist everywhere, matching the ground, stretching over the whole town. I don’t know if it’s the sky or clouds. But I can’t see the sun.
So I listen to the Birds, and they give me hope for Spring.
2/7/09
Apostrophe Catastrophe
While flipping through the Scroll, I saw an article with the headline "Apostrophe Catastrophe." I'd just taught about possessive nouns to my third graders, and I thought I might be able to share it with them. (Besides, I can't resist hearing about mistakes in published writing.) The article said Birmingham, London officials recently banned apostrophes from all street signs because they're "confusing and old-fashioned." Of course there are two sides to every battle, but the people they chose to represent each side made me gag. Maybe it's just the debate that makes me gag.
Side A: Remove those comma things.
"Apostrophes denote possessions that are no longer accurate, and are not needed," Mullaney said. "More importantly, they confuse people. If I want to go to a restaurant, I don't want to have an A-level (high school diploma) in English to find it."
Side B: But apostrophes enrich the English language.
"They are such sweet-looking things that play a crucial role in the English language," said Marie Clair of the Plain English Society, which campaigns for the use of simple English. "It's always worth taking the effort to understand them, instead of ignoring them."
Now, if I had to defend apostrophe usage against people who complain of having to have a high school diploma to find their way to McDonald's, I would not choose "they are such sweet-looking things" as my main argument.
Side A: Remove those comma things.
"Apostrophes denote possessions that are no longer accurate, and are not needed," Mullaney said. "More importantly, they confuse people. If I want to go to a restaurant, I don't want to have an A-level (high school diploma) in English to find it."
Side B: But apostrophes enrich the English language.
"They are such sweet-looking things that play a crucial role in the English language," said Marie Clair of the Plain English Society, which campaigns for the use of simple English. "It's always worth taking the effort to understand them, instead of ignoring them."
Now, if I had to defend apostrophe usage against people who complain of having to have a high school diploma to find their way to McDonald's, I would not choose "they are such sweet-looking things" as my main argument.
2/5/09
Good Movie Alert!
I just watched The Secret Life of Bees and can I just recommend it to everyone? Good, because I am. Now, I haven't read the book, and I'm sure that there are some of you "book readers" that are going to sass me with a "the book was SO much better," in a nasally voice, but I say get the hence and see the movie. I'm moving to the South anyways. Chan is coming with me, so we'll have Ivor forward our letters.
2/1/09
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)