Last week Todd and I attended a funeral. It was a beautiful and emotional service.
At dinner later that night, Todd asked the kids if I had told them anything about the funeral and then suggested I tell them a little about the man who died. We talked about the stories told, the pictures painted of a beloved son, brother, uncle, cousin, and friend. We all agreed that this was a man whom many loved. This was a man that had a lot to live for.
And then I shared with them how he died.
You see, this man chose his path, just as we all do, but in this case the path led to his suicide. We will never know the extenuating circumstances that made him feel that dying was his only choice, but lives are always affected by the choices we make.
I could feel the impact this story had on Ethan and I recognized the importance of “real” and profound conversations about the hard things in life. After all, we, as parents, are here to teach and prepare our children for these very difficulties.
I explained, “You see, we all have tough days, and you are going to have a lot of tough days. Sometimes we feel lonely and sad. But I want you to know that no matter how bad the day is, no matter how terrible you feel, there will always be a reason to live your life, the life God gave you. Your dad and I love you no matter what. We will always want you here with us, ALWAYS.”
I looked into Ethan’s red and slightly swollen eyes (an emotional response brought on by watching me cry, no doubt, because of course, I was all tears and snot by this point). I could see the thoughts sifting through his head, memories of past hurts hidden from view, tender feelings that even I know little about. Though young and carefree, he could understand and had felt some of the pain and disappointment that life brings.
“I could never kill myself,” he said solemnly. “I love you, mom.” It was simply stated, but profoundly felt.
Sometimes the Lord puts words into your mouth that you could not have chosen by yourself. If this conversation had been up to me, we probably wouldn't have had it. I would have assumed him too young for the subject matter, too removed from the situation. Even if we would have talked, I would have completely left out the cause of death, OR told the story leading with the facts of the suicide. Either way, my retelling would have lost the impact this version had on my son. Maybe this story, at this time, was important to Ethan's growth and development. Who can say?
And that is the difference between a conversation led by a fallible human mother, and a conversation prompted and inspired by a loving Heavenly Father.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Mad Faces and Aging
“Andrew, how was preschool today?”
“Good.”
“Is your teacher nice?”
“My teacher has a mad face.”
“Hmm…is she mean to you?”
“No. She just has a mad face and she is not beautiful,” Andrew said. “And mom, she has a brown tooth.”
This was obviously an area that Ethan felt he had some expertise, so he jumped into the conversation to explain.
“Andrew, sometimes when we get old, our teeth turn to wood and fall out.”
Bone turns to wood? Wow! Who knew? I guess we have a lot to look forward to as we age.
And just so you know, Andrew’s preschool teacher is a very nice woman but I guess he’s not really into the “older” crowd. Andrew has told me himself that he likes his women “tall, and strong, and talking.”
(this means no babies)
I guess he should have added another pre-requisite; under 40.
Yikes! I won't qualify for long myself!
“Good.”
“Is your teacher nice?”
“My teacher has a mad face.”
“Hmm…is she mean to you?”
“No. She just has a mad face and she is not beautiful,” Andrew said. “And mom, she has a brown tooth.”
This was obviously an area that Ethan felt he had some expertise, so he jumped into the conversation to explain.
“Andrew, sometimes when we get old, our teeth turn to wood and fall out.”
Bone turns to wood? Wow! Who knew? I guess we have a lot to look forward to as we age.
And just so you know, Andrew’s preschool teacher is a very nice woman but I guess he’s not really into the “older” crowd. Andrew has told me himself that he likes his women “tall, and strong, and talking.”
(this means no babies)
I guess he should have added another pre-requisite; under 40.
Yikes! I won't qualify for long myself!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Enough Summer
Summer. It has come and gone, flown by almost imperceptibly.
I remember June 3rd. I saw the whole season stretched out before me and it wasn’t a happy picture. It felt long and arduous, and I knew I’d find myself begging for an end.
And now here we are, at the end. Tomorrow is the last day of freedom for school begins Monday morning. Surprisingly, I'm not ready to close that door.
I did not take enough (any) pictures, we did not enjoy enough lazy summer days or lick enough sweet and sticky popsicles. We didn’t play enough, slip-n-slide enough, sleep in enough, or go to the beach enough. There was not enough lounging by the pool or lying out under the stars at night.
But we did do all of those things…maybe there is no such thing as “enough” summer.
Though I suppose we could do with a little less of this intense heat!
I remember June 3rd. I saw the whole season stretched out before me and it wasn’t a happy picture. It felt long and arduous, and I knew I’d find myself begging for an end.
And now here we are, at the end. Tomorrow is the last day of freedom for school begins Monday morning. Surprisingly, I'm not ready to close that door.
I did not take enough (any) pictures, we did not enjoy enough lazy summer days or lick enough sweet and sticky popsicles. We didn’t play enough, slip-n-slide enough, sleep in enough, or go to the beach enough. There was not enough lounging by the pool or lying out under the stars at night.
But we did do all of those things…maybe there is no such thing as “enough” summer.
Though I suppose we could do with a little less of this intense heat!
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Insectitis
It’s been awhile,
a LONG while,
and still I have very little in my head organized enough to write. Maybe I have been cured of the “bug” to be a writer, or maybe I’m giving up like I do in so many things. I like to think I’m giving myself over to the more pressing issues at hand, like…
Summer, in all its lazy splendor, brings with it a daily routine, for me at least.
Wake up late, yawn, stretch, shuffle into the kitchen, pour a bowl of cereal, and then suddenly notice (out of the corner of my eye) a group of skittering little black beasts!
Dropping everything planned for the day, including almost dropping the cereal bowl, I scurry right along with the colony, annihilating each one in my path, cursing myself for procrastinating the purchase of bug spray for the outside of my house. And just to be sure one of these nasty little scouts doesn’t leave any trace for others to follow, I clean, deeply, everything…and I mean everything!
It’s an undertaking, to say the least, and though I’m perfectly aware that my insanity is wholly unnecessary, I feel vindicated. At least at the end of the day there is always another large portion of my house cleaned to its bare bones, and not a single ant in sight…
at least until tomorrow.
a LONG while,
and still I have very little in my head organized enough to write. Maybe I have been cured of the “bug” to be a writer, or maybe I’m giving up like I do in so many things. I like to think I’m giving myself over to the more pressing issues at hand, like…
ANTS!
Yes, I am a little bit crazed when it comes to this sort of vermin. Ok – maybe I’m crazed when it comes to EVERY sort but you get the picture.
Summer, in all its lazy splendor, brings with it a daily routine, for me at least.
Wake up late, yawn, stretch, shuffle into the kitchen, pour a bowl of cereal, and then suddenly notice (out of the corner of my eye) a group of skittering little black beasts!
Dropping everything planned for the day, including almost dropping the cereal bowl, I scurry right along with the colony, annihilating each one in my path, cursing myself for procrastinating the purchase of bug spray for the outside of my house. And just to be sure one of these nasty little scouts doesn’t leave any trace for others to follow, I clean, deeply, everything…and I mean everything!
It’s an undertaking, to say the least, and though I’m perfectly aware that my insanity is wholly unnecessary, I feel vindicated. At least at the end of the day there is always another large portion of my house cleaned to its bare bones, and not a single ant in sight…
at least until tomorrow.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Butterflies
I wondered if butterflies set her stomach aflame as she waited, head dipped between arms stretched overhead. 
Was she startled by the sharp tone of the buzzer, her body launching automatically into the churning blue?
Did she feel the shift in the current as her competitors tore through the water in neighboring lanes? Was she driven or intimidated by the scream of the crowd? Could she hear us cheering her name?
I wanted to ask her if she felt nervous. I wanted to know if there was any piece of this that brought out a competitive edge in her, anything that made her want to win.
Was she startled by the sharp tone of the buzzer, her body launching automatically into the churning blue?
Did she feel the shift in the current as her competitors tore through the water in neighboring lanes? Was she driven or intimidated by the scream of the crowd? Could she hear us cheering her name?
I wanted to ask her if she felt nervous. I wanted to know if there was any piece of this that brought out a competitive edge in her, anything that made her want to win.
But Ava is six and swimming competitively is new, competition in general, is new. What if my question scared her into an early bout of anxiety? What if my curiosity killed her growing enjoyment of the water?
Could an idea be that powerful a suggestion? I guess I’m not ready to find out.
Monday, June 13, 2011
The Magic of Coins
Just one year ago, Ethan struggled personally with his failures in baseball. Water streamed from his eyes during, just about, every game. Struck out…tears. Tagged out…tears. Someone cut in line…tears. It was hard for us to deal with. I know, he’s a little boy, but I wanted my little boy to behave more like a man. You know, take that disappointment and crush it! Arggg!!
I’m not creative.
“Oh, you’re sad; hey, listen to this lecture on overcoming.”
“Bummer that you struck out. Here’s what you did wrong.”
“Hey! There’s no crying in baseball!”
As you have probably guessed, nothing changed.
Then Lori, the coach’s wife, comes over one day and hands Ethan a little baggie of quarters. There were probably about 12 of them. She said, “I’m giving these quarters to you, but, every time you cry, you have to give me one back. At the end of the season you get to keep whatever you have left.”
Hmm…interesting. I had never thought of bribery… and it worked, like MAGIC!
At the end of the season he added eleven quarters to his piggy bank and we were all saved from an endless round of frustrated monologues.
I’ve never forgotten this magic and neither have my kids. This summer Ava joined a swim team and the practice pool was pretty cold. She was fine the first day, crying the second and third. This wasn’t shaping up to be a very good season for her, and so the magic bag of quarters made its second appearance. Her requirements were the same, hold back the tears and push past the discomfort. She has happily only lost one.
Today was Andrew’s first day of swim lessons. The pool is not bathtub warm and so he found his teeth chattering for most of the half hour. At one point he needed to use the restroom and the tears began to flow.
Enter; the magic quarters! He couldn’t wait to get his hands on that beautiful little bag of change. Only seven more lessons with no tears before those babies are fully earned.
Now, I don’t know how well they will work on my stubborn little almost 4-year old. He tends to think he can do whatever he wants. But I’m happy to let him try. I believe in the magic of coins!
I’m not creative.
“Oh, you’re sad; hey, listen to this lecture on overcoming.”
“Bummer that you struck out. Here’s what you did wrong.”
“Hey! There’s no crying in baseball!”
As you have probably guessed, nothing changed.
Then Lori, the coach’s wife, comes over one day and hands Ethan a little baggie of quarters. There were probably about 12 of them. She said, “I’m giving these quarters to you, but, every time you cry, you have to give me one back. At the end of the season you get to keep whatever you have left.”
Hmm…interesting. I had never thought of bribery… and it worked, like MAGIC!
At the end of the season he added eleven quarters to his piggy bank and we were all saved from an endless round of frustrated monologues.
I’ve never forgotten this magic and neither have my kids. This summer Ava joined a swim team and the practice pool was pretty cold. She was fine the first day, crying the second and third. This wasn’t shaping up to be a very good season for her, and so the magic bag of quarters made its second appearance. Her requirements were the same, hold back the tears and push past the discomfort. She has happily only lost one.
Today was Andrew’s first day of swim lessons. The pool is not bathtub warm and so he found his teeth chattering for most of the half hour. At one point he needed to use the restroom and the tears began to flow.
Enter; the magic quarters! He couldn’t wait to get his hands on that beautiful little bag of change. Only seven more lessons with no tears before those babies are fully earned.
Now, I don’t know how well they will work on my stubborn little almost 4-year old. He tends to think he can do whatever he wants. But I’m happy to let him try. I believe in the magic of coins!
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Uncool Moms
I always knew the day would come when I’d regularly hear the words, “That’s not cool, mom.” Is there a more common phrase in the teenage vernacular?
Well, that time has come and it wasn’t from the mouth of my eight year old, nor was it said for any reason I had previously anticipated.
The other day Andrew burst out with an, “Oh my G--” expletive. Surprised, but keeping my cool, I asked, “What did you say?”
He happily, and matter-of-factly, repeated the offending phrase. You see, around these parts we don’t use the Lord’s name in vain and mom is not even comfortable with the substitute, “Oh my gosh.” But, the offender is only three, and being a three year old means repeating anything and everything you hear.
So, I calmly explained the rules and asked that he not use that phrase again. We’d been through this discussion with my older two kids and they were always willing to keep their language clean. This was supposed to be an easy one. Andrew, on the other hand, responded with a, “But that’s not cool!” and then became a repeat offender the very next day.
Of course, I pointed out the infraction with a more serious tone, and he responded, “No, Jacob says it’s a real word.” Jacob is his four year old baseball friend.
“Um, being a “real” word is not the issue. You may not say that word, ok?”
I got the “that’s not cool” response once again along with a stronger challenge to the rules. Wow! I’ve got a beast on my hands…a kid who questions everything, and without a natural regard for authority.
You could claim that I deserve this and I would have to agree. What is parenting if you aren’t challenged?
But on a positive note, I have finally entered the realm of the “uncool”, a milestone I am quite excited to have achieved.
Only REAL moms are UNCOOL!
Well, that time has come and it wasn’t from the mouth of my eight year old, nor was it said for any reason I had previously anticipated.
The other day Andrew burst out with an, “Oh my G--” expletive. Surprised, but keeping my cool, I asked, “What did you say?”
He happily, and matter-of-factly, repeated the offending phrase. You see, around these parts we don’t use the Lord’s name in vain and mom is not even comfortable with the substitute, “Oh my gosh.” But, the offender is only three, and being a three year old means repeating anything and everything you hear.
So, I calmly explained the rules and asked that he not use that phrase again. We’d been through this discussion with my older two kids and they were always willing to keep their language clean. This was supposed to be an easy one. Andrew, on the other hand, responded with a, “But that’s not cool!” and then became a repeat offender the very next day.
Of course, I pointed out the infraction with a more serious tone, and he responded, “No, Jacob says it’s a real word.” Jacob is his four year old baseball friend.
“Um, being a “real” word is not the issue. You may not say that word, ok?”
I got the “that’s not cool” response once again along with a stronger challenge to the rules. Wow! I’ve got a beast on my hands…a kid who questions everything, and without a natural regard for authority.
You could claim that I deserve this and I would have to agree. What is parenting if you aren’t challenged?
But on a positive note, I have finally entered the realm of the “uncool”, a milestone I am quite excited to have achieved.
Only REAL moms are UNCOOL!
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Journals, Contemplation, and Insanity
For five and a half months I was perfect at one thing…journaling. I never missed a day. Then, as I was re-prioritizing my day’s activities, I decided I was spending too much time on the computer, too much time thinking about writing, and too much time indulging the many Internet distractions that come with sitting in front of the glowing screen. This left me little time for the other pressing obligations I can’t avoid.
I restructured my goal knowing (and fearing) the very strong likelihood I would stop writing all together. I mean, if you don’t set the precedence to write every day, then how often do you write? Once a week is far too seldom to ever delve into weightier matters, every other day is inconvenient especially if the said day to write is already way overbooked. So what is left? Write whenever you have the time? Guess how often that really ends up being?
It’s been only about two weeks without more than two journal entries. Not long…yet, but the yearning to write is there and getting stronger. You see, it’s not the writing that I miss so much; it’s the meditating and organizing of my thoughts that I realize I need!
Writing requires contemplation, and with that contemplation comes realization and understanding. So much in my head right now is swirling. I need to write about it just to still the current, to catch my breath, so to speak.
And so for my sanity’s sake, I think I might take up the torch again and try to keep it burning bright---with only maybe a few dim days. Summer is upon us after all, and my personal time will be at an all-time low.
Hmm…I remember when summer was my favorite time of year. Now, I’m not entirely sure.
I restructured my goal knowing (and fearing) the very strong likelihood I would stop writing all together. I mean, if you don’t set the precedence to write every day, then how often do you write? Once a week is far too seldom to ever delve into weightier matters, every other day is inconvenient especially if the said day to write is already way overbooked. So what is left? Write whenever you have the time? Guess how often that really ends up being?
It’s been only about two weeks without more than two journal entries. Not long…yet, but the yearning to write is there and getting stronger. You see, it’s not the writing that I miss so much; it’s the meditating and organizing of my thoughts that I realize I need!
Writing requires contemplation, and with that contemplation comes realization and understanding. So much in my head right now is swirling. I need to write about it just to still the current, to catch my breath, so to speak.
And so for my sanity’s sake, I think I might take up the torch again and try to keep it burning bright---with only maybe a few dim days. Summer is upon us after all, and my personal time will be at an all-time low.
Hmm…I remember when summer was my favorite time of year. Now, I’m not entirely sure.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Outdated Technology
We drove home from church today and the electricity was out. The garage wouldn’t open but that revelation wasn’t enough to convince the kids that there truly was no power. They immediately ran through the house turning lights on and off and checking all of their favorite electronic devices.
No juice.
Its Sunday so if there ever was a good day to be without power, this one is it.
My kids wanted to call their grandparents and so we plugged in the “emergency” phone. You know, the one with the long cord…the one you can’t walk around with. Yep, that one. We still haven’t switched over to digital phones and on days like today, I am grateful.
“Ok, mom, what is grandma’s number?” Ava called from the hall where the phone was plugged in.
“It’s on the list on the wall.”
I listened as she and Ethan collaborated together eventually dialing the correct number.
“Um, mom?” Ethan asked.
“Yes?”
“Uh, how do you hit “talk”?”
I laughed out loud. Who knew we were already so far removed from the traditional “phone” that my kids wouldn’t really know how to use one.
“Just put it to your ear and talk. There is no button, you just have to dial.”
They hardly believed me, but with a small amount of convincing they finally brought the alien phone to their ear and connected with Grandma…to their wonder and amazement. Wow, the phone really worked! It was almost a miracle.
The next obstacle was hanging up. Now what were those instructions again?
No juice.
Its Sunday so if there ever was a good day to be without power, this one is it.
My kids wanted to call their grandparents and so we plugged in the “emergency” phone. You know, the one with the long cord…the one you can’t walk around with. Yep, that one. We still haven’t switched over to digital phones and on days like today, I am grateful.
“Ok, mom, what is grandma’s number?” Ava called from the hall where the phone was plugged in.
“It’s on the list on the wall.”
I listened as she and Ethan collaborated together eventually dialing the correct number.
“Um, mom?” Ethan asked.
“Yes?”
“Uh, how do you hit “talk”?”
I laughed out loud. Who knew we were already so far removed from the traditional “phone” that my kids wouldn’t really know how to use one.
“Just put it to your ear and talk. There is no button, you just have to dial.”
They hardly believed me, but with a small amount of convincing they finally brought the alien phone to their ear and connected with Grandma…to their wonder and amazement. Wow, the phone really worked! It was almost a miracle.
The next obstacle was hanging up. Now what were those instructions again?
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Calling in Sick
Sometimes, when I’m wishing on the Evening Star, I find myself dreaming of a sick day. Just one, or maybe two, where I’m laid up in bed, unable to manage my daily routine.
It’s not that I enjoy being ill but to have that day off is like a mini-vacation. The house falls to pieces, the kids run naked covered in orange Cheetos cheese, the household subsists on what little can be found in the pantry, but it’s all ok. Mom is sick, no guilt, no judgment.
See, that’s what I mean about the vacation.
So here I am, it’s Sunday night and I’m lying in bed writhing in pain as my stomach twists and turns, tying itself up in knots. I’m not sick, just crampy. It’s almost a wish come true, except…
All I can think about is the laundry list of things that need to be done, one being the fact that I haven’t written in my journal for 3 days and Sunday’s are best for that kind of thing. As expected, my children are running wild, but instead of being ok with it, their incessant loud and violent play is destroying the last of my ill-tempered patience. And to top it all off, I’m feeling intensely guilty about the fact that I’ve been a non-presence in my family’s life all day except to scream and yell as my little one continually whined and fought and pushed my buttons.
Not a vacation day.
What was I thinking? Moms do not get vacation days and feeling cruddy only makes matters worse.
Next time I’m going to wish for a “mental health” day instead. At least then the only writhing I will do will be to find a new position on the couch for reading a good book.
It’s not that I enjoy being ill but to have that day off is like a mini-vacation. The house falls to pieces, the kids run naked covered in orange Cheetos cheese, the household subsists on what little can be found in the pantry, but it’s all ok. Mom is sick, no guilt, no judgment.
See, that’s what I mean about the vacation.
So here I am, it’s Sunday night and I’m lying in bed writhing in pain as my stomach twists and turns, tying itself up in knots. I’m not sick, just crampy. It’s almost a wish come true, except…
All I can think about is the laundry list of things that need to be done, one being the fact that I haven’t written in my journal for 3 days and Sunday’s are best for that kind of thing. As expected, my children are running wild, but instead of being ok with it, their incessant loud and violent play is destroying the last of my ill-tempered patience. And to top it all off, I’m feeling intensely guilty about the fact that I’ve been a non-presence in my family’s life all day except to scream and yell as my little one continually whined and fought and pushed my buttons.
Not a vacation day.
What was I thinking? Moms do not get vacation days and feeling cruddy only makes matters worse.
Next time I’m going to wish for a “mental health” day instead. At least then the only writhing I will do will be to find a new position on the couch for reading a good book.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Happy Mother's Day
Yesterday was, indeed, a happy mother’s day. After a nice “brunch” served by the men of my ward, I headed home and took a nap. Yep, a nice, long, lazy nap – and it was HEAVENLY!
When I decided to re-enter the family fray, I wandered down the stairs and saw a beautiful garden in bloom.
When I decided to re-enter the family fray, I wandered down the stairs and saw a beautiful garden in bloom.
It seemed that my children had been busy at work bringing spring to the indoors.
As I rounded the corner the flowers continued to bloom on display all over the kitchen cupboards, the windows, and the walls.
This wonderful touch brightened the smile on my face and the interior of my home. It was such a simple and thoughtful gesture and it kicked the pants off of any bouquet that could have been purchased and brought home for me.
I'm one lucky girl to be a mom and a wife to such a fantastic bunch!
Friday, May 6, 2011
Ethan Hit a Home Run - I Am Serious!
Ethan plays baseball and loves it. The game ranks second only to video games which, unfortunately for us, can never be trumped. This is his last season in the Little League FARM division. For winterball he moves up to minors and openly admits he’s a little nervous. No more “instructional” ball. They play to win!
In FARM the kids are only allowed two bases on a hit even if errors would permit more. The exception is if the ball is hit hard enough and airborne only touching down in the grass of the outfield.
Ethan got his first career home run last night! He rounded on that ball, sent it sailing into left center, and took off running. After an exaggerated turn around first base, he raced down the base path beating the throw to home.
As his feet streaked across home plate his arms shot straight in the air in an excited victory pump. He jogged back to the dugout amidst the cheers and congratulatory back slapping of his teammates. This was a big day for him!
In FARM the kids are only allowed two bases on a hit even if errors would permit more. The exception is if the ball is hit hard enough and airborne only touching down in the grass of the outfield.
Ethan got his first career home run last night! He rounded on that ball, sent it sailing into left center, and took off running. After an exaggerated turn around first base, he raced down the base path beating the throw to home.
As his feet streaked across home plate his arms shot straight in the air in an excited victory pump. He jogged back to the dugout amidst the cheers and congratulatory back slapping of his teammates. This was a big day for him!
I have to apologize for the outdated picture. Not only was this one from last season (November 2010), but Ethan is pitching, not batting or running for home.
Maybe I need to take my camera more often??
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The Little Mommy
The boys were behaving in their normal, cooperative fashion, hitting and scratching one another. Ava, caught in the crossfire, attempted to defuse the bomb.
“Ethan, you need to apologize to Andrew!”
“No, he hit me first. Look, I’m bleeding!” Ethan shot back in anger whilst displaying a tiny bead of blood oozing from a scratch on his arm.
Ava crouched down to Andrew’s level and with her arm around him said, “Andrew, you need to tell Ethan ‘I’m sorry’ OK?”
“No!” he threw back in her face and continued to cower in the corner.
Ava turned to me, exasperated and declared, “Arg! It’s so hard being a mother!”
Yes, yes it is.
“Ethan, you need to apologize to Andrew!”
“No, he hit me first. Look, I’m bleeding!” Ethan shot back in anger whilst displaying a tiny bead of blood oozing from a scratch on his arm.
Ava crouched down to Andrew’s level and with her arm around him said, “Andrew, you need to tell Ethan ‘I’m sorry’ OK?”
“No!” he threw back in her face and continued to cower in the corner.
Ava turned to me, exasperated and declared, “Arg! It’s so hard being a mother!”
Yes, yes it is.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Faith Leads to Action
As women we are told many things to help improve our lives.
On the one hand we are directed to simplify our lives, to take time and to slow down.
On the other, we are asked to care for others, dropping everything to be there for them, and this doesn’t mean just our families.
How can we possibly do both? Life is full of contradiction and compromise.
I am pretty good at one of these directives, and then not so good at the other.
I crave simplicity. I actively look for ways to cut out distraction, to lessen activity, and not because I am lazy (though at times that may be true). I do it because we are a happier family if we are not running to and fro at a frantic pace.
I have to admit that because I am working towards doing less, adding more charitable work to my schedule seems a conflict of interest. Don’t get me wrong, 99% of the time, if you need me, I’ll do whatever it takes…but you have to ask. I’m not focused on seeking you out.
I know, I should be.
Lately, I feel as though I’m being pricked, poked into realizing that I need to grow and that there just might be a better way. I’ve noticed a greater sense of love for others and a stronger desire to help. I’ve felt a need to be charitable, to seek for opportunities to give service. I’ve watched others and have spent time contemplating how I could help and what they might need.
Last Sunday our Relief Society lesson was on Elder Eyring’s talk from conference, “Opportunities To Do Good.” And then I re-listened to that same talk while running last week.
I have felt that wake-up call to action. I know I can do so much more. I understand that this will take faith; faith to prioritize according as the Lord sees fit, not based on my list of to-do’s. It will take faith to ask Him every day in solemn prayer, what He would have me do.
One young woman bore her testimony today in Sacrament meeting about her opportunity to give service and then how she also gave a Book of Mormon as a gift. She said that the feelings she had were indescribable and confessed that “if this is what it feels like to serve a mission, why wouldn’t I want to go?”
And so I ask myself…
If reaching out to my fellowmen in the way the Lord would have me do would make me feel more fulfilled and bring me more joy than I could possibly hold in my heart, then why wouldn’t I do it?
On the one hand we are directed to simplify our lives, to take time and to slow down.
On the other, we are asked to care for others, dropping everything to be there for them, and this doesn’t mean just our families.
How can we possibly do both? Life is full of contradiction and compromise.
I am pretty good at one of these directives, and then not so good at the other.
I crave simplicity. I actively look for ways to cut out distraction, to lessen activity, and not because I am lazy (though at times that may be true). I do it because we are a happier family if we are not running to and fro at a frantic pace.
I have to admit that because I am working towards doing less, adding more charitable work to my schedule seems a conflict of interest. Don’t get me wrong, 99% of the time, if you need me, I’ll do whatever it takes…but you have to ask. I’m not focused on seeking you out.
I know, I should be.
Lately, I feel as though I’m being pricked, poked into realizing that I need to grow and that there just might be a better way. I’ve noticed a greater sense of love for others and a stronger desire to help. I’ve felt a need to be charitable, to seek for opportunities to give service. I’ve watched others and have spent time contemplating how I could help and what they might need.
Last Sunday our Relief Society lesson was on Elder Eyring’s talk from conference, “Opportunities To Do Good.” And then I re-listened to that same talk while running last week.
“Our Heavenly Father hears the prayers of His children across the earth pleading for food to eat, for clothes to cover their bodies, and for the dignity that would come from being able to provide for themselves. Those pleas have reached Him since He placed men and women on the earth.
You learn of those needs where you live and from across the world. Your heart is often stirred with feelings of sympathy. When you meet someone struggling to find employment, you feel that desire to help. You feel it when you go into the home of a widow and see that she has no food. You feel it when you see photographs of crying children sitting in the ruins of their home destroyed by an earthquake or by fire.
Because the Lord hears their cries and feels your deep compassion for them, He has from the beginning of time provided ways for His disciples to help. He has invited His children to consecrate their time, their means, and themselves to join with Him in serving others.”
I have felt that wake-up call to action. I know I can do so much more. I understand that this will take faith; faith to prioritize according as the Lord sees fit, not based on my list of to-do’s. It will take faith to ask Him every day in solemn prayer, what He would have me do.
One young woman bore her testimony today in Sacrament meeting about her opportunity to give service and then how she also gave a Book of Mormon as a gift. She said that the feelings she had were indescribable and confessed that “if this is what it feels like to serve a mission, why wouldn’t I want to go?”
And so I ask myself…
If reaching out to my fellowmen in the way the Lord would have me do would make me feel more fulfilled and bring me more joy than I could possibly hold in my heart, then why wouldn’t I do it?
Monday, April 25, 2011
Swings, Peach Blossoms, and a Kiss
It was 1980, I was six years old.
In all honesty, this could have been 1979 but because I remember a total of four things about my kindergarten school year; the smell of the paste, painting on the easels, naptime mats, and the miniature bathroom at the back of the classroom, I would venture to bet this memory stemmed from my first grade year.
My family was living in Downey, California just a couple of blocks from my grandparents. I didn’t realize it at the time, but our house was the exact same floor plan as theirs. Very small, two bedrooms, one bath, and a detached garage with a sizeable yard. We were a family of six.
Before and after school my mom would watch a boy my age that lived across the street from my grandparents. Timmy Ragsdale was my first memorable crush. The three of us, Dee (my brother), Timmy and I would play Star Wars which basically entailed calling out our chosen character and shouting a few choice lines depicting battle scenes while swinging wildly on the play set in the backyard. Dee was always Han Solo, I was, of course, Princess Leia, and Timmy would play the role of Luke Skywalker.
*Note – This was before the 1980 release of the Empire Strikes Back in which we discover that Luke and Leia are actually twins. What a twist! We were sure that in Star Wars that they were destined for each other?
One beautiful spring day, fate smiled on my innocent and sweet interest in this boy My siblings were sick so Timmy and I were sent over to my grandparent’s house to play...alone in the backyard.
Grandpa was quite the gardener and maintained a decent sized vegetable garden along with peach trees, a plum tree, and boysenberry bushes that mingled with the fragrant mint leaves. But the best part of the backyard was the tall rope swing attached to the giant oat tree. I spent many hours gliding back and forth on that swing. I learned to count to ten and then to ten again in Spanish while on that swing.
And it was here, on that swing, that I received my first kiss.
“What would you do if I kissed you right now?” Timmy asked with a mischievous edge to his voice.
I tried not to smile. I couldn’t let him know this was exactly what I wanted. “I would run away, fast!” I blurted out not wanting to be discovered.
And then I had to think. Would I really run? Of course I would. My mom had taught me that kissing was very bad and that I should not be thinking of such things. I was only six. What if she found out I had actually done it? What if she didn’t? Could I live with the guilt?
I sat quietly on the wooden plank seat of the swing digging my toe into the dirt of the worn path directly beneath me. My arms wrapped around the ropes, fingers locked together and full of tension.
Would Timmy Ragsdale really try to kiss me?
And then he was there, a gentle kiss placed on my burning red cheek. I didn’t move, I couldn’t breathe.
“You didn’t run,” he taunted as he pulled away.
He was right. What could I say? It had been as though time stopped and only he had the power to move through it.
And so, with a smile I did the only thing I could and pushed back launching the swing into the air, my hair blowing in the peach blossom sweetened breeze.
In that moment, a little piece of my emotional brain was forever imprinted with the memory of a little boy from the neighborhood, my first kiss.
In all honesty, this could have been 1979 but because I remember a total of four things about my kindergarten school year; the smell of the paste, painting on the easels, naptime mats, and the miniature bathroom at the back of the classroom, I would venture to bet this memory stemmed from my first grade year.
My family was living in Downey, California just a couple of blocks from my grandparents. I didn’t realize it at the time, but our house was the exact same floor plan as theirs. Very small, two bedrooms, one bath, and a detached garage with a sizeable yard. We were a family of six.
Before and after school my mom would watch a boy my age that lived across the street from my grandparents. Timmy Ragsdale was my first memorable crush. The three of us, Dee (my brother), Timmy and I would play Star Wars which basically entailed calling out our chosen character and shouting a few choice lines depicting battle scenes while swinging wildly on the play set in the backyard. Dee was always Han Solo, I was, of course, Princess Leia, and Timmy would play the role of Luke Skywalker.
*Note – This was before the 1980 release of the Empire Strikes Back in which we discover that Luke and Leia are actually twins. What a twist! We were sure that in Star Wars that they were destined for each other?
One beautiful spring day, fate smiled on my innocent and sweet interest in this boy My siblings were sick so Timmy and I were sent over to my grandparent’s house to play...alone in the backyard.
Grandpa was quite the gardener and maintained a decent sized vegetable garden along with peach trees, a plum tree, and boysenberry bushes that mingled with the fragrant mint leaves. But the best part of the backyard was the tall rope swing attached to the giant oat tree. I spent many hours gliding back and forth on that swing. I learned to count to ten and then to ten again in Spanish while on that swing.
And it was here, on that swing, that I received my first kiss.
“What would you do if I kissed you right now?” Timmy asked with a mischievous edge to his voice.
I tried not to smile. I couldn’t let him know this was exactly what I wanted. “I would run away, fast!” I blurted out not wanting to be discovered.
And then I had to think. Would I really run? Of course I would. My mom had taught me that kissing was very bad and that I should not be thinking of such things. I was only six. What if she found out I had actually done it? What if she didn’t? Could I live with the guilt?
I sat quietly on the wooden plank seat of the swing digging my toe into the dirt of the worn path directly beneath me. My arms wrapped around the ropes, fingers locked together and full of tension.
Would Timmy Ragsdale really try to kiss me?
And then he was there, a gentle kiss placed on my burning red cheek. I didn’t move, I couldn’t breathe.
“You didn’t run,” he taunted as he pulled away.
He was right. What could I say? It had been as though time stopped and only he had the power to move through it.
And so, with a smile I did the only thing I could and pushed back launching the swing into the air, my hair blowing in the peach blossom sweetened breeze.
In that moment, a little piece of my emotional brain was forever imprinted with the memory of a little boy from the neighborhood, my first kiss.
Monday, April 18, 2011
A Running Mind
There was a time, not too long ago, that if you suggested I do anything without music, I would have thought you crazy. Run (or even walk) without my Walkman? No way! Go to the beach without the ghetto blaster? I’d rather die!
But now, the music does nothing to occupy me, at least not when doing things I have a strong propensity to quit, like running. Now I absolutely require something to stimulate my mind and music just doesn’t cut it.
When I’m on the treadmill, I watch TV on my laptop. But today I began my morning at the completely dark hour of 5am.
Have I mentioned I’m not a morning person?
My overachieving friend has decided to take me on as a project and force me outside for my morning runs. We don’t really run together as she has 3 mile long legs and I’m about the size of her four year old daughter, and so my iPod is my lifesaver.
Guess what I’m listening to? No, not some upbeat club mix… I take my runs to the pleasant, if not sometimes monotone, words of the apostles. I’m listening to General Conference and my brain is stimulated. If I pay enough attention, I don’t notice how much I hate the pounding of the concrete or even how dark it is still at 5:40.
And by the time the hour has passed, I have killed two birds with one stone; physical and spiritual exercise.
So though I managed the early morning wake-up call today…I was exhausted by eleven. I’m pretty sure this gets easier but I relish the fact that tomorrow is a morning off. I’m sure I’ll be up by say, 7:45ish…
But now, the music does nothing to occupy me, at least not when doing things I have a strong propensity to quit, like running. Now I absolutely require something to stimulate my mind and music just doesn’t cut it.
When I’m on the treadmill, I watch TV on my laptop. But today I began my morning at the completely dark hour of 5am.
Have I mentioned I’m not a morning person?
My overachieving friend has decided to take me on as a project and force me outside for my morning runs. We don’t really run together as she has 3 mile long legs and I’m about the size of her four year old daughter, and so my iPod is my lifesaver.
Guess what I’m listening to? No, not some upbeat club mix… I take my runs to the pleasant, if not sometimes monotone, words of the apostles. I’m listening to General Conference and my brain is stimulated. If I pay enough attention, I don’t notice how much I hate the pounding of the concrete or even how dark it is still at 5:40.
And by the time the hour has passed, I have killed two birds with one stone; physical and spiritual exercise.
So though I managed the early morning wake-up call today…I was exhausted by eleven. I’m pretty sure this gets easier but I relish the fact that tomorrow is a morning off. I’m sure I’ll be up by say, 7:45ish…
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Conversations
I have a good friend down the street that I love to talk to. We talk about books, kids, parenting, whatever, and we keep the conversation going for hours, literally. Even though I head home feeling full and inspired, I also feel guilty. No one should suck up as much time as I do. I’ve really got to work on that…
Lately the topic we keep coming back to is religion and since she is a faithful Christian we have a lot in common, but then we also differ. I love diversity. Would I really like to have a whole bunch of “me” running around? No way, too much competition and chatter. I already feel the headache coming on!
I prefer to learn about other viewpoints, cultures, beliefs, ideas. It’s what fuels my own personal growth and what stimulates those quiet moments of meditation that cement and fortify my own passion and testimony. Plus, having the opportunity to share the “real” me…it’s pretty much priceless.
How much do I appreciate having someone not only willing to listen without prejudice, but also share so much of herself?
More than I could write and I use A LOT of words!
So thank you for the marathon Saturday night. As a result, church this morning was a pretty darn good follow-up!
Lately the topic we keep coming back to is religion and since she is a faithful Christian we have a lot in common, but then we also differ. I love diversity. Would I really like to have a whole bunch of “me” running around? No way, too much competition and chatter. I already feel the headache coming on!
I prefer to learn about other viewpoints, cultures, beliefs, ideas. It’s what fuels my own personal growth and what stimulates those quiet moments of meditation that cement and fortify my own passion and testimony. Plus, having the opportunity to share the “real” me…it’s pretty much priceless.
How much do I appreciate having someone not only willing to listen without prejudice, but also share so much of herself?
More than I could write and I use A LOT of words!
So thank you for the marathon Saturday night. As a result, church this morning was a pretty darn good follow-up!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
The Bishop
I don’t write about my husband much these days. I guess I never really have but it seems even harder now since we lead pretty separate lives. I think (?) we used to spend more time discussing our days together but with him playing the role of bishop, many of our conversations are one-sided. This is not good for me…I’m a terrible talker, so bad that the other side usually has to fight to get a word in. When the other side has nothing to say, or nothing they can say, I tend to run amuck.
I miss talking to him. I miss hearing about his responsibilities, his problems, (well, maybe not those so much), his victories. Now, there is a lot of radio silence, and really, that’s good too. He never messes with the confidentiality of things and our lives are better for it.
But I don’t give the man enough credit. I don’t sing his praises like I should. I think, sometimes, I don’t even realize what a diamond I have been blessed with.
Here is a guy who at the age of 29 meets this strange girl, joins her strange church, and then marries, hitching his future to hers for all eternity. You could decide that he did it all for me, but it wouldn’t be the truth. The reality of his commitment to the gospel and to the Savior, Jesus Christ, is evident in all that he does. It is most strongly manifest in his willingness to accept the call of a bishop and the countless hours of dedicated service he performs.
I was raised in the church. I watched my parents and grandparents serve in different capacities all of their lives. I, more or less, understood the importance and the responsibility we all carry to further the work of the Lord. Then just ten short years after becoming a member, Todd was called to be a bishop. This was utterly shocking to me and I could hardly believe that the Lord would want such a fledgling to take on this kind of responsibility. I was sure the stake president had the wrong guy.
But in that same moment of confusion and disbelief, I had the distinct impression that this call was for him. He needed to serve in this capacity to learn and to grow. My muddled brain could understand that and I could see the benefit for us and our future.
Here sat a man who knew very little other than what he saw working as executive secretary to the now former bishop. He lacked sufficient life experience. He didn’t have a strong gospel background and education, but what he did have made up for everything else. He had faith.
Todd had, and still has, the faith to know that the Lord will tutor him. He will use him in whatever way is needed for the people of this ward. He will guide and direct him and He will be there because this is His church, and these are His people. Todd doesn’t have to know all the answers; he doesn’t have to have a lifetime of experience because he has faith. This is Todd’s ace in his pocket. It is the fuel which allows him to perform at maximum capacity each day. It is everything.
I tease Todd about his dog-like loyalty, but this really is his best feature. I am in awe and feel constant gratitude for the man who showed me that you really can leave it all and change your life; embrace something new, and make it yours. I am thankful to this man that is still teaching me through his example what faith is and what it means to be constant and stalwart and brave.
I miss talking to him. I miss hearing about his responsibilities, his problems, (well, maybe not those so much), his victories. Now, there is a lot of radio silence, and really, that’s good too. He never messes with the confidentiality of things and our lives are better for it.
But I don’t give the man enough credit. I don’t sing his praises like I should. I think, sometimes, I don’t even realize what a diamond I have been blessed with.
Here is a guy who at the age of 29 meets this strange girl, joins her strange church, and then marries, hitching his future to hers for all eternity. You could decide that he did it all for me, but it wouldn’t be the truth. The reality of his commitment to the gospel and to the Savior, Jesus Christ, is evident in all that he does. It is most strongly manifest in his willingness to accept the call of a bishop and the countless hours of dedicated service he performs.
I was raised in the church. I watched my parents and grandparents serve in different capacities all of their lives. I, more or less, understood the importance and the responsibility we all carry to further the work of the Lord. Then just ten short years after becoming a member, Todd was called to be a bishop. This was utterly shocking to me and I could hardly believe that the Lord would want such a fledgling to take on this kind of responsibility. I was sure the stake president had the wrong guy.
But in that same moment of confusion and disbelief, I had the distinct impression that this call was for him. He needed to serve in this capacity to learn and to grow. My muddled brain could understand that and I could see the benefit for us and our future.
Here sat a man who knew very little other than what he saw working as executive secretary to the now former bishop. He lacked sufficient life experience. He didn’t have a strong gospel background and education, but what he did have made up for everything else. He had faith.
Todd had, and still has, the faith to know that the Lord will tutor him. He will use him in whatever way is needed for the people of this ward. He will guide and direct him and He will be there because this is His church, and these are His people. Todd doesn’t have to know all the answers; he doesn’t have to have a lifetime of experience because he has faith. This is Todd’s ace in his pocket. It is the fuel which allows him to perform at maximum capacity each day. It is everything.
I tease Todd about his dog-like loyalty, but this really is his best feature. I am in awe and feel constant gratitude for the man who showed me that you really can leave it all and change your life; embrace something new, and make it yours. I am thankful to this man that is still teaching me through his example what faith is and what it means to be constant and stalwart and brave.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The Importance of Names
As usual, this is way too long but sometimes I just can't help myself. The good thing is I will never know that you got bored and stopped reading...and really, I wouldn't blame you anyway.
How many times have you heard that giving service is the ticket to feeling better about your own life? Getting outside of yourself will lift and inspire you. This is a bona fide, absolute truth.
Well, I want to submit that remembering others will also raise your self-esteem and slowly begin to change your self-perception. And honestly, I think we all need a little of this now and again.
Back in high school (and earlier if you really want to go back) I was a shy kid. Not a painfully shy kid, but timid and reserved. I wasn’t courageous enough in my convictions to speak out and I wasn’t even sure of who I was. Life experience has taught me many things and much of that hadn’t happened yet.
And so I spent most of my time trying to hide in the background believing that if I stayed just below the radar, I would go unnoticed, and unnoticed was safe. The sad truth about this tactic is that being invisible also means missing out on many interesting opportunities, many more growth experiences, and it even hinders any significant achievement.
In the fall of 1992 I began attending Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. For a shy girl, a new town and a new school could have been very difficult, but I found that the larger crowd allowed me to blend and disappear even easier.
But here was the problem with my personality. Though I never felt pretty enough to get the appropriate attention, I never felt smart enough to rise to the top, and I didn’t have the confidence to make up for either of those deficiencies, I was a social person. I wanted and needed to have friends and after the first semester of my freshman year, I realized I didn’t want to blend.
And so, a wise bird whispered a little idea in my ear, and I ran with it. It was simple really. All I needed to do was remember a name, or many names, as the case may be.
Everything changed. For four months I had spent three to four nights a week going dancing; dancing at the Retrix, the weekend school dances, and the Galleria. I had met quite a few different people but did I remember a single one of their names? Did I even know who they were by the time the song had ended? Nope, in one ear and out the other.
And you know why? Why exactly did I forget their names? Well, simply put, I was too busy worrying about myself.
Boy walks over and asks me to dance.
Agreeing I follow him to the dance floor thinking, “Oh my gosh. He asked me to dance!”
The three golden questions are asked;
What is your name?
Where are you from?
What is your major?
And though I answer coherently and ask him the same questions back, the entire time I am thinking…
I hope I don’t have bad breath.
Did he notice the zit on my chin?
I think these jeans make me look too fat. He’s probably embarrassed to be dancing with me because that girl over there looks so much skinnier.
I wish I would have worn a cuter outfit.
This song is kind of long. I’m so uncomfortable.
And on, and on it would go. Was I ever thinking about him? Did I even recognize the fact that he had asked me and that point alone should have put at least a few of my fears to rest.
In the midst of all of these thoughts, I wasn’t processing anything he said and when the dance was over I virtually ran back to the safety of the throng of girls I came with…even if the boy was cute. I wouldn’t even remember his name.
You see, names had never been important to me. If I saw someone I knew, or had met previously, and I wasn’t absolutely positive they knew me, I would walk on by ignoring the fact that I saw them. How embarrassed would I be if I said hi and they didn’t recognize me? I would look like some kind of stalker…I would be humiliated.
But this new semester would be different. I realized that everyone wanted to be recognized and remembered. We all wanted to hear our own name and to feel important to someone.
So I began my transformation by remembering others, or at least their name. The “new” me would memorize each and every name; this solid memory came at the expense of hearing little else in the conversation that followed, but in the end, I knew their name.
The true magic happened later when we would run into each other again. The conversation would go something like this:
Me: “David! How are you! It’s been so long!”
David would, of course, not remember me. Who remembers anything from so brief a meeting?
David: “Uh…mmm, hi?”
Me (looking flabbergasted): “What? You don’t remember me? How could you forget? We played almost every day as little kids…the sandbox, the swings. Remember you fell off your bike and cried like a baby?”
David (clearly uncomfortable at this point): “Uh…”
Me: “Just kidding,” I would laugh but with a kind, inviting tone. “I actually met you at the dance probably three weeks ago.”
David: “Oh, I think I remember.”
He would be lying but would be clearly grateful he hadn’t forgotten someone of more importance.
Me: I would then extend my hand and reintroduce myself. “Hi, I’m Rebecca and you are David. It’s nice to meet you.”
David: “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too.”
This time it would be genuine and from that point on, we were friends. David would never forget me again, probably for fear of another episode of public ridicule. Eventually his friends would all become my friends as well, ever widening my circle of influence.
A really interesting thing happened through all of this…
When I spent my time and effort memorizing things about someone else, it stopped the relentless thoughts of doubt and self-deprecation. I lost myself in someone else. It was this simple act, the decision to “remember,” that changed my life.
Now, I’m not here to say that just recognizing someone is equal to serving him, but it’s a start. Sometimes a warm smile of recognition is all the service we need and this is universal whether you are fat or skinny, smart or challenged, rich or poor.
As a natural consequence, my self-esteem literally blossomed and now I look back on my years as a young adult with great fondness. I grew, I lived, I became who I am today through much of it and I realized that no matter how we look, we all feel the same on the inside. We all feel deficient in some way or another and though it manifests itself differently, that feeling is universal.
So, here’s your second absolute truth…well at least how I see it:
Remembering and recognizing someone else will do more for your self-esteem than pretty much anything else...and as a bonus, for those of you who are not so self-centered…it will completely lift and brighten their day as well.
How many times have you heard that giving service is the ticket to feeling better about your own life? Getting outside of yourself will lift and inspire you. This is a bona fide, absolute truth.
Well, I want to submit that remembering others will also raise your self-esteem and slowly begin to change your self-perception. And honestly, I think we all need a little of this now and again.
Back in high school (and earlier if you really want to go back) I was a shy kid. Not a painfully shy kid, but timid and reserved. I wasn’t courageous enough in my convictions to speak out and I wasn’t even sure of who I was. Life experience has taught me many things and much of that hadn’t happened yet.
And so I spent most of my time trying to hide in the background believing that if I stayed just below the radar, I would go unnoticed, and unnoticed was safe. The sad truth about this tactic is that being invisible also means missing out on many interesting opportunities, many more growth experiences, and it even hinders any significant achievement.
In the fall of 1992 I began attending Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. For a shy girl, a new town and a new school could have been very difficult, but I found that the larger crowd allowed me to blend and disappear even easier.
But here was the problem with my personality. Though I never felt pretty enough to get the appropriate attention, I never felt smart enough to rise to the top, and I didn’t have the confidence to make up for either of those deficiencies, I was a social person. I wanted and needed to have friends and after the first semester of my freshman year, I realized I didn’t want to blend.
And so, a wise bird whispered a little idea in my ear, and I ran with it. It was simple really. All I needed to do was remember a name, or many names, as the case may be.
Everything changed. For four months I had spent three to four nights a week going dancing; dancing at the Retrix, the weekend school dances, and the Galleria. I had met quite a few different people but did I remember a single one of their names? Did I even know who they were by the time the song had ended? Nope, in one ear and out the other.
And you know why? Why exactly did I forget their names? Well, simply put, I was too busy worrying about myself.
Boy walks over and asks me to dance.
Agreeing I follow him to the dance floor thinking, “Oh my gosh. He asked me to dance!”
The three golden questions are asked;
What is your name?
Where are you from?
What is your major?
And though I answer coherently and ask him the same questions back, the entire time I am thinking…
I hope I don’t have bad breath.
Did he notice the zit on my chin?
I think these jeans make me look too fat. He’s probably embarrassed to be dancing with me because that girl over there looks so much skinnier.
I wish I would have worn a cuter outfit.
This song is kind of long. I’m so uncomfortable.
And on, and on it would go. Was I ever thinking about him? Did I even recognize the fact that he had asked me and that point alone should have put at least a few of my fears to rest.
In the midst of all of these thoughts, I wasn’t processing anything he said and when the dance was over I virtually ran back to the safety of the throng of girls I came with…even if the boy was cute. I wouldn’t even remember his name.
You see, names had never been important to me. If I saw someone I knew, or had met previously, and I wasn’t absolutely positive they knew me, I would walk on by ignoring the fact that I saw them. How embarrassed would I be if I said hi and they didn’t recognize me? I would look like some kind of stalker…I would be humiliated.
But this new semester would be different. I realized that everyone wanted to be recognized and remembered. We all wanted to hear our own name and to feel important to someone.
So I began my transformation by remembering others, or at least their name. The “new” me would memorize each and every name; this solid memory came at the expense of hearing little else in the conversation that followed, but in the end, I knew their name.
The true magic happened later when we would run into each other again. The conversation would go something like this:
Me: “David! How are you! It’s been so long!”
David would, of course, not remember me. Who remembers anything from so brief a meeting?
David: “Uh…mmm, hi?”
Me (looking flabbergasted): “What? You don’t remember me? How could you forget? We played almost every day as little kids…the sandbox, the swings. Remember you fell off your bike and cried like a baby?”
David (clearly uncomfortable at this point): “Uh…”
Me: “Just kidding,” I would laugh but with a kind, inviting tone. “I actually met you at the dance probably three weeks ago.”
David: “Oh, I think I remember.”
He would be lying but would be clearly grateful he hadn’t forgotten someone of more importance.
Me: I would then extend my hand and reintroduce myself. “Hi, I’m Rebecca and you are David. It’s nice to meet you.”
David: “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too.”
This time it would be genuine and from that point on, we were friends. David would never forget me again, probably for fear of another episode of public ridicule. Eventually his friends would all become my friends as well, ever widening my circle of influence.
A really interesting thing happened through all of this…
When I spent my time and effort memorizing things about someone else, it stopped the relentless thoughts of doubt and self-deprecation. I lost myself in someone else. It was this simple act, the decision to “remember,” that changed my life.
Now, I’m not here to say that just recognizing someone is equal to serving him, but it’s a start. Sometimes a warm smile of recognition is all the service we need and this is universal whether you are fat or skinny, smart or challenged, rich or poor.
As a natural consequence, my self-esteem literally blossomed and now I look back on my years as a young adult with great fondness. I grew, I lived, I became who I am today through much of it and I realized that no matter how we look, we all feel the same on the inside. We all feel deficient in some way or another and though it manifests itself differently, that feeling is universal.
So, here’s your second absolute truth…well at least how I see it:
Remembering and recognizing someone else will do more for your self-esteem than pretty much anything else...and as a bonus, for those of you who are not so self-centered…it will completely lift and brighten their day as well.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Mambaaaa
We’ve been watching a lot of Megamind so the following “toilet” snippet should come as no surprise…
“Andrew, are you done yet?” Todd asked while standing by for wipe duty.
With his little face turning red and a hint of strain in his voice Andrew replied, “Not. Yet.”
A moment later, he looks up, gripping the edge of the toilet seat and says, “Bring on the Black Mambaaaaaaaaaaaaa.”
Plop.
-Man, what will I talk about after the potty humor goes away?
“Andrew, are you done yet?” Todd asked while standing by for wipe duty.
With his little face turning red and a hint of strain in his voice Andrew replied, “Not. Yet.”
A moment later, he looks up, gripping the edge of the toilet seat and says, “Bring on the Black Mambaaaaaaaaaaaaa.”
Plop.
-Man, what will I talk about after the potty humor goes away?
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Gorillas
Today we took a trip to the LA Zoo.
The gorillas were probably the most noteworthy of the habitats. I chanced upon an educator/zookeeper who spent about 15 minutes telling me some of the more intriguing characteristics of the residents, like for instance:
Did you know that gorillas see direct eye contact as threatening? It seems that their zookeepers have mastered the habit of avoiding this issue as this girl almost never looked anywhere near my face the entire time we spoke. I found it really odd, until she brought up this point. It must be hard to differentiate between gorilla and human after so long!
There is usually one male per three or four females. Here in LA they had four females and three males, though the other two (non-alphas) were kept in a separate but attached habitat. They were still young so I guess it is totally ok for them to be without any women. If we could, I bet we’d do the same thing with our young men.
The gorillas like it relatively quiet and I can totally get on board with that. When it gets too loud, they sometimes slink off to the back of their territory where no one can see them, or Kelly (the dominant male) has been known to throw things at loud onlookers…i.e. his poo. You can bet this was Ethan’s favorite story of the day!
Kelly has a six year old daughter, Glenda, that he and Rapunzel (the mom) spoil pretty badly. Though her mom is attempting to wean her, Glenda still insists on continuing to breastfeed at least once a week. This was dang obvious when I saw the poor mother’s milk ducts hanging like unfortunate deflated balloons. It happens to all of us, but after six years – yeah, you could tell!
The “baby” tends to steal food and then hides out just under the electrical fence; she’s just barely small enough. But dad tries to be a just and equitable leader and comes right over, ripping her out of her hiding spot and promptly confiscating the stolen goods.
I guess food pillaging is a common theme “out in the wild.” The new female they brought in for Kelly (he needed a little loving since Rapunzel is still preoccupied with his daughter and the older, 35-year old female, Evelyn, won’t have anything to do with him – her heart is elsewhere chasing after a slightly hairy zookeeper – but that’s an entirely different story all together) is pretty much a fatty with no desire to change. She and Kelly have not “connected” yet but she’s become very adept at thieving much of the allotted food and hiding it away for herself. The keepers have been trying to enforce a diet but she’s not giving up the bon-bons.
All in all, the gorilla family dynamic wasn’t all that unfamiliar…well aside from the poo flinging. Thankfully we don’t have an issue with this in our family, though I would be willing to bet that we’d have fewer problems with loud unnecessary noise if this tactic was ever tried.
The gorillas were probably the most noteworthy of the habitats. I chanced upon an educator/zookeeper who spent about 15 minutes telling me some of the more intriguing characteristics of the residents, like for instance:
Did you know that gorillas see direct eye contact as threatening? It seems that their zookeepers have mastered the habit of avoiding this issue as this girl almost never looked anywhere near my face the entire time we spoke. I found it really odd, until she brought up this point. It must be hard to differentiate between gorilla and human after so long!
There is usually one male per three or four females. Here in LA they had four females and three males, though the other two (non-alphas) were kept in a separate but attached habitat. They were still young so I guess it is totally ok for them to be without any women. If we could, I bet we’d do the same thing with our young men.
The gorillas like it relatively quiet and I can totally get on board with that. When it gets too loud, they sometimes slink off to the back of their territory where no one can see them, or Kelly (the dominant male) has been known to throw things at loud onlookers…i.e. his poo. You can bet this was Ethan’s favorite story of the day!
Kelly has a six year old daughter, Glenda, that he and Rapunzel (the mom) spoil pretty badly. Though her mom is attempting to wean her, Glenda still insists on continuing to breastfeed at least once a week. This was dang obvious when I saw the poor mother’s milk ducts hanging like unfortunate deflated balloons. It happens to all of us, but after six years – yeah, you could tell!
The “baby” tends to steal food and then hides out just under the electrical fence; she’s just barely small enough. But dad tries to be a just and equitable leader and comes right over, ripping her out of her hiding spot and promptly confiscating the stolen goods.
I guess food pillaging is a common theme “out in the wild.” The new female they brought in for Kelly (he needed a little loving since Rapunzel is still preoccupied with his daughter and the older, 35-year old female, Evelyn, won’t have anything to do with him – her heart is elsewhere chasing after a slightly hairy zookeeper – but that’s an entirely different story all together) is pretty much a fatty with no desire to change. She and Kelly have not “connected” yet but she’s become very adept at thieving much of the allotted food and hiding it away for herself. The keepers have been trying to enforce a diet but she’s not giving up the bon-bons.
All in all, the gorilla family dynamic wasn’t all that unfamiliar…well aside from the poo flinging. Thankfully we don’t have an issue with this in our family, though I would be willing to bet that we’d have fewer problems with loud unnecessary noise if this tactic was ever tried.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
A Totally Unsolicited Book Review
I am in love with Matt Gibson. Yes, you did read that right and no, my husband should have no problem with that considering the fact that Matt is fictional and the girl he is in love with is named Ashley, not Rebecca.
I don’t read a lot of chick lit and I read even less “Mormon” fiction but I loved every minute of “The List” written by Melanie Jacobson. I especially loved the fact that I could intuit what was coming and I could hardly stand not to skip ahead. There were points where my chest hurt, my heart beating with pain because in those moments, I was Ashley, and sometimes it broke me.
Now, this was not the greatest work of fiction ever written, and reading it hasn’t changed me in any fantastic and noticeable way, but these are things that Melanie would openly admit about the book herself. Why did I love it so? Why I am having a hard time coming down from my romantic high?
Maybe it was because the main character, Ashley, was drawn out so well. She and I share so many commonalities.
Let’s have a look:
Ashley feels that getting married young is akin to death.
(ok, she may not have been so dramatic…)
As a result of this belief, she keeps everyone at arm’s length with her witty and somewhat sarcastic style of flirting.
Marriage wasn’t at the top of my list either and it wasn’t until I was 26 that I finally married.
(Yes, I do realize this was not old but pretty much everyone else I knew had already taken the plunge)
I interacted with the opposite sex in much the same way that Ashley does, using my quick thinking and joking banter as really the only hook I had.
I had goals, I was fiercely independent and would rather die than be squashed by a dominant male. And so, in this character, I was reliving so much of who I was for so long.
I waited tables for my income, spent my summers at the beach, my winters at BYU. I ran down to the “Beachside” singles ward whenever I got a chance because I didn’t like the smallness of my home singles ward (sound familiar) and besides there was a much larger selection in Orange County.
I could pretty much pick out exactly which house was Matt’s, from the personal experience of being there for the barbeques myself (I wonder if Melanie was there too?). I knew his board shop, all of the places they went, the church building, even the restaurant in Riverside.
But here’s where we differ:
I would have never had the guts to set my sights on the “Top Dog.” I was self-confident but the hoard of blonde girls she describes, were far too intimidating for me. Unless I was somehow lucky enough to get the “Top Dog” alone, this would have never happened.
I loved to try new things but because me and swim suits/wetsuits never mixed, I would not have had “learn to surf” on my list…though after reading this at the beach yesterday, I am seriously reconsidering.
Back in my single days, I saw myself as relatively witty and able to hook a man based on my conversation skills alone.
(If you know me well and would beg to differ, please don’t crush my fondest memories with the embarrassing realities – I do enjoy a bit of fantasy)
But Ashley is far more skilled than I ever was. She says less when I would probably say too much. She’s quick but kind in her banter, where my “love bites” might have been a bit more sarcastic and painful. She has it all over me but somehow I still feel like we are soul sisters.
And last, but not least, Ashley still seems to have a hard time admitting her own guilt in the “game” part of the whole relationship thing. I tend to be quick to own up to my decisions, good or bad. And I would have totally felt the need to explain it…see, always saying too much.
Oh yeah, and I would have honestly thrown out the list long ago if I had someone like Matt in my clutches, because, let’s face it, I’m not nearly as stubborn or driven.
So now, it’s over. I’ve closed the book on the last page and I kind of miss it. It’s sort of like the end of summer and all I want to do is go back to the beach. Why can’t I go live in some little happily ever after with Matt and Ashley? I would promise to be good…
On a side note: A huge thanks to Melanie for unknowingly writing something so close to my memories and for being incredibly skilled in the area of dialogue. I have been hashing out my own personal story on paper for a long time and for me, writing dialogue comes much slower than many other skills. Your book was a huge reminder of my own conversations and how translating that onto paper can really make your reader fall in love with and relate to your characters. I’ll be using this book as a “how to” text in the near future.
I don’t read a lot of chick lit and I read even less “Mormon” fiction but I loved every minute of “The List” written by Melanie Jacobson. I especially loved the fact that I could intuit what was coming and I could hardly stand not to skip ahead. There were points where my chest hurt, my heart beating with pain because in those moments, I was Ashley, and sometimes it broke me.
Now, this was not the greatest work of fiction ever written, and reading it hasn’t changed me in any fantastic and noticeable way, but these are things that Melanie would openly admit about the book herself. Why did I love it so? Why I am having a hard time coming down from my romantic high?
Maybe it was because the main character, Ashley, was drawn out so well. She and I share so many commonalities.
Let’s have a look:
Ashley feels that getting married young is akin to death.
(ok, she may not have been so dramatic…)
As a result of this belief, she keeps everyone at arm’s length with her witty and somewhat sarcastic style of flirting.
Marriage wasn’t at the top of my list either and it wasn’t until I was 26 that I finally married.
(Yes, I do realize this was not old but pretty much everyone else I knew had already taken the plunge)
I interacted with the opposite sex in much the same way that Ashley does, using my quick thinking and joking banter as really the only hook I had.
I had goals, I was fiercely independent and would rather die than be squashed by a dominant male. And so, in this character, I was reliving so much of who I was for so long.
I waited tables for my income, spent my summers at the beach, my winters at BYU. I ran down to the “Beachside” singles ward whenever I got a chance because I didn’t like the smallness of my home singles ward (sound familiar) and besides there was a much larger selection in Orange County.
I could pretty much pick out exactly which house was Matt’s, from the personal experience of being there for the barbeques myself (I wonder if Melanie was there too?). I knew his board shop, all of the places they went, the church building, even the restaurant in Riverside.
But here’s where we differ:
I would have never had the guts to set my sights on the “Top Dog.” I was self-confident but the hoard of blonde girls she describes, were far too intimidating for me. Unless I was somehow lucky enough to get the “Top Dog” alone, this would have never happened.
I loved to try new things but because me and swim suits/wetsuits never mixed, I would not have had “learn to surf” on my list…though after reading this at the beach yesterday, I am seriously reconsidering.
Back in my single days, I saw myself as relatively witty and able to hook a man based on my conversation skills alone.
(If you know me well and would beg to differ, please don’t crush my fondest memories with the embarrassing realities – I do enjoy a bit of fantasy)
But Ashley is far more skilled than I ever was. She says less when I would probably say too much. She’s quick but kind in her banter, where my “love bites” might have been a bit more sarcastic and painful. She has it all over me but somehow I still feel like we are soul sisters.
And last, but not least, Ashley still seems to have a hard time admitting her own guilt in the “game” part of the whole relationship thing. I tend to be quick to own up to my decisions, good or bad. And I would have totally felt the need to explain it…see, always saying too much.
Oh yeah, and I would have honestly thrown out the list long ago if I had someone like Matt in my clutches, because, let’s face it, I’m not nearly as stubborn or driven.
So now, it’s over. I’ve closed the book on the last page and I kind of miss it. It’s sort of like the end of summer and all I want to do is go back to the beach. Why can’t I go live in some little happily ever after with Matt and Ashley? I would promise to be good…
On a side note: A huge thanks to Melanie for unknowingly writing something so close to my memories and for being incredibly skilled in the area of dialogue. I have been hashing out my own personal story on paper for a long time and for me, writing dialogue comes much slower than many other skills. Your book was a huge reminder of my own conversations and how translating that onto paper can really make your reader fall in love with and relate to your characters. I’ll be using this book as a “how to” text in the near future.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Expressing Gratitude
We serve in many capacities for years in callings and in life, and most of the time our efforts go unheralded. Most of the time I don’t even expect kudos for a job well done because I’m too painfully aware of my many shortcomings…we really focus too much on these! I just keeping pressing forward, hoping that those shortcomings don’t affect anyone too adversely.
The other day I received an extra special comment that showed me the value of gratitude, even for an old-grumpy who thinks she doesn’t need it, like me.
It came from a time when I thought, in retrospect, everything I did was probably wrong. I was doing my best, but I was immature and naïve.
I wonder if that ever goes away?
I didn’t always know what needed to be done and I’m pretty sure I consistently focused on the wrong, or less important, aspects. But I learned, a lot, and hopefully grew up some.
When I read this comment I felt validated and grateful to have been a part of someone’s life, and that somehow all the mistakes were worthwhile. Someone noticed my efforts and that’s all we can really give.
And then I started thinking…how many times do we let others go unnoticed? Who have I not expressed my thanks to? Who have I benefited from and yet, have allowed their efforts to slip into oblivion; my gratitude never given a voice? How many times have I thanked my Father in Heaven for someone’s healing hand, but never told them personally?
They need to hear it too, just like I did.
Thank you, Kina, for reminding me of the blessed virtue of gratitude and its importance in all of our lives.
The other day I received an extra special comment that showed me the value of gratitude, even for an old-grumpy who thinks she doesn’t need it, like me.
It came from a time when I thought, in retrospect, everything I did was probably wrong. I was doing my best, but I was immature and naïve.
I wonder if that ever goes away?
I didn’t always know what needed to be done and I’m pretty sure I consistently focused on the wrong, or less important, aspects. But I learned, a lot, and hopefully grew up some.
When I read this comment I felt validated and grateful to have been a part of someone’s life, and that somehow all the mistakes were worthwhile. Someone noticed my efforts and that’s all we can really give.
And then I started thinking…how many times do we let others go unnoticed? Who have I not expressed my thanks to? Who have I benefited from and yet, have allowed their efforts to slip into oblivion; my gratitude never given a voice? How many times have I thanked my Father in Heaven for someone’s healing hand, but never told them personally?
They need to hear it too, just like I did.
Thank you, Kina, for reminding me of the blessed virtue of gratitude and its importance in all of our lives.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Defective Ducts
I have defective tear ducts.
Honestly.
I get that it is important to make tears to moisten your eyes, to clear out dirt and debris, and I’m sure there is another really good purpose. I understand that tears come naturally when you are crying your eyes out in grief, extreme joy, and maybe even during intense anger or pain.
But why do tears insist on making an appearance during the curtain call of a middle school production of The Wizard of Oz?
Yes, you read it right. There they were, the cast of teenage players, all lined up with the crowd clapping madly; and suddenly my eyes are morphing into a glassy shade of red, the wetness filling the inside corners.
I could excuse myself if I had a daughter or son in the play, someone I had watched struggle and triumph over their stage freight, or witnessed them putting in the countless hours to learn their lines perfectly. Yes, my emotions would be right there with them, cheering (or tearing, as it were) them on, celebrating their victory.
But not knowing their individual struggles, I was sitting there imagining myself in their place, knowing how difficult it would have been for me; for I would have never had the guts to perform anything. I would have never even tried.
I teared up thinking about these brave young souls, pushing themselves to limits they didn’t even know they could reach. I watched proudly, I was in awe, because to me, this was greatness.
And as is true with anything great…my tears insist on being a part of it all.
Hannah, you were beautiful, gracious, and sugar sweet; everything the Good Witch Glinda should be!
Honestly.
I get that it is important to make tears to moisten your eyes, to clear out dirt and debris, and I’m sure there is another really good purpose. I understand that tears come naturally when you are crying your eyes out in grief, extreme joy, and maybe even during intense anger or pain.
But why do tears insist on making an appearance during the curtain call of a middle school production of The Wizard of Oz?
Yes, you read it right. There they were, the cast of teenage players, all lined up with the crowd clapping madly; and suddenly my eyes are morphing into a glassy shade of red, the wetness filling the inside corners.
I could excuse myself if I had a daughter or son in the play, someone I had watched struggle and triumph over their stage freight, or witnessed them putting in the countless hours to learn their lines perfectly. Yes, my emotions would be right there with them, cheering (or tearing, as it were) them on, celebrating their victory.
But not knowing their individual struggles, I was sitting there imagining myself in their place, knowing how difficult it would have been for me; for I would have never had the guts to perform anything. I would have never even tried.
I teared up thinking about these brave young souls, pushing themselves to limits they didn’t even know they could reach. I watched proudly, I was in awe, because to me, this was greatness.
And as is true with anything great…my tears insist on being a part of it all.
Hannah, you were beautiful, gracious, and sugar sweet; everything the Good Witch Glinda should be!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
37
Andrew: “Mom! Mom! Look in the mirror. Your butt is so fat in the mirror!”
And then he proceeded to give me a few open-handed smacks…it is my birthday after all!
Today I am 37.
Yes, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me! I am right, smack in the middle of my late 30’s, but my brain still tells me I’m 24. I don’t know why 24, it’s just the year that stuck. Was I having more fun then? Maybe…
But the funny thing, ok, maybe not funny; the weird thing about that is I LOVE the 30’s. My 30’s have given me this wonderful sense of stability and self-confidence that has totally taken the place of the roller coaster emotions and uncertainty that riddled my twenties. I didn’t know myself nearly as well as I feel I do now. I’ve never felt quite as brave, self-assured, or capable as I do currently. I no longer feel I need the approval of others, though sometimes this does help. I don’t feel like I need to please everyone, and I think I’m better for it. I am comfortable with who I am.
My 30’s have even blessed me with a decent dose of wisdom and because I think I’ve always been wise (at the time…but not so much in retrospect), I can only imagine how much more I stand to gain in my 40’s!
I am not embarrassed to admit my age, I don’t hide or excuse it and I can’t imagine that I ever will (If this is somehow not true, don’t tell me. I need a little fantasy). I am proud to have lasted 37 years. I am grateful for each and every one of them. And someday, if I live long enough, like say 37 million years, I’m bound to reach perfection! Right?
And then he proceeded to give me a few open-handed smacks…it is my birthday after all!
Today I am 37.
Yes, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me! I am right, smack in the middle of my late 30’s, but my brain still tells me I’m 24. I don’t know why 24, it’s just the year that stuck. Was I having more fun then? Maybe…
But the funny thing, ok, maybe not funny; the weird thing about that is I LOVE the 30’s. My 30’s have given me this wonderful sense of stability and self-confidence that has totally taken the place of the roller coaster emotions and uncertainty that riddled my twenties. I didn’t know myself nearly as well as I feel I do now. I’ve never felt quite as brave, self-assured, or capable as I do currently. I no longer feel I need the approval of others, though sometimes this does help. I don’t feel like I need to please everyone, and I think I’m better for it. I am comfortable with who I am.
My 30’s have even blessed me with a decent dose of wisdom and because I think I’ve always been wise (at the time…but not so much in retrospect), I can only imagine how much more I stand to gain in my 40’s!
I am not embarrassed to admit my age, I don’t hide or excuse it and I can’t imagine that I ever will (If this is somehow not true, don’t tell me. I need a little fantasy). I am proud to have lasted 37 years. I am grateful for each and every one of them. And someday, if I live long enough, like say 37 million years, I’m bound to reach perfection! Right?
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Powerful Words
written February 8, 2011
I recently took a parenting class. We were told that at this age (approx. 3-5 years) kids do not understand lying and that whatever they make up, they believe is true. They believe in the power of words and so if they say it, it will actually happen.
Well, Andrew spent this morning stamping a red ink “smiley sun” on the bathroom door. When I confronted him about it, he claimed that he did not do it but rather a ghost held his hand and stamped the door.
A ghost? This was no surprise to me that it was a ghost of all things that forced this naughty deed – apparently there are ghosts everywhere in my house at all hours of the day and night. It’s a wonder anyone gets any sleep for fear of being overrun!
Did he believe a ghost had made him do it? Absolutely. You could feel his surety. Did I call him a liar? Nope, I just asked that he help clean it up and to let the ghosts know that there would be no more stamping on anything besides paper.
He promptly turned around and scolded the air.
I recently took a parenting class. We were told that at this age (approx. 3-5 years) kids do not understand lying and that whatever they make up, they believe is true. They believe in the power of words and so if they say it, it will actually happen.
Well, Andrew spent this morning stamping a red ink “smiley sun” on the bathroom door. When I confronted him about it, he claimed that he did not do it but rather a ghost held his hand and stamped the door.
A ghost? This was no surprise to me that it was a ghost of all things that forced this naughty deed – apparently there are ghosts everywhere in my house at all hours of the day and night. It’s a wonder anyone gets any sleep for fear of being overrun!
Did he believe a ghost had made him do it? Absolutely. You could feel his surety. Did I call him a liar? Nope, I just asked that he help clean it up and to let the ghosts know that there would be no more stamping on anything besides paper.
He promptly turned around and scolded the air.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Public and Private Lives
A couple of days ago I wrote a post about a pretty big happening here at my house, but the story wasn't mine. I posted it, right here on my public blog (I keep a private blog with all of my journal entries and this public one for when I want to share). As I prepared to go to bed, I felt extremely unsettled, like things were not ok. I kept remembering a time when I listened to a lady in church share her daughter’s sins during Sunday School. Her daughter was 16 and it was a terrible tragedy that her mother would treat her private stories as though they were the simple potty-training issues of a three year old. I vowed I would always remember that instance and never betray my child’s confidence in that way.
So, was the post a betrayal? I wasn’t sure. It was my daughter's story and she is only six, just a step beyond the toddler years, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it just shouldn’t be displayed here. After crawling into bed, and after considering the fact that I did pray for guidance on this issue, and maybe, just maybe I shouldn’t be ignoring this feeling…I got up, turned my computer on again, and deleted the post. For memories sake, it’s great to have; for online entertainment, not so much.
Today as I read a few of my past journal entries to my kids, the ones that had to do with them, I was surprised at their reactions. Ava did not want to hear hers…not the one about that day anyway. Andrew LOVED hearing all of his, and Ethan got teary eyed when I read one about him from Valentine’s Day. He was embarrassed that his siblings heard it, even though they were there for the whole thing. Boy was I grateful I hadn’t posted that one publicly!
Yes, it was a wise and loving Heavenly Father that sent His Holy Spirit to inspire me to do what was right for His children. They are getting older, and though I love to write about them, what I write and share needs to be about me…not their private lives.
It was interesting that something so small was really a rather large lesson in growth for me. I was being tempered and tested as to whether I would accept guidance and correction when it was offered. I desire so much to have that direction in my life and the only way I'm going to benefit, is if I am willing to listen. I’m grateful to have taken that first step toward maturity and to have had the wisdom to recognize from whence it came.
So, was the post a betrayal? I wasn’t sure. It was my daughter's story and she is only six, just a step beyond the toddler years, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it just shouldn’t be displayed here. After crawling into bed, and after considering the fact that I did pray for guidance on this issue, and maybe, just maybe I shouldn’t be ignoring this feeling…I got up, turned my computer on again, and deleted the post. For memories sake, it’s great to have; for online entertainment, not so much.
Today as I read a few of my past journal entries to my kids, the ones that had to do with them, I was surprised at their reactions. Ava did not want to hear hers…not the one about that day anyway. Andrew LOVED hearing all of his, and Ethan got teary eyed when I read one about him from Valentine’s Day. He was embarrassed that his siblings heard it, even though they were there for the whole thing. Boy was I grateful I hadn’t posted that one publicly!
Yes, it was a wise and loving Heavenly Father that sent His Holy Spirit to inspire me to do what was right for His children. They are getting older, and though I love to write about them, what I write and share needs to be about me…not their private lives.
It was interesting that something so small was really a rather large lesson in growth for me. I was being tempered and tested as to whether I would accept guidance and correction when it was offered. I desire so much to have that direction in my life and the only way I'm going to benefit, is if I am willing to listen. I’m grateful to have taken that first step toward maturity and to have had the wisdom to recognize from whence it came.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Springing Forth
As a kid, my favorite season was always summer; the sun, the beach, endless playtime and, of course, no school. As a mom, my perspective has changed and so has my favorite time of the year.
I LOVE spring!
It was just a short time ago that I was in the back yard mowing the lawn. The grass was thin and tinged with brown. Nothing was really growing except for the area directly beneath the trampoline (who knew it would be such a greenhouse!), and I was wondering what kind of muscle and money was going to be needed to get it back into shape.
Fast forward two weeks and the lawn has never looked better. This may be a slight exaggeration but the whole thing is seriously green and growing beautifully! It’s almost a miracle, one that happens every March, and each time I am amazed.
Back in December I planted, on a whim, some spring bulbs I bought along with the groceries at Costco. I had big plans for them but by the time I actually got around to putting them in the ground, the plans went out the window and the small globs of dirt and root were buried in the front planter rather haphazardly. There aren’t nearly enough of them to make a bold statement but it sure didn’t dampen my spirits to watch the beautiful little tulips (and some other flower I can't name) suddenly springing forth. It makes my heart happy to see them every time I come in and out of the house. I bet with just a small bit of effort, I could have something interesting growing at all times in that space.
Will I ever expend the effort? I don’t know, but something about spring rejuvenates me and makes me feel like I can take on the world…growing one small thing at a time. Does this mean I might get my garden planted after all?
Monday, March 21, 2011
Laundry & TV
Mondays are not big, exciting days around here. I typically stay home and do the laundry. But, I have to admit, I really love this kind of no pressure, “ease into the week” day; and because it was raining off and on, it was even more enjoyable just hanging out in my sweat pants. Even tonight was relaxing. Baseball was canceled and so we enjoyed an early and easy Family Night together. I was even able to fold and put away all of the clothes by 9pm (this was a miracle all by itself).
But the real reason I love Mondays and laundry days…I get to watch TV. About 6 months or more ago, we canceled our cable and pretty much did away with TV all together. But there is this little known thing called Internet TV that still captures much of what I want to watch. I’m even able to cue everything just like I did on my DVR, but on Hulu.
Since I kicked the real TV habit, I have not found the time to watch except for Monday nights while I fold laundry and when I’m running on the treadmill. It is incredibly hard to believe that I used to watch about an hour or two every night! How did I get anything done and how was I ever ok with wasting that much time?
I guess TV is a hard habit to completely break because I have some real incentive to put in a few extra miles more often and I truly enjoy my quiet clothes folding time. So is TV all bad? I don’t know, maybe, but if my body is getting worked a little harder and I’m actually enjoying household labor, it can’t be completely ruled out.
Tonight I got caught up on this season’s The Amazing Race. If there was ever a reality show I would sign up for, this would be it. Racing my way around the world solving puzzles and completing challenges…now that is my kind of fun! I am well aware, however, that I could never take my husband with me. We would be headed straight for divorce court after this kind of competition. It’s hard to imagine that he wouldn’t want to be with me. I’m difficult, stubborn, controlling and bossy, but I’m determined and quick so we’d be a shoe-in to win.
Anyone else want to sign-up?
But the real reason I love Mondays and laundry days…I get to watch TV. About 6 months or more ago, we canceled our cable and pretty much did away with TV all together. But there is this little known thing called Internet TV that still captures much of what I want to watch. I’m even able to cue everything just like I did on my DVR, but on Hulu.
Since I kicked the real TV habit, I have not found the time to watch except for Monday nights while I fold laundry and when I’m running on the treadmill. It is incredibly hard to believe that I used to watch about an hour or two every night! How did I get anything done and how was I ever ok with wasting that much time?
I guess TV is a hard habit to completely break because I have some real incentive to put in a few extra miles more often and I truly enjoy my quiet clothes folding time. So is TV all bad? I don’t know, maybe, but if my body is getting worked a little harder and I’m actually enjoying household labor, it can’t be completely ruled out.
Tonight I got caught up on this season’s The Amazing Race. If there was ever a reality show I would sign up for, this would be it. Racing my way around the world solving puzzles and completing challenges…now that is my kind of fun! I am well aware, however, that I could never take my husband with me. We would be headed straight for divorce court after this kind of competition. It’s hard to imagine that he wouldn’t want to be with me. I’m difficult, stubborn, controlling and bossy, but I’m determined and quick so we’d be a shoe-in to win.
Anyone else want to sign-up?
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Kissing the Princess
Andrew has always loved princesses. He loves the movies, the stories, and he doesn’t even mind dressing up with the girls. Anywhere we go that resembles a castle turret of sorts (ie. Disneyland, Benedict Castle, the small tower-like structure on Mt. Rubidoux), he is convinced there is a damsel in distress that needs to be rescued and he’s just the man to do it.
He’s even begun calling one of the little girls in his sunbeam class “Princess.”
Friday night, at the wedding reception, he told us that the princess (or the bride) was going to say to him, “I want to kiss you.” And then he would say, “Yes.” He went about telling others that he would not be kissing her on the cheek or the nose; he was going straight for the lips.
Then Saturday night at the Eagle Court of Honor we attended, he spotted the only other 3 year old in the room and insisted on sitting at the table next to the “princess,” so he could talk to her of course. The night went on and he kept looking for a way to get her attention. Eventually he offered her a small handful of M&M’s and then went so far as to give her and her little sister a balloon each saving only one for himself.
He continually talks about kissing girls, he rewinds TV shows over and over to watch the one girl he has picked out as the one he “likes a lot.” It’s cute sometimes, it’s downright hilarious at others, but really I find this advanced maturity a little scary. My desperate, pleading prayer is that this phase ends by the time he is eight and doesn’t return until the age of 22. I suppose I shouldn’t hold my breath…
He’s even begun calling one of the little girls in his sunbeam class “Princess.”
Friday night, at the wedding reception, he told us that the princess (or the bride) was going to say to him, “I want to kiss you.” And then he would say, “Yes.” He went about telling others that he would not be kissing her on the cheek or the nose; he was going straight for the lips.
Then Saturday night at the Eagle Court of Honor we attended, he spotted the only other 3 year old in the room and insisted on sitting at the table next to the “princess,” so he could talk to her of course. The night went on and he kept looking for a way to get her attention. Eventually he offered her a small handful of M&M’s and then went so far as to give her and her little sister a balloon each saving only one for himself.
He continually talks about kissing girls, he rewinds TV shows over and over to watch the one girl he has picked out as the one he “likes a lot.” It’s cute sometimes, it’s downright hilarious at others, but really I find this advanced maturity a little scary. My desperate, pleading prayer is that this phase ends by the time he is eight and doesn’t return until the age of 22. I suppose I shouldn’t hold my breath…
Friday, March 18, 2011
Accessory Challenged
Friday, March 18, 2011
I am accessory challenged. Shoes, handbags, jewelry, sweaters, belts, anything that adds and “makes” the outfit…I am completely unable to choose. Tonight we had a wedding reception to go to and I was having one of those days. Sometimes those days hit me hard, harder than I can handle. I remember once spending over an hour trying to find something to wear. It went on for too long and I was reduced to hopelessness and tears. I ended up staying home….alone, all because of a perceived lack of clothes.
Tonight was shaping up to be just like that, only this time I had a little powerhouse ally. Ava was fighting in my corner and I never imagined how much that could mean. She saw me changing outfit, after outfit, trying to work with the few accessories I have. She would then race to my rescue with her belts, her necklaces, scarves, and anything else she could scrounge up. She would call from the other room, “Mom, will gold match?” and “Mom, what about brown?”
I knew I could not fall to pieces. I could not show my daughter by my actions how important looks and clothing can be, because intellectually, I know the empty truth. There was no way I would fall apart and prove the opposite.
Then this came out of her mouth;
“Mom, it doesn’t matter what you wear. Just wear whatever you want; no one will laugh at you. Sometimes people laugh and you can feel sad but you look beautiful so it doesn’t matter.”
I love that little girl with the sweet and tender heart. I couldn’t help but feel wonderful. The Lord has truly blessed me with an angel.
Now how lucky would I be if she grows up to be a wiz at the details, a master at putting together the finishing touches? That’s why we have daughters...to save us from our own bad fashion decisions.
I am accessory challenged. Shoes, handbags, jewelry, sweaters, belts, anything that adds and “makes” the outfit…I am completely unable to choose. Tonight we had a wedding reception to go to and I was having one of those days. Sometimes those days hit me hard, harder than I can handle. I remember once spending over an hour trying to find something to wear. It went on for too long and I was reduced to hopelessness and tears. I ended up staying home….alone, all because of a perceived lack of clothes.
Tonight was shaping up to be just like that, only this time I had a little powerhouse ally. Ava was fighting in my corner and I never imagined how much that could mean. She saw me changing outfit, after outfit, trying to work with the few accessories I have. She would then race to my rescue with her belts, her necklaces, scarves, and anything else she could scrounge up. She would call from the other room, “Mom, will gold match?” and “Mom, what about brown?”
I knew I could not fall to pieces. I could not show my daughter by my actions how important looks and clothing can be, because intellectually, I know the empty truth. There was no way I would fall apart and prove the opposite.
Then this came out of her mouth;
“Mom, it doesn’t matter what you wear. Just wear whatever you want; no one will laugh at you. Sometimes people laugh and you can feel sad but you look beautiful so it doesn’t matter.”
I love that little girl with the sweet and tender heart. I couldn’t help but feel wonderful. The Lord has truly blessed me with an angel.
Now how lucky would I be if she grows up to be a wiz at the details, a master at putting together the finishing touches? That’s why we have daughters...to save us from our own bad fashion decisions.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Fish Doggies
This is “Cotton Candy” and “RingPop.” They are Andrew’s fish-doggies in case you mistakenly assumed they were goldfish. He won them at the ever-popular ping-pong ball booth during the Little League Opening Day party on Saturday.
Andrew tells me that they love to be petted (which explains the puddles of water that continually surround their small jar), and that they tell him, “We love Andrew,” in the squeaky voice he reserves specifically for speaking on behalf of animals.
After dining on macaroni and cheese, corn flakes, and rice crispies, we aren't really sure how long they will last. Personally, I love short term pets!
Andrew tells me that they love to be petted (which explains the puddles of water that continually surround their small jar), and that they tell him, “We love Andrew,” in the squeaky voice he reserves specifically for speaking on behalf of animals.
After dining on macaroni and cheese, corn flakes, and rice crispies, we aren't really sure how long they will last. Personally, I love short term pets!
Monday, March 14, 2011
Letting It Go
Back when I had only one child, I got up early, took a few naps, showered, dressed, put on makeup and styled my hair every day. I exercised, I went on walks, I tried to look put together whenever I was in public and always by the time my husband came home.
Then I had two kids. I still got dressed and ready each morning. I continued to style my hair and put on makeup each day. I never went out in public without looking appropriate and tasteful.
Now I have three. Two are in school and my youngest is almost four. Life is easier. There are only a few late night issues and everyone goes to bed. And now I drop my kids at school, in my pajamas (at 8:20), I eventually change into either workout clothes or I upgrade to a different pair of sweats...that I did not wear to bed, my hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and no makeup graces my face.
What has happened? Now there are days I even go to the grocery store without the necessary shower and styling session. Have I let myself go? Or have I found that there are more important things to accomplish than satisfying my vanity?
I’m not sure, but this morning sleep beckoned me and everything else had to wait.
Then I had two kids. I still got dressed and ready each morning. I continued to style my hair and put on makeup each day. I never went out in public without looking appropriate and tasteful.
Now I have three. Two are in school and my youngest is almost four. Life is easier. There are only a few late night issues and everyone goes to bed. And now I drop my kids at school, in my pajamas (at 8:20), I eventually change into either workout clothes or I upgrade to a different pair of sweats...that I did not wear to bed, my hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and no makeup graces my face.
What has happened? Now there are days I even go to the grocery store without the necessary shower and styling session. Have I let myself go? Or have I found that there are more important things to accomplish than satisfying my vanity?
I’m not sure, but this morning sleep beckoned me and everything else had to wait.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
True Sacrifice?
Sunday, March 13, 2011
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about sacrifice. In our current religious culture we talk of sacrificing time and money and everything else to further the kingdom of God, to help our fellowmen. We tend to think of paying a full tithe as a sacrifice not to mention the fast offerings, donations to missionary funds, friends of scouting, and any other worthy cause. But can these truly be considered sacrifices?
In some instances, absolutely. But I’ve been looking at my own life, my own discipleship. Can I consider these sacrifices when it all comes back in taxes? We take full advantage of the government’s willingness to recognize charitable giving. About a month ago I read an article that discussed an idea, supposedly on the table, to curb tax breaks on charitable donations. I didn’t study up any more on this and I have no idea how valid the assertion is, but it got me thinking. If we were no longer able to take a tax break for our tithing, how would that affect the members? Do we have sufficient faith to rely solely on the Lord and His promises? Have we trusted too much in the arm of flesh and simply “loaned out” our charitable donations? Losing this benefit would be a trial of faith for many and I began to imagine the impact it would have. Could this be another way in which the wheat will be divided from the tares?
I’ve thought long and hard about this potential scenario, measuring my emotions, my depth of testimony in comparison to my level of fear. It would, no doubt, put a strain on our finances that are stretched pretty thin as it is. But do I have sufficient faith to continue stalwart no matter the cost? What would we have to give up and would that loss be worse than losing the blessings the Lord has promised His faithful?
No. I know the value of those promised blessings. I know the Lord will not leave us helpless and I know He has a better plan. It’s up to us to trust in that plan.
I love how the Lord prepares us for all things. We need only pay attention and be open to the promptings placed before us. This random article on the internet, these thoughts for the last few weeks, both were given in an effort to prepare my heart. And though I don’t know if this preparation culminates in the understanding I have right now, or if this understanding is also in preparation for something more…I’m grateful for the opportunity to see it.
Last night during the adult session of Stake Conference, we were counseled on the blessings of giving a generous fast offering. We were told of the real hardships facing so many here in our area; how, up until this last year, we were always able to send a significant surplus to Salt Lake to bless the lives of so many outside of our immediate care. And up until this year, we were always able to care for our own. That has changed. We are now dependent on others to pull us through as we are receiving from Salt Lake.
I know there are many who struggle, but the bubble I live in currently is pretty heavy duty. The soapy walls are thick enough to obscure my vision and keep many of these hardships at an invisible distance. I don’t feel the effects and so I forget the realities all around me. I forget that the church, as an organization, has funds to support so many because of the efforts and sacrifice of people just like me. We have to step up and help. It is our duty, and it is our greatest source of blessings and joy.
My family has been functioning well on our newly established budget. The numbers are tight and every purchase is considered carefully. There isn’t any extra for extravagance, in fact, there really isn’t enough to go around, to plan for life's eventualities. But, I know the Lord is blessing us and I know that we, in turn, can bless others. I felt inspired and hopeful after our meeting last night. I was ready to double the offering we give each month. It won’t work on paper. I know I will struggle to find the numbers and the substance to back our offering, but I have already seen the Lord’s hand in our lives, His assistance in the smallest of matters. I know He will support us in this and I am excited to put that faith into action.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about sacrifice. In our current religious culture we talk of sacrificing time and money and everything else to further the kingdom of God, to help our fellowmen. We tend to think of paying a full tithe as a sacrifice not to mention the fast offerings, donations to missionary funds, friends of scouting, and any other worthy cause. But can these truly be considered sacrifices?
In some instances, absolutely. But I’ve been looking at my own life, my own discipleship. Can I consider these sacrifices when it all comes back in taxes? We take full advantage of the government’s willingness to recognize charitable giving. About a month ago I read an article that discussed an idea, supposedly on the table, to curb tax breaks on charitable donations. I didn’t study up any more on this and I have no idea how valid the assertion is, but it got me thinking. If we were no longer able to take a tax break for our tithing, how would that affect the members? Do we have sufficient faith to rely solely on the Lord and His promises? Have we trusted too much in the arm of flesh and simply “loaned out” our charitable donations? Losing this benefit would be a trial of faith for many and I began to imagine the impact it would have. Could this be another way in which the wheat will be divided from the tares?
I’ve thought long and hard about this potential scenario, measuring my emotions, my depth of testimony in comparison to my level of fear. It would, no doubt, put a strain on our finances that are stretched pretty thin as it is. But do I have sufficient faith to continue stalwart no matter the cost? What would we have to give up and would that loss be worse than losing the blessings the Lord has promised His faithful?
No. I know the value of those promised blessings. I know the Lord will not leave us helpless and I know He has a better plan. It’s up to us to trust in that plan.
I love how the Lord prepares us for all things. We need only pay attention and be open to the promptings placed before us. This random article on the internet, these thoughts for the last few weeks, both were given in an effort to prepare my heart. And though I don’t know if this preparation culminates in the understanding I have right now, or if this understanding is also in preparation for something more…I’m grateful for the opportunity to see it.
Last night during the adult session of Stake Conference, we were counseled on the blessings of giving a generous fast offering. We were told of the real hardships facing so many here in our area; how, up until this last year, we were always able to send a significant surplus to Salt Lake to bless the lives of so many outside of our immediate care. And up until this year, we were always able to care for our own. That has changed. We are now dependent on others to pull us through as we are receiving from Salt Lake.
I know there are many who struggle, but the bubble I live in currently is pretty heavy duty. The soapy walls are thick enough to obscure my vision and keep many of these hardships at an invisible distance. I don’t feel the effects and so I forget the realities all around me. I forget that the church, as an organization, has funds to support so many because of the efforts and sacrifice of people just like me. We have to step up and help. It is our duty, and it is our greatest source of blessings and joy.
My family has been functioning well on our newly established budget. The numbers are tight and every purchase is considered carefully. There isn’t any extra for extravagance, in fact, there really isn’t enough to go around, to plan for life's eventualities. But, I know the Lord is blessing us and I know that we, in turn, can bless others. I felt inspired and hopeful after our meeting last night. I was ready to double the offering we give each month. It won’t work on paper. I know I will struggle to find the numbers and the substance to back our offering, but I have already seen the Lord’s hand in our lives, His assistance in the smallest of matters. I know He will support us in this and I am excited to put that faith into action.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Peanuts
Written: Sunday, January 16, 2011
Andrew (said while standing and peeing in the toilet):
“Mom, hold your peanuts (penis) and go pee-pee.”
Mom: “I don’t have a penis.”
Andrew: “When Santa brings you a peanut for Christmas then you must hold your peanuts and go pee-pee.”
**What are you getting for Christmas?
Andrew (said while standing and peeing in the toilet):
“Mom, hold your peanuts (penis) and go pee-pee.”
Mom: “I don’t have a penis.”
Andrew: “When Santa brings you a peanut for Christmas then you must hold your peanuts and go pee-pee.”
**What are you getting for Christmas?
Friday, March 11, 2011
Bully
I am feeling a bit of hesitation posting today. You see, the things I'm posting are coming from my daily journal and since I usually write at the end of the day, they tend to be reflective...and consequently I may sound a little down or critical of myself. My life is really quite happy and generally care free...but it doesn't come across so much in these entries. This week's theme seems to be about self improvement. Maybe next week will be a bit more comedic...
I am not a girly-girl, in fact, I believe I am missing the gene for accessorizing which makes me somewhat of an anomaly among women. I can’t buy shoes or purses to save my life. People will tell me, “Just buy whatever you like…” Problem with that is that I have no idea what I like.
One day I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined and because I don’t know how to accessorize, I didn’t waste much time tying ribbons in her hair or placing elastic headbands just so. I let her be wild and unruly a significant portion of the time.
Now that she’s growing up…that’s all she wants to be, wild and unruly. One day she was given the world’s cutest haircut. It looked fabulous on her and was even mimicked among her friends. But she could hardly wait until it would grow out long again. She tells me she wants ponytails and braids; that she’ll let me “do” her hair. But the truth is, she wants nothing more than the untrained craziness she has spent the last six years with.
Our typical morning goes like this:
“Ava, we need to fix your hair. It’s looking pretty crazy.”
“But mom, I don’t want to do my hair. I want it down.”
“Ava, you look scruffy. It needs to be fixed. You’re not going to school (or church) looking like that.”
The fight goes on for much longer…but I want to get to the point. Let’s re-read the above sentence:
“Ava, you look scruffy.”
Notice the highlighted text? What kind of mom demeans her daughter for her looks?
This one, I’m afraid.
Now, in my defense, I believe my daughter is beautiful even amidst all the bedhead and snarls. I know she is beautiful on the inside which is infinitely more important…but what does Ava hear?
Mom thinks I’m not good enough.
Mom thinks I’m not pretty.
I know that there is nothing wrong with teaching my daughter womanly ways, hygiene and upkeep. But there are so many better ways to go about this. What about a loving suggestion that the hairband we bought the other day would look nice with the blue shirt she is wearing? See, far less scarring.
It always amazes me what we do to each other without intention and without realization. I’m a huge culprit in so many ways but I am deeply grateful for a conversation today that made me think about my actions and words from a different perspective.
My name is Rebecca, and I am a “recovering” bully.
I am not a girly-girl, in fact, I believe I am missing the gene for accessorizing which makes me somewhat of an anomaly among women. I can’t buy shoes or purses to save my life. People will tell me, “Just buy whatever you like…” Problem with that is that I have no idea what I like.
One day I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined and because I don’t know how to accessorize, I didn’t waste much time tying ribbons in her hair or placing elastic headbands just so. I let her be wild and unruly a significant portion of the time.
Now that she’s growing up…that’s all she wants to be, wild and unruly. One day she was given the world’s cutest haircut. It looked fabulous on her and was even mimicked among her friends. But she could hardly wait until it would grow out long again. She tells me she wants ponytails and braids; that she’ll let me “do” her hair. But the truth is, she wants nothing more than the untrained craziness she has spent the last six years with.
Our typical morning goes like this:
“Ava, we need to fix your hair. It’s looking pretty crazy.”
“But mom, I don’t want to do my hair. I want it down.”
“Ava, you look scruffy. It needs to be fixed. You’re not going to school (or church) looking like that.”
The fight goes on for much longer…but I want to get to the point. Let’s re-read the above sentence:
“Ava, you look scruffy.”
Notice the highlighted text? What kind of mom demeans her daughter for her looks?
This one, I’m afraid.
Now, in my defense, I believe my daughter is beautiful even amidst all the bedhead and snarls. I know she is beautiful on the inside which is infinitely more important…but what does Ava hear?
Mom thinks I’m not good enough.
Mom thinks I’m not pretty.
I know that there is nothing wrong with teaching my daughter womanly ways, hygiene and upkeep. But there are so many better ways to go about this. What about a loving suggestion that the hairband we bought the other day would look nice with the blue shirt she is wearing? See, far less scarring.
It always amazes me what we do to each other without intention and without realization. I’m a huge culprit in so many ways but I am deeply grateful for a conversation today that made me think about my actions and words from a different perspective.
My name is Rebecca, and I am a “recovering” bully.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Reclaiming Control
Thursday, March 10, 2011
I’ve been watching The Biggest Loser this season. Cheering these people on as they take back the control over their bodies and go through all the emotion, the pain, and the struggles that come with recognizing and reworking who you are, has been inspiring.
Watching them overcome at least one thing that they have lost control of has made me wonder where I’ve lost control. Sometimes it’s easier to go through your daily life, never taking the time to think and ponder about your progress, never meditating on or even formulating your goals. It’s easier to stay so busy that you never have to worry or question if there is something awry. I suppose “busyness” can become a sort of drug, an escape from reality.
So I sat and pondered my own progress. There were many things that came to mind. Some that would be obvious to others, and some that are personal, hidden struggles. But for each one,
taking control came down to working hard, consciously making those little decisions every day. True change does not happen with only half of an effort. True change can only be achieved when you give all that you have, everything.
I could feel idea after idea come tumbling down, unlocked from the hiding places of the mind. I realized that I needed to fix and adjust and work harder at everything. I realized that I controlled a rather insignificant portion of my life and that I mostly teeter near the edge...
My heart began to race, the anxiety of the situation loomed ever so large. But then gently I was reminded of the one magnificent, priceless gift I was given. My Savior loved me so much that He gave His life to make up the difference. There are things I can learn to control with His help, there are things I can learn to overcome with Him by my side. And the things I don’t quite get right? He’s provided for them as well. For I know that when I stand before the throne, after all I could do myself, Christ will stand with me; my friend, my comforter, my Savior.
I’ve been watching The Biggest Loser this season. Cheering these people on as they take back the control over their bodies and go through all the emotion, the pain, and the struggles that come with recognizing and reworking who you are, has been inspiring.
Watching them overcome at least one thing that they have lost control of has made me wonder where I’ve lost control. Sometimes it’s easier to go through your daily life, never taking the time to think and ponder about your progress, never meditating on or even formulating your goals. It’s easier to stay so busy that you never have to worry or question if there is something awry. I suppose “busyness” can become a sort of drug, an escape from reality.
So I sat and pondered my own progress. There were many things that came to mind. Some that would be obvious to others, and some that are personal, hidden struggles. But for each one,
taking control came down to working hard, consciously making those little decisions every day. True change does not happen with only half of an effort. True change can only be achieved when you give all that you have, everything.
I could feel idea after idea come tumbling down, unlocked from the hiding places of the mind. I realized that I needed to fix and adjust and work harder at everything. I realized that I controlled a rather insignificant portion of my life and that I mostly teeter near the edge...
My heart began to race, the anxiety of the situation loomed ever so large. But then gently I was reminded of the one magnificent, priceless gift I was given. My Savior loved me so much that He gave His life to make up the difference. There are things I can learn to control with His help, there are things I can learn to overcome with Him by my side. And the things I don’t quite get right? He’s provided for them as well. For I know that when I stand before the throne, after all I could do myself, Christ will stand with me; my friend, my comforter, my Savior.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Ghost Writer
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Some days I decide not to get up early to exercise…well, ok, most days. But I promise myself that it will happen. I purposefully avoid showering, I dress in my workout clothes, and I am sure that the first free minute I get I’ll jump on that treadmill.
There are many days like today…the kids are finally in bed, I feel tired enough for bed, and I’m still in my workout clothes, not sweaty but definitely in need of a shower. So now comes the decision…do I skip the workout, again, and take a shower thus giving me time to write – or – do I do what’s right for my body, run a couple of miles, and then take a well-deserved shower….thus having very little time to write?
Today was a total rarity. I chose the latter and believe me, I enjoy the morning workouts far more! Why is that? Oh well. The decision was much easier to make knowing that my dear friend Tracy (you can find her here) already wrote my journal entry for me. It was actually for last night but by the time it came via email, I was already finished. How’s that for a gift? Maybe I should ask everyone to write me something! So here’s a little glimpse into my life courtesy of my own personal ghost writer:
"Today was crazy as always with my children. I don't know how I find the time to be sane but I manage. Every Tuesday Ethan has scouts so I cart all three kids down to the stake center. While Ethan is busy building his character, training in responsibilities of participating citizenship, and developing his personal fitness Ava and Andrew are the fizz in a soda after it's been shaken. If you shake up a soda and then open it, the fizz comes flying out as if to say, "I just can't take it in here one more second!" Keeping them in the car is like me shaking the can and then letting them out of the car and in to the church is like me opening the can of soda. They run up and down the halls searching for adventure. Tonight was a little bit different. They ran inside but were quickly distracted by what was going on in the gym. They stopped and looked on, mesmerized by the youth playing human battleship. Ava was so in to it that she didn't even notice her dad waving a piece of licorice in front of her face or the fact that she was leaning against Tracy and not me. I'm so glad that I get to be at the church on Tuesday nights because then I get to see Tracy and Deanna who are there for mutual. We always get a good laugh over some thing or another. After scouts I somehow managed to get all three kids in the car (starting the can shaking all over again) and I made it home only for them to explode in to the house. Luckily I have them pretty well trained so they were good about doing bath time, pajamas, and prayers. They are all fast asleep now and I have a few precious minutes to myself. I love my life."
Some days I decide not to get up early to exercise…well, ok, most days. But I promise myself that it will happen. I purposefully avoid showering, I dress in my workout clothes, and I am sure that the first free minute I get I’ll jump on that treadmill.
There are many days like today…the kids are finally in bed, I feel tired enough for bed, and I’m still in my workout clothes, not sweaty but definitely in need of a shower. So now comes the decision…do I skip the workout, again, and take a shower thus giving me time to write – or – do I do what’s right for my body, run a couple of miles, and then take a well-deserved shower….thus having very little time to write?
Today was a total rarity. I chose the latter and believe me, I enjoy the morning workouts far more! Why is that? Oh well. The decision was much easier to make knowing that my dear friend Tracy (you can find her here) already wrote my journal entry for me. It was actually for last night but by the time it came via email, I was already finished. How’s that for a gift? Maybe I should ask everyone to write me something! So here’s a little glimpse into my life courtesy of my own personal ghost writer:
"Today was crazy as always with my children. I don't know how I find the time to be sane but I manage. Every Tuesday Ethan has scouts so I cart all three kids down to the stake center. While Ethan is busy building his character, training in responsibilities of participating citizenship, and developing his personal fitness Ava and Andrew are the fizz in a soda after it's been shaken. If you shake up a soda and then open it, the fizz comes flying out as if to say, "I just can't take it in here one more second!" Keeping them in the car is like me shaking the can and then letting them out of the car and in to the church is like me opening the can of soda. They run up and down the halls searching for adventure. Tonight was a little bit different. They ran inside but were quickly distracted by what was going on in the gym. They stopped and looked on, mesmerized by the youth playing human battleship. Ava was so in to it that she didn't even notice her dad waving a piece of licorice in front of her face or the fact that she was leaning against Tracy and not me. I'm so glad that I get to be at the church on Tuesday nights because then I get to see Tracy and Deanna who are there for mutual. We always get a good laugh over some thing or another. After scouts I somehow managed to get all three kids in the car (starting the can shaking all over again) and I made it home only for them to explode in to the house. Luckily I have them pretty well trained so they were good about doing bath time, pajamas, and prayers. They are all fast asleep now and I have a few precious minutes to myself. I love my life."
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Unfinished
A while back I read a book called “On Writing” by Stephen King. In it he discussed some of the events that led to him becoming a writer, memoir style, and then he gave some advice on how to do it. I found much of it to be sound, and I would know, of course, since I’m a published writer and all (ok, no I’m not but it sounded good to me anyway).
One of the main things he discussed was setting a schedule to write, a routine. You do the same thing every day; you know, wake up, take your morning walk, have breakfast, and then sit down to write for at least three hours.
What? Three hours! I never have three uninterrupted hours! It struck me; writers really do consider writing to be a job. It takes time, thought, focus, and having three little ones running around means that no, I do not have three hours to myself. Some days I’m lucky to take a shower.
But I kind of want to be a writer. I find it exhilarating to work on just the right phrasing, to find the perfect combination of words to express what I feel. I love the exercise my brain gets when it is forced to look at things from a different perspective, to find the interesting in the everyday.
For about two years now I’ve been working on a memoir, my love story. And though I have no intention of trying to have it published, there is a big part of me that wants it to be good enough that someone would consider it publishable material.
Today I had three golden, uninterrupted hours. The ideas were flowing and I was making progress in areas I had previously been unable to crack. I understand the 3-hour concept. What if I could do this every day? What if?
I’ll tell you one thing…I would not still be working on the same piece! That would have been long ago finished and I’d be on to bigger and better things.
But then it would be a job and I’m already employed full-time. I’ve heard there’s a time and a season for everything. My kids and family need me and for this season, I suppose that’s where I’m supposed to be. So I’ve thrown out the deadlines, I work when I can, and someday, yes, someday, I will finish my little 60,000 word memoir.
One of the main things he discussed was setting a schedule to write, a routine. You do the same thing every day; you know, wake up, take your morning walk, have breakfast, and then sit down to write for at least three hours.
What? Three hours! I never have three uninterrupted hours! It struck me; writers really do consider writing to be a job. It takes time, thought, focus, and having three little ones running around means that no, I do not have three hours to myself. Some days I’m lucky to take a shower.
But I kind of want to be a writer. I find it exhilarating to work on just the right phrasing, to find the perfect combination of words to express what I feel. I love the exercise my brain gets when it is forced to look at things from a different perspective, to find the interesting in the everyday.
For about two years now I’ve been working on a memoir, my love story. And though I have no intention of trying to have it published, there is a big part of me that wants it to be good enough that someone would consider it publishable material.
Today I had three golden, uninterrupted hours. The ideas were flowing and I was making progress in areas I had previously been unable to crack. I understand the 3-hour concept. What if I could do this every day? What if?
I’ll tell you one thing…I would not still be working on the same piece! That would have been long ago finished and I’d be on to bigger and better things.
But then it would be a job and I’m already employed full-time. I’ve heard there’s a time and a season for everything. My kids and family need me and for this season, I suppose that’s where I’m supposed to be. So I’ve thrown out the deadlines, I work when I can, and someday, yes, someday, I will finish my little 60,000 word memoir.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Battling Ends
Written March 1, 2011
As I sit here at my computer, halted by a lack of words to type upon the screen, they beckon to me, calling me incessantly by name. My train of thoughts derails. I can’t help but look, study, inspect every last one of them. And then I begin to pick them off. First one, then another, and another, until I can no longer control myself. I’ve lost track of the death toll but the proof lies scattered all over my pajamas.
“Rebecca, please stop,” Todd begs from across the room. He can't stand to watch.
And then I realize; it was the split ends that prompted the short haircut in the first place. Split ends were the reason I kept my tresses neat and trim for so many years. The haircut protected and preserved my sanity.
“So now what?" I think wondering if I'll ever overcome. It's been a hard won fight to grow it long again. And then I pause and grab a handful of hair; for the ends have summoned me again.
As I sit here at my computer, halted by a lack of words to type upon the screen, they beckon to me, calling me incessantly by name. My train of thoughts derails. I can’t help but look, study, inspect every last one of them. And then I begin to pick them off. First one, then another, and another, until I can no longer control myself. I’ve lost track of the death toll but the proof lies scattered all over my pajamas.
“Rebecca, please stop,” Todd begs from across the room. He can't stand to watch.
And then I realize; it was the split ends that prompted the short haircut in the first place. Split ends were the reason I kept my tresses neat and trim for so many years. The haircut protected and preserved my sanity.
“So now what?" I think wondering if I'll ever overcome. It's been a hard won fight to grow it long again. And then I pause and grab a handful of hair; for the ends have summoned me again.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Unequally Yoked
About 12½ years ago, a light bulb came on and I came to the sudden realization that I wasn’t alone, that my burdens were not for me to bear alone. I knew, intellectually and spiritually, that Christ suffered for our sins and for the grief and pain we feel as part of this mortal probation. The only thing I couldn’t figure out was how one could release those burdens to Him. I spent a week contemplating this new revelation.
At the end of that week, I found myself staring at what was left of my black Jetta after rolling into the ditch that served as the median of the freeway. One singular thought rose to the surface of the chaos facing me in that moment;
“Ok Lord, you win. My life is in your hands and I will accept the path you have laid for me.”
I felt light, strength, and relief. I knew I was not shouldering this burden alone. It was an answer to my prayers and the idea I had been contemplating. And though the Lord did truly show me how it felt to come unto Him, I don’t think I fully grasped the reality of how it is done, maybe I never will, but today I learned a little more that brought me closer to true understanding.
Matthew 11
28 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
The concept of a yoke, when it comes to oxen, is to help distribute the weight and workload taking advantage of the strongest to help the weak. In this way the two animals are kept equal and thus magnified in their ability to bear more than they could on their own.
To take upon you the yoke of Christ is to receive His will as your own. In doing so, you are strengthened as He, being the stronger, carries your weaknesses through the difficulties. As long as we are willing to follow Him, our burdens will be lighter, our strength will be greater, and we shall find rest. It is only when we try to pull away, to go our own way, that we struggle against the burden we will feel to bear alone.
This was the golden answer to the question asked so long ago. How do you place your burdens on Christ?
You simply follow Him, embracing His will for you. In that moment, at the scene of the wreck, I decided to try His plan. I remembered the yoke that bound us together, and I took my first step with Him, relying on the strength of His love and wisdom. And my burden was light.
At the end of that week, I found myself staring at what was left of my black Jetta after rolling into the ditch that served as the median of the freeway. One singular thought rose to the surface of the chaos facing me in that moment;
“Ok Lord, you win. My life is in your hands and I will accept the path you have laid for me.”
I felt light, strength, and relief. I knew I was not shouldering this burden alone. It was an answer to my prayers and the idea I had been contemplating. And though the Lord did truly show me how it felt to come unto Him, I don’t think I fully grasped the reality of how it is done, maybe I never will, but today I learned a little more that brought me closer to true understanding.
Matthew 11
28 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
The concept of a yoke, when it comes to oxen, is to help distribute the weight and workload taking advantage of the strongest to help the weak. In this way the two animals are kept equal and thus magnified in their ability to bear more than they could on their own.
To take upon you the yoke of Christ is to receive His will as your own. In doing so, you are strengthened as He, being the stronger, carries your weaknesses through the difficulties. As long as we are willing to follow Him, our burdens will be lighter, our strength will be greater, and we shall find rest. It is only when we try to pull away, to go our own way, that we struggle against the burden we will feel to bear alone.
This was the golden answer to the question asked so long ago. How do you place your burdens on Christ?
You simply follow Him, embracing His will for you. In that moment, at the scene of the wreck, I decided to try His plan. I remembered the yoke that bound us together, and I took my first step with Him, relying on the strength of His love and wisdom. And my burden was light.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Sweat the Small Stuff
Yep, I never write anymore. In fact, I rarely take pictures either. It's sad, I know, but I lost interest. But never fear, my memories are not going to fade into oblivion because this year my goal is to write in a journal every day...and I've been doing it. Though sometimes difficult, it has been such a great exercise and the words are already priceless to me.
So, I have been blogging it on another site but very early on I decided not to make it public. I didn't want to have to censor it based on my experiences that day. There are just some things everyone shouldn't read. But as I'm beginning my third month, I've decided that sometimes I'll share the things I write in this blog. I don't know whether it's because I enjoy comments - though I'm not fooling myself thinking that anyone is checking this anymore...it's been a year! - but regardless, you may see some action around here soon.
To kick it off, here's today's entry for your reading pleasure!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
What does it take to get a man off the street, rid of drugs, and on with his life never to relapse again? It takes a complete life change, a change of scenery, and probably a complete rewrite of all he knows.
Today our family toured Benedict Castle. The place was built in the 1920’s, a Spanish inspired mini-castle. In the 1970’s the property was purchased by “Teen Challenge,” a faith-based drug and alcohol rehabilitation program. The staff and students live on site, work, and maintain the property. It was interesting to talk to our tour guide, Hayden, about the way of life there; the lack of access to computers, phones, Internet, television, and just about any other distraction the world throws at you. They are given strict rules and guidelines to follow in order to encourage a permanent life change.
I’m all for strict rules. I mean I’m a Mormon and if nothing else, we are known for our strictness. But Hayden was telling us that he was written up last week for leaving a book on his bed (it was supposed to be put away), and forgetting his sweatshirt in the mess hall. Now that’s pretty rigid. Of course for bigger offenses, like fighting, you are immediately sent away.
As Todd and I were talking on the way home it occurred to me how important it is to get these little things down. That’s what we do as we learn from childhood. We are trusted with the small stuff. We are expected to make our beds, keep our spaces clean, and do our homework. It is through these small exercises that we learn discipline; we learn to be aware of ourselves and the space around us.
Now when one heads down that road to addiction and the many other forms temptation takes for the natural man, he loses the ability to make even the smallest of choices in a responsible way. “Teen Challenge” brings them back to the start. They are only entrusted with the smallest of choices and as they learn and grow, they are slowly given more responsibility. People are not able to work through the big stuff without first mastering the small. What a great and merciful truth!
How can this be better applied to my life currently? For one, as a parent, I’m responsible for the instruction of my children. If I can remember that the little things, the chores and expectations, are the building blocks for real decision making, maybe I can be more consistent. If I don’t work to equip them with these life skills now, I am only handicapping their future.
So, I have been blogging it on another site but very early on I decided not to make it public. I didn't want to have to censor it based on my experiences that day. There are just some things everyone shouldn't read. But as I'm beginning my third month, I've decided that sometimes I'll share the things I write in this blog. I don't know whether it's because I enjoy comments - though I'm not fooling myself thinking that anyone is checking this anymore...it's been a year! - but regardless, you may see some action around here soon.
To kick it off, here's today's entry for your reading pleasure!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
What does it take to get a man off the street, rid of drugs, and on with his life never to relapse again? It takes a complete life change, a change of scenery, and probably a complete rewrite of all he knows.
Today our family toured Benedict Castle. The place was built in the 1920’s, a Spanish inspired mini-castle. In the 1970’s the property was purchased by “Teen Challenge,” a faith-based drug and alcohol rehabilitation program. The staff and students live on site, work, and maintain the property. It was interesting to talk to our tour guide, Hayden, about the way of life there; the lack of access to computers, phones, Internet, television, and just about any other distraction the world throws at you. They are given strict rules and guidelines to follow in order to encourage a permanent life change.
I’m all for strict rules. I mean I’m a Mormon and if nothing else, we are known for our strictness. But Hayden was telling us that he was written up last week for leaving a book on his bed (it was supposed to be put away), and forgetting his sweatshirt in the mess hall. Now that’s pretty rigid. Of course for bigger offenses, like fighting, you are immediately sent away.
As Todd and I were talking on the way home it occurred to me how important it is to get these little things down. That’s what we do as we learn from childhood. We are trusted with the small stuff. We are expected to make our beds, keep our spaces clean, and do our homework. It is through these small exercises that we learn discipline; we learn to be aware of ourselves and the space around us.
Now when one heads down that road to addiction and the many other forms temptation takes for the natural man, he loses the ability to make even the smallest of choices in a responsible way. “Teen Challenge” brings them back to the start. They are only entrusted with the smallest of choices and as they learn and grow, they are slowly given more responsibility. People are not able to work through the big stuff without first mastering the small. What a great and merciful truth!
How can this be better applied to my life currently? For one, as a parent, I’m responsible for the instruction of my children. If I can remember that the little things, the chores and expectations, are the building blocks for real decision making, maybe I can be more consistent. If I don’t work to equip them with these life skills now, I am only handicapping their future.
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