Sometime when I stop to look around me I feel rather spoiled. I think of the ways I have become more frugal (and other ways not so much) and imagine how much money I would have had available to give to someone else if I always lived this way. And how much more would be available if I tried harder to find other ways to use less. Need less. Do without. If everyone did this how maybe there wouldn't be so many that are hungry. Or homeless. Or without a cure.
I think of my friend who came to visit AZ from NY once and commented on how funny it was that she saw pretty tiles embeded in the cement around community trees. She thought it was interesting they didn't get stolen. I find it interesting when I see things like that now how much money the little extra bling must have cost. And how necessary it really was.
I sit in my car, taking in the aroma of the fresh leather scent that only lasts so long in a new car. I think of my children safely buckled in with full tummies. And I count the luxuries in my life around me. I think of all the toys that I sort, clean clothing I stuff into drawers, and food crammed into my pantry. The softest carpet my toes have landed on. The local shops where I have various selections for various kinds of food. I have a really good life. Too good, perhaps?
I think of the way I have spent my time and energy this week and the worries that crept into my mind. And I really find it sickening that there are other people in the world, like in Gaza, really hoping their family doesn't get blown up tonight.
Sometimes I think we were scattered throughout the earth to see if we make sure our brothers across the water are doing okay. And when they are not, we are watched to see what we do about it. It's not supposed to be easy. It's part of the grandest test. Now what?
Showing posts with label thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thoughts. Show all posts
1.03.2009
7.13.2008
say WHAT?
There are only a handful of times in my life that have matched what I could call Feelings Big as a Mountian Moments. Those are important decisions where your life is changing forever in subtle and not so subtle ways. You realize when you make the decision many of the things that are going to change, but also acknowledge there are countless others no one could explain well enough to prepare you for (both in the amazing and hard buckets of life). You know things are going to be different.
Here is a collection of some of those moments:
1) Walking towards that office on a campus while bikes holding older, seemingly smarter, people fly past me in every direction. In one short hour a stranger assists me in choosing those first courses I would officially commit to for what would turn into several years of working towards a long term goal of higher education.
2) Standing above the valley that night, heart beating quickly, while his sweaty hands hold mine. The diamond in his pocket, he begins to bend on one knee. I reply with a magnificent of course.
3) Boarding that plane with our one-way tickets in hand. Taking the leap that we hope will guide us into a success that will make it worth the fear; plus pains of family being so far.
4) Driving home in the rain under the soggy trees on the Bronx River Parkway with our first child nestled and tucked into his infant carseat. Raw vulnerability never meant anything before this 20 minute chunk of time.
5) Peeking over the sterile baby bed as our second newborn is getting his lungs suctioned, my heart begging for the opportunity to take him home safe, healthy, breathing well.
6) Sticking my toes in the grass of what will be the front yard of our very first home (upon the successful conclusion of closing). Watching One checking out what will be his very first back yard. Cinderblock and dirt have never made me smile so brightly. They are the most glorious I have ever seen, because they are on the verge of becoming ours. Seeing The Other crawl on the softest carpet and most delectable tan color my eyes could possibly behold, because it is on the verge of becoming ours.
We are so at that moment in the process where it's like having your first baby. While still in the hospital the nurses are taking care of most of it, so you really don't feel like a parent. People ask you on the phone how it's going, being a parent, but you aren't really doing it yet. You are about to, once you get home, but until then you are waiting to officially push up your sleeves and feel what it's like to be engorged, smiled at, loved, pooped on, nuzzled, etc.
It just feels like a theory right now, but one that's shortly going to become a reality and begin another big section in the Life Changes book.
Here is a collection of some of those moments:
1) Walking towards that office on a campus while bikes holding older, seemingly smarter, people fly past me in every direction. In one short hour a stranger assists me in choosing those first courses I would officially commit to for what would turn into several years of working towards a long term goal of higher education.
2) Standing above the valley that night, heart beating quickly, while his sweaty hands hold mine. The diamond in his pocket, he begins to bend on one knee. I reply with a magnificent of course.
3) Boarding that plane with our one-way tickets in hand. Taking the leap that we hope will guide us into a success that will make it worth the fear; plus pains of family being so far.
4) Driving home in the rain under the soggy trees on the Bronx River Parkway with our first child nestled and tucked into his infant carseat. Raw vulnerability never meant anything before this 20 minute chunk of time.
5) Peeking over the sterile baby bed as our second newborn is getting his lungs suctioned, my heart begging for the opportunity to take him home safe, healthy, breathing well.
6) Sticking my toes in the grass of what will be the front yard of our very first home (upon the successful conclusion of closing). Watching One checking out what will be his very first back yard. Cinderblock and dirt have never made me smile so brightly. They are the most glorious I have ever seen, because they are on the verge of becoming ours. Seeing The Other crawl on the softest carpet and most delectable tan color my eyes could possibly behold, because it is on the verge of becoming ours.
We are so at that moment in the process where it's like having your first baby. While still in the hospital the nurses are taking care of most of it, so you really don't feel like a parent. People ask you on the phone how it's going, being a parent, but you aren't really doing it yet. You are about to, once you get home, but until then you are waiting to officially push up your sleeves and feel what it's like to be engorged, smiled at, loved, pooped on, nuzzled, etc.
It just feels like a theory right now, but one that's shortly going to become a reality and begin another big section in the Life Changes book.
6.30.2008
:(
photo by MikeBeing the last born in a birth order of two, I have a much different experience than my older sibling. Reflecting back, I can see what wasn't known to me then. I was handed much and gave back little. I was given countless rides to school, extra lunch or music money, clothing to borrow, advice, new shoes, opportunities to get out of the house (Tower Records, college town, etc), pretty much anything I wanted. I didn't have anyone next in birth order coveting my things, so I could argue there wasn't anyone to really learn to share my space, belongings, time, attention. I probably didn't even realize how much my sister (and parents) gave and gave and gave. I probably didn't thank them or realize how generous they were giving because I had just grown to expect this. I didn't know anything different, but should have seen the giving. I could have (and can be) a better sister.
Today I went to visit an elderly friend, Margie. She has a brain tumor that has been operated on in the past, but keeps growing back. It can no longer be operated on at this stage in her life. She has recently had two heart attacks. This was the first year in my life I have had the desire to be a surgeon. I hated that there was nothing I could really do for Margie's heart. All I could do was stand at her feet in the hospital and look into her eyes and tell her I wished I could keep her from having any more heart attacks. I don't think that was so helpful, we both started to cry. I just wanted to kick myself in the face that night, I didn't have any great words to say or even a flower for her.
Each month I visit her and I normally bring a healthy snack. Once she let me borrow a book she had about eathquakes because she knew how much they freaked me out. Today she gave me a gift- a paper organizer/ planner. She couldn't have given me a more timely gift. She must have had a vision of the notebooks and paper lists littering my kitchen I never know how to use properly. Today I only brought her popcorn. I left feeling like I have been so cheating her of things I can offer over the several months I have been visiting her. I have talents and things she could probably use and surely I haven't thought about it long enough or hard enough. Her caregiver was bringing in bags of used clothing someone else dropped off at the curb. Someone else brought her to the hospital last week because her nose kept bleeding. I didn't even know about it until today. How the hell is popcorn really going to make Margie's life better? I am a crappy friend.
Tara burned the new Death Cab CD for me before the concert so I could learn it. I was so excited to return the favor and share an old album so she, too, could learn the words. But I didn't make it a priority and it kept slipping my mind, she still doesn't have it and the concert is long over.
I took pictures of a birthday party for a friend, she made a fabulous cake that looked like a train, I should have not only burned those pictures onto a dic for her, but freaking sent a photo of it into Martha because it was that awesome. It's been several months (9) and she still doesn't have the pictures. Friend of the year strikes again.
I saw Jim outside, the neighbor across the street who has valley fever, cancer, and recently had shoulder surgery. He asked me about my move and packing as I was stuffing the kids into the car. I responded quickly with a smile. As I drove away I realized I forgot to ask him how he was recovering from his recent surgery. I could be a better neighbor.
I often start phone conversations with friends blabbering on and on about whatever my anxiety of the hour or week is without first asking about their current events. Why do they even pick up the phone when I call? I suck as a friend. It needs to stop.
I think of the rumor I heard once how investment bankers keep notes in a paper rolodex of everything they possibly can about their clients so when they speak they can get personal quickly without having to remember a lot. Things like their vacation destinations, name of their pets and kids, details about their hobbies. While that approach might be fake, I think my memory could use some better note taking on the important and routine people in my life.
I think it's good to bum out on myself sometimes because it's the only way I will be fired up enough to change and make goals to be better about a specific thing. My effort can be better.
6.19.2008
99 cans of refriedbeansonthewall.....
Don't tell the people that might assist us with our move, but we started to take this whole food storage a little more seriously this year. It's funny how Mike's approach and mine are entirely different.
Me: I pour over as many samples of food storage ideas as possible, chart out gluten-free substitutes needed to create a seperate stock pile for him, brainstorm a rotation strategy on excel, draw up a replenishment plan with its own grocery shopping system and routine. I make it incredibly complicated because I think the whole idea needs to be efficient and proper and blend naturally into our regular food supply of items I typically cook with. Not that we would turn our noses to refried beans if it was all we had, but it just makes sense to me that we store foods we could regularly eat and rotate in.
Mike: Thinks about it for 3 minutes. While shopping at Costco. Brings home several cases of canned food we almost never eat.
It's like that interview questions we would both answer differently. What is better: a good solution now or a better solution later. His good solution now answer makes sense, so I will rework my detailed plans around what we have and determine what needs to be added. And grin a little when I stare at 4500 cans of GARBANZO BEANS greeting me each morning when I open the pantry.
+++
Feeding a baby is all different now, according to my doctor. Babies starting solid finger foods can have anything but honey before age 1. No more allergy concerns according to recent studies. Peanut butter, cow's milk, cheese, yogurt, it's all a green light! The great news is he is basically open to anything and I am taking complete nutritional advantage of that.
He smiles gleefully at his highchair, suspecting nothing while my master plan cooks in my head and my hands rub with scheming pleasure.
Enter Ammendment One to my food storage strategy: Evan.
It's like that game spoons when the winner of that round of cards gets to put any kind of food on a spoon for the loser to eat blindfolded. Only Evan isn't a loser. He is a winner. A winner who is going to learn to like all sorts of different beans this year.
Me: I pour over as many samples of food storage ideas as possible, chart out gluten-free substitutes needed to create a seperate stock pile for him, brainstorm a rotation strategy on excel, draw up a replenishment plan with its own grocery shopping system and routine. I make it incredibly complicated because I think the whole idea needs to be efficient and proper and blend naturally into our regular food supply of items I typically cook with. Not that we would turn our noses to refried beans if it was all we had, but it just makes sense to me that we store foods we could regularly eat and rotate in.
Mike: Thinks about it for 3 minutes. While shopping at Costco. Brings home several cases of canned food we almost never eat.
It's like that interview questions we would both answer differently. What is better: a good solution now or a better solution later. His good solution now answer makes sense, so I will rework my detailed plans around what we have and determine what needs to be added. And grin a little when I stare at 4500 cans of GARBANZO BEANS greeting me each morning when I open the pantry.
+++
Feeding a baby is all different now, according to my doctor. Babies starting solid finger foods can have anything but honey before age 1. No more allergy concerns according to recent studies. Peanut butter, cow's milk, cheese, yogurt, it's all a green light! The great news is he is basically open to anything and I am taking complete nutritional advantage of that.
He smiles gleefully at his highchair, suspecting nothing while my master plan cooks in my head and my hands rub with scheming pleasure.
Enter Ammendment One to my food storage strategy: Evan.
It's like that game spoons when the winner of that round of cards gets to put any kind of food on a spoon for the loser to eat blindfolded. Only Evan isn't a loser. He is a winner. A winner who is going to learn to like all sorts of different beans this year.
6.18.2008
too observant sometimes
I don't frequent Whole Food often. Although the quality is always there, it's too pricey. But, the Mister needs special food for his wheat allergy so I brave it once a month or so and stock up on a few unique needs I can't find anywhere else. I wish I knew enough about gourmet foods like one of my best buddies, Lindsey, to appreciate all it offers the way a true foodie does. But I don't.
Regardless, it always strikes me as an interesting crowd, no matter the geography (AZ, CT, NY, CA) it seems pretty similar. The workers are mostly young men that seem to be in their mid-twenties. They always have carefully crafted and exposed tattoos (at least 13 on each arm), well groomed nails that are cleaner than mine and the latest indie hairdo. They each look like they are members of a band on the verge of getting signed. Probably play gigs on the weekends and hold at least 4 jobs throughout the week to make ends meet. They are experts at their work post, telling you exactly where this cheese came from and how it is different than the 832 others beside it.
The shoppers are generally women in their late 40s and beyond with well-pressed khaki pants; pleats in the front. They normally have a perfectly rounded bob hairdo and the kind of purse you saw in Vogue last week. That group doesn't budge to allow you through the aisle while they spend 45 minutes reading the back of a jar and checking out the cheese boy. They glare often, are rarely friendly. They make the experience almost painful as I try to navigate around them.
I have started to see a fresh generation of young mothers. The organic thing is huge here, so maybe the young mom factor is just a west coast anomaly. I always want to take them by the hand and tell them about the more affordable choice, Trader Joe's down the block. Those moms always have the wacky cloth fabric with geometric patterns on it inside the baby seat portion of the cart. I guess shopping carts aren't organic? I love how friendly they are and our babies usually babble together for a few moments. Sometimes she is a hippie, although mostly these days she is a hipster.
Sprinkled lightly into the mix is a small assortment of men. It's like they read somewhere Whole Foods was a great place to meet women. So on they wander looking confused with one item in the cart scoping the scene, waiting for a hottie to show up. Super try-to-be preppy but still cool and tough and edgy sort of looking. It's like that whole generation of guys that wore Big Johnson shirts in the 90s with braided belts grew up and went shopping. It's always interesting to me what a contrast they are compared to those working behind the counters. I would like to see the boy shoppers and boy workers fight. Maybe have a cheese fight snowball style in the wine aisle. And in the final round: soup cans. I always walk away thinking what total pussies some of the men look like shopping there for some reason.
It's alright, though, because me? I don't fit in either. My hair is a wreck, puke stains on my shirt from the non-organic baby, I am certain one of the milk jugs sprung a leak, and the kids are messy from lunch. I am sure they wonder who let the disheveled housekeeper into Whole Foods.
What?! Didn't I say I was working on that whole judging thing?
Regardless, it always strikes me as an interesting crowd, no matter the geography (AZ, CT, NY, CA) it seems pretty similar. The workers are mostly young men that seem to be in their mid-twenties. They always have carefully crafted and exposed tattoos (at least 13 on each arm), well groomed nails that are cleaner than mine and the latest indie hairdo. They each look like they are members of a band on the verge of getting signed. Probably play gigs on the weekends and hold at least 4 jobs throughout the week to make ends meet. They are experts at their work post, telling you exactly where this cheese came from and how it is different than the 832 others beside it.
The shoppers are generally women in their late 40s and beyond with well-pressed khaki pants; pleats in the front. They normally have a perfectly rounded bob hairdo and the kind of purse you saw in Vogue last week. That group doesn't budge to allow you through the aisle while they spend 45 minutes reading the back of a jar and checking out the cheese boy. They glare often, are rarely friendly. They make the experience almost painful as I try to navigate around them.
I have started to see a fresh generation of young mothers. The organic thing is huge here, so maybe the young mom factor is just a west coast anomaly. I always want to take them by the hand and tell them about the more affordable choice, Trader Joe's down the block. Those moms always have the wacky cloth fabric with geometric patterns on it inside the baby seat portion of the cart. I guess shopping carts aren't organic? I love how friendly they are and our babies usually babble together for a few moments. Sometimes she is a hippie, although mostly these days she is a hipster.
Sprinkled lightly into the mix is a small assortment of men. It's like they read somewhere Whole Foods was a great place to meet women. So on they wander looking confused with one item in the cart scoping the scene, waiting for a hottie to show up. Super try-to-be preppy but still cool and tough and edgy sort of looking. It's like that whole generation of guys that wore Big Johnson shirts in the 90s with braided belts grew up and went shopping. It's always interesting to me what a contrast they are compared to those working behind the counters. I would like to see the boy shoppers and boy workers fight. Maybe have a cheese fight snowball style in the wine aisle. And in the final round: soup cans. I always walk away thinking what total pussies some of the men look like shopping there for some reason.
It's alright, though, because me? I don't fit in either. My hair is a wreck, puke stains on my shirt from the non-organic baby, I am certain one of the milk jugs sprung a leak, and the kids are messy from lunch. I am sure they wonder who let the disheveled housekeeper into Whole Foods.
What?! Didn't I say I was working on that whole judging thing?
6.16.2008
Petra
I had a goldmine of a music referral friend once upon a time. He was an HR colleague of mine from England and had plenty of stories about how he hung out with these huge British bands I adored. He traveled to the US to compete for rugby in the 90s and him and his friends got some girls to believe they were the EMF boys (true? not true? who knows).
I enjoyed swapping cds with him and trying to get him interested in ska at the time (never happened) and he tried to talk me into loving Carter USM (couldn't do it). Although we had some rejected suggestions, my favorite find from the trades was that of The Beautiful South. It was gut-twistingly amazing vocals and musically curious to my ears. I couldn't stop listening until I knew the words to every song. Even though I was in a sappy romance high with Mike, even the sad heartbreak songs sounded magical to me. It was a former favorite band of his; he said they provided fond memories of his past. Knowing he had a wife and daughter, I still braved to ask him, "Who was she?"
All he replied with was this:
"Petra. She was the one that got away."
A brick fell in my stomach when I read that line. What perfect words to explain it. I wanted to know the story, to find out all about her and her ways and the butchering of the love. I wanted the romance novel of it, but professionally it would have been going too far. I left it at that and just kept listening to his broken hearted memories by piecing together the story; listening to the sounds bellowing into my ears from the English pop group.
*
California is going to be my Petra. It's slipping away from me too quickly. I am not done with it yet. Every sweet smelling blossom and fresh cut blade of grass, walking paths and grassy hills, tree-filled parks and summer breezes. These aromas and eye pleasing treats are a pleasure I will miss deeply. I have so many things I want to see and places to visit and not enough time. I fully plan on sending love letters to California with no return address. I wonder if the postman receiving them will read them and enjoy this splendid place a little more?
I enjoyed swapping cds with him and trying to get him interested in ska at the time (never happened) and he tried to talk me into loving Carter USM (couldn't do it). Although we had some rejected suggestions, my favorite find from the trades was that of The Beautiful South. It was gut-twistingly amazing vocals and musically curious to my ears. I couldn't stop listening until I knew the words to every song. Even though I was in a sappy romance high with Mike, even the sad heartbreak songs sounded magical to me. It was a former favorite band of his; he said they provided fond memories of his past. Knowing he had a wife and daughter, I still braved to ask him, "Who was she?"
All he replied with was this:
"Petra. She was the one that got away."
A brick fell in my stomach when I read that line. What perfect words to explain it. I wanted to know the story, to find out all about her and her ways and the butchering of the love. I wanted the romance novel of it, but professionally it would have been going too far. I left it at that and just kept listening to his broken hearted memories by piecing together the story; listening to the sounds bellowing into my ears from the English pop group.
*
California is going to be my Petra. It's slipping away from me too quickly. I am not done with it yet. Every sweet smelling blossom and fresh cut blade of grass, walking paths and grassy hills, tree-filled parks and summer breezes. These aromas and eye pleasing treats are a pleasure I will miss deeply. I have so many things I want to see and places to visit and not enough time. I fully plan on sending love letters to California with no return address. I wonder if the postman receiving them will read them and enjoy this splendid place a little more?
6.09.2008
F Train
Parenting is like a subway line. Maybe the F train, I liked that one the best. There is a really long tunnel the connected subway cars pass through. There are platforms (openings in the tunnel) that provide an opportunity for people to get on and off. Some people get on at the start and stay on until the end. Some people only get on for 1 stop and stay a short time on the train. Others let the train pass and wait for another. Some new passengers get on at almost every stop, in addition to some long-time riders getting off at almost every stop.
We learn to parent (and essentially be the type of person we are even if we don't have children yet or ever) by the background experiences we have had in addition to new things we learn. That includes a long line of family members we have learned some things from whether we like it or not. I have generations of women long before who probably yelled at the children for putting their fingers on the walls long before my grandmother scolded me for it in her home. Or perhaps not, perhaps that was a new one she decided to add to her toolbelt of things that were imporant to her- a clean home.
I have become the mother (and person) I am by the unbringing I had with input my parents felt was important and they gathered that from their parents providing what they thought was most important. Just like the train, each generation gets to add and ditch pieces of that based on what they think is best for their family.
It would be an intersting study to follow generations of parenting to record the common threads among each generation. I love to hear about different traditions and parenting styles carried on or changed; it is all very fascinating to me.
With this thought comes a progression of understanding I hope to remember when my children head off to start their own families. I hope I can remember they will marry women brought up differently than I was rasied, even differently than my boys will be raised. There will be some overlap, similar passengers on the train car if you will, however there will be newness I might not think is best. I might expect, as natural to us all, that my way is the best and most correct. After all, that is why we make the choices we make to raise our children- we want the absolute best for them and provide that in the priorities we determine based on our revised, new definition of that. I have to remember to trust that my boys and their wives will not be on the F train. For once they go their own ways with their own families a new train line is formed, the tracks merging from our F train and the tunnel each respective wife came from.
That is going to be hard. I will love my grandchildren and want the best for them and expect that to look like the choices I made when I was teaching my little men. But it will not be and I will have to remember that the experiences I gave my kids are theirs to take or leave along with the things their wives take or leave from their own tunnels in life. Picking up gems of advice and knowledge gained along the way blended with upbringing.
The punchline is there is no perfect collection of decisions, there is no perfect way for all families to do this. There is no one parenting template perfect for all children or all generations. So even if we somehow get it right for our boys, what's right and makes sense for them isn't entirely how it should be done for their friends or ultimately their children.
My mom never cared about fingerprints on the walls, I think she had specific things that drove her nuts as a kid and that was one of them. She probably knew from age 5 that would never be a rule in her home as a mommy. I was just thinking recently how I might bring that rule into my new home and carry on my grandma's torch of clean, fingerprintless walls. I should give her a call and find out if that was her own or a gem of generations past.
We learn to parent (and essentially be the type of person we are even if we don't have children yet or ever) by the background experiences we have had in addition to new things we learn. That includes a long line of family members we have learned some things from whether we like it or not. I have generations of women long before who probably yelled at the children for putting their fingers on the walls long before my grandmother scolded me for it in her home. Or perhaps not, perhaps that was a new one she decided to add to her toolbelt of things that were imporant to her- a clean home.
I have become the mother (and person) I am by the unbringing I had with input my parents felt was important and they gathered that from their parents providing what they thought was most important. Just like the train, each generation gets to add and ditch pieces of that based on what they think is best for their family.
It would be an intersting study to follow generations of parenting to record the common threads among each generation. I love to hear about different traditions and parenting styles carried on or changed; it is all very fascinating to me.
With this thought comes a progression of understanding I hope to remember when my children head off to start their own families. I hope I can remember they will marry women brought up differently than I was rasied, even differently than my boys will be raised. There will be some overlap, similar passengers on the train car if you will, however there will be newness I might not think is best. I might expect, as natural to us all, that my way is the best and most correct. After all, that is why we make the choices we make to raise our children- we want the absolute best for them and provide that in the priorities we determine based on our revised, new definition of that. I have to remember to trust that my boys and their wives will not be on the F train. For once they go their own ways with their own families a new train line is formed, the tracks merging from our F train and the tunnel each respective wife came from.
That is going to be hard. I will love my grandchildren and want the best for them and expect that to look like the choices I made when I was teaching my little men. But it will not be and I will have to remember that the experiences I gave my kids are theirs to take or leave along with the things their wives take or leave from their own tunnels in life. Picking up gems of advice and knowledge gained along the way blended with upbringing.
The punchline is there is no perfect collection of decisions, there is no perfect way for all families to do this. There is no one parenting template perfect for all children or all generations. So even if we somehow get it right for our boys, what's right and makes sense for them isn't entirely how it should be done for their friends or ultimately their children.
My mom never cared about fingerprints on the walls, I think she had specific things that drove her nuts as a kid and that was one of them. She probably knew from age 5 that would never be a rule in her home as a mommy. I was just thinking recently how I might bring that rule into my new home and carry on my grandma's torch of clean, fingerprintless walls. I should give her a call and find out if that was her own or a gem of generations past.
6.04.2008
wed
My favorite parts of the day:
* family prayer via speaker phone
* watching and hearing Evan laugh on the swing
* hearing Zane laugh on the swing (I was pushing so I couldn't technically see it)
* preschool park day potluck (I sure wish there was a potluck to attend each day somewhere. The curry dish was the best. Pesto salad- not so much).
* seeing Evan gnaw on grown-up food from my hand like a baby bird
* the urgent care doctor telling me I have well-behaved children (funny how illness brings the energy down to regular, if only he saw us on a typical healthy day)
* getting medicine for my kids at 8pm. It's the first pharmacy in my town I have found to be open 24/7.
* millions of smiles from Evan from morning until night
* watching Zane eat his cheeseburger
* ending the evening with a long distance smooch
* family prayer via speaker phone
* watching and hearing Evan laugh on the swing
* hearing Zane laugh on the swing (I was pushing so I couldn't technically see it)
* preschool park day potluck (I sure wish there was a potluck to attend each day somewhere. The curry dish was the best. Pesto salad- not so much).
* seeing Evan gnaw on grown-up food from my hand like a baby bird
* the urgent care doctor telling me I have well-behaved children (funny how illness brings the energy down to regular, if only he saw us on a typical healthy day)
* getting medicine for my kids at 8pm. It's the first pharmacy in my town I have found to be open 24/7.
* millions of smiles from Evan from morning until night
* watching Zane eat his cheeseburger
* ending the evening with a long distance smooch
5.23.2008
happy spot
My happy spot in a day is when I am not doing any work. I am not cleaning or feeding anyone. I am on the floor playing with my kids (or outside hanging out with them). There is no reason I shouldn't make time for this every day at least once. So I came up with a solution.
I wrote down on a sheet of paper all the 15-20 minute activities I could think of. Bubbles, play-doh, dance party, candyland, painting, chase, tag, etc. I cut them out into slips of paper and put them into a box with a lid. We will do one of these things (at least) daily. Either I choose at random or Zane picks one out of the box. I have about 30 activities in there and am aware of its presence in my kitchen each morning, which was the point of the plan. Check.
I also created a posterboard calender just for Zane. He has been rather confused about the new traveling schedule his father has started. We put big yellow stars on the days Mike will be home and also filled in his activites on the other days (preschool, church, play dates, etc). It will be helpful for him to learn yesterday was not 'last year' and keep me on track with talking about communicating our schedule often.
My next move is a quick and dirty list of each kids' developmental targets for this stage of their lives and post them in a place I can view each day so I can make more time available to focus on them. I have a house to pack up and I don't want them to get lost in the mix of change this summer. Although I like to post about how awesome I think I am, this is more in the spirit of keeping myself accountable for all the things I am responsible for and pushing the most important to the top of the list.
I wrote down on a sheet of paper all the 15-20 minute activities I could think of. Bubbles, play-doh, dance party, candyland, painting, chase, tag, etc. I cut them out into slips of paper and put them into a box with a lid. We will do one of these things (at least) daily. Either I choose at random or Zane picks one out of the box. I have about 30 activities in there and am aware of its presence in my kitchen each morning, which was the point of the plan. Check.
I also created a posterboard calender just for Zane. He has been rather confused about the new traveling schedule his father has started. We put big yellow stars on the days Mike will be home and also filled in his activites on the other days (preschool, church, play dates, etc). It will be helpful for him to learn yesterday was not 'last year' and keep me on track with talking about communicating our schedule often.
My next move is a quick and dirty list of each kids' developmental targets for this stage of their lives and post them in a place I can view each day so I can make more time available to focus on them. I have a house to pack up and I don't want them to get lost in the mix of change this summer. Although I like to post about how awesome I think I am, this is more in the spirit of keeping myself accountable for all the things I am responsible for and pushing the most important to the top of the list.
5.16.2008
true. that.
My sister and I were discussing a talk given by a church leader, Elder M. Russell Ballard (click here to read it). Women all over the place smile when it comes up in conversation. It's about motherhood. It's about keeping it real. It's about the basics I bet a lot of us are doing even if we wish and want to be catching stars for these kids of ours every night. Sometimes remembering the basics might be more important.
It's a nice refresh for me to read it today and feel good about the priorities in my life. Especially as we adjust as a family to a new schedule with Mike traveling. As we each have an abundance of what the other is deficient in each weekday (me: alone time / him: kid time). I am determined in our roles as parents to keep working at being united, achieving family peace as often as possible, and having fun. I know we each wish to share what we have an abundance of with the other so we can balance each others' needs, but for now we cannot. It has to be enough to simply know we would trade moments of the day with each other if we could.
Here are some of my favorite parts of the talk and my thoughts:
"...I surely know that there is no role in life more essential and more eternal than that of motherhood."
I love the feeling of agreeing with this.
"There is no one perfect way to be a good mother. Each situation is unique. Each mother has different challenges, different skills and abilities, and certainly different children. The choice is different and unique for each mother and each family."
That's easy to forget, isn't it? It's hard to be around people who think their way is the one perfect way. I hope to not be that person now or ever. Even with each of my own children, I hope I remember they might need different parenting as their needs and personalities will vary.
"What matters is that a mother loves her children deeply and, in keeping with the devotion she has for God and her husband, prioritizes them above all else."
"I am impressed by countless mothers who have learned how important it is to focus on the things that can only be done in a particular season of life. "
He isn't going to let me hold his hand when we run errands and snuggle him while we read books forever, is he?
"There are moments of great joy and incredible fulfillment,"...
Today Zane thanked me when I put a band-aid on his ouchie with the most pleasant and thoughtful voice I have heard in weeks. As if I sewed his arm back on. It was a moment I wish I could bottle up.
..." but there are also moments of a sense of inadequacy, monotony, and frustration. Mothers may feel they receive little or no appreciation for the choice they have made. Sometimes even husbands seem to have no idea of the demands upon their wives."
Evan screams like he is on fire each time I lay his sleeping body into his crib during the day. Zero naps this week, unless they are in my arms. Zero. Another moment, less favored.
Author Anna Quindlen reminds us not to rush past the fleeting moments. She said: “........And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less”(Loud and Clear [2004], 10–11).
I think I want to put this quote above the door to remember when I am coming and going from one thing to the next.
..." find some time for yourself to cultivate your gifts and interests. Pick one or two things that you would like to learn or do that will enrich your life, and make time for them. Water cannot be drawn from an empty well, and if you are not setting aside a little time for what replenishes you, you will have less and less to give to others, even to your children."
This is something I am normally pretty good at. I am working on getting a drumming instructor in AZ and a babysitter so can have some 'me' time even with Mike traveling. I know 1-2 hours a week is about all I can do once the house is settled. That was my routine in NY and it worked well. We are all going to need for me to be replenished.
It's a nice refresh for me to read it today and feel good about the priorities in my life. Especially as we adjust as a family to a new schedule with Mike traveling. As we each have an abundance of what the other is deficient in each weekday (me: alone time / him: kid time). I am determined in our roles as parents to keep working at being united, achieving family peace as often as possible, and having fun. I know we each wish to share what we have an abundance of with the other so we can balance each others' needs, but for now we cannot. It has to be enough to simply know we would trade moments of the day with each other if we could.
Here are some of my favorite parts of the talk and my thoughts:
"...I surely know that there is no role in life more essential and more eternal than that of motherhood."
I love the feeling of agreeing with this.
"There is no one perfect way to be a good mother. Each situation is unique. Each mother has different challenges, different skills and abilities, and certainly different children. The choice is different and unique for each mother and each family."
That's easy to forget, isn't it? It's hard to be around people who think their way is the one perfect way. I hope to not be that person now or ever. Even with each of my own children, I hope I remember they might need different parenting as their needs and personalities will vary.
"What matters is that a mother loves her children deeply and, in keeping with the devotion she has for God and her husband, prioritizes them above all else."
"I am impressed by countless mothers who have learned how important it is to focus on the things that can only be done in a particular season of life. "
He isn't going to let me hold his hand when we run errands and snuggle him while we read books forever, is he?
"There are moments of great joy and incredible fulfillment,"...
Today Zane thanked me when I put a band-aid on his ouchie with the most pleasant and thoughtful voice I have heard in weeks. As if I sewed his arm back on. It was a moment I wish I could bottle up.
..." but there are also moments of a sense of inadequacy, monotony, and frustration. Mothers may feel they receive little or no appreciation for the choice they have made. Sometimes even husbands seem to have no idea of the demands upon their wives."
Evan screams like he is on fire each time I lay his sleeping body into his crib during the day. Zero naps this week, unless they are in my arms. Zero. Another moment, less favored.
Author Anna Quindlen reminds us not to rush past the fleeting moments. She said: “........And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less”(Loud and Clear [2004], 10–11).
I think I want to put this quote above the door to remember when I am coming and going from one thing to the next.
..." find some time for yourself to cultivate your gifts and interests. Pick one or two things that you would like to learn or do that will enrich your life, and make time for them. Water cannot be drawn from an empty well, and if you are not setting aside a little time for what replenishes you, you will have less and less to give to others, even to your children."
This is something I am normally pretty good at. I am working on getting a drumming instructor in AZ and a babysitter so can have some 'me' time even with Mike traveling. I know 1-2 hours a week is about all I can do once the house is settled. That was my routine in NY and it worked well. We are all going to need for me to be replenished.
4.27.2008
a life of arctic sounds on repeat
14 hours is a long drive inside a car.
Tomorrow I begin my adventure house hunting for the right home for my family. Mike has to work each day (locally) while the baby and I bust out as many homes on our list as we have energy for. At the end of the week he will be able to view my final selection so we can get us a home. Our realtor is most excellent, family friend. Hours have been spent on MLS and Builders' sites looking at photos and descriptions. It's like we have been cramming for a test. Only instead of a grade we get this place to live and grow in. Make some friends in, invite family over, make memories, maybe have some more babies in, laugh in, work hard in, teach my kids in. A home is an important place. And although I know as long as it's safe and clean, what goes on inside of it is way more important than what it looks like, I am still nervous of picking the wrong one. Even though that doesn't mean a meteor will crash into it. It's just a space to put our stuff and keep us cool from the freaking heat. Why does it feel so scary?
It's a strange feeling, I don't want to let any of them down. I know ideally what we are looking for and it's a super nice time to be on the buying end of things. I just don't want to be emotionally turned off from a home that is the right layout and overlook something important. Or even better, totally get mixed up and write down the correct notes about the incorrect home and lose the connections in my mind after looking at so many back to back. There is a reason, after all, I chose a career dealing with warm fuzzies (HR) and not rocket science (NASA).
I know what we want and there are things we will certainly learn as it will be our first experience buying a home. It's par for the course. I just hope those mistakes won't be too huge, like a school district that falls apart and turns the children into gang bangers. Or the lot was built on a cemetary like the movie Poltergeist. ZANE GO TO THE LIGHT! Or move in thinking it's all dandy only to find dozens of scorpions stinging my children. Or bats in the attic, you know you saw that show and how the lady went blind from the air quality. The Money Pit, who doesn't recall that one?!
Seriously, though, I have my realitor and tools of advice and research on neighborhoods, schools, crime rates, sex offenders, inspection, etc. in addition to our family wish list for our price range and it will work out more smoothly than I imagine. It's such a funny feeling going into an experience for the first time. You gather up all the conversations together from those whom have done this before, but there are still gaps in understanding of what it's going to be like because everyone has a different experience. Just like going into marriage or parenting, it's so different depending on a gazillion variables that could apply.
No matter what it will rock to have my own parking place for our cars, a garbage disposal, dishwasher, no bathroom next to the kitchen sink, and a yard. Brooklyn does that to a girl. The rest is just butter.
Tomorrow I begin my adventure house hunting for the right home for my family. Mike has to work each day (locally) while the baby and I bust out as many homes on our list as we have energy for. At the end of the week he will be able to view my final selection so we can get us a home. Our realtor is most excellent, family friend. Hours have been spent on MLS and Builders' sites looking at photos and descriptions. It's like we have been cramming for a test. Only instead of a grade we get this place to live and grow in. Make some friends in, invite family over, make memories, maybe have some more babies in, laugh in, work hard in, teach my kids in. A home is an important place. And although I know as long as it's safe and clean, what goes on inside of it is way more important than what it looks like, I am still nervous of picking the wrong one. Even though that doesn't mean a meteor will crash into it. It's just a space to put our stuff and keep us cool from the freaking heat. Why does it feel so scary?
It's a strange feeling, I don't want to let any of them down. I know ideally what we are looking for and it's a super nice time to be on the buying end of things. I just don't want to be emotionally turned off from a home that is the right layout and overlook something important. Or even better, totally get mixed up and write down the correct notes about the incorrect home and lose the connections in my mind after looking at so many back to back. There is a reason, after all, I chose a career dealing with warm fuzzies (HR) and not rocket science (NASA).
I know what we want and there are things we will certainly learn as it will be our first experience buying a home. It's par for the course. I just hope those mistakes won't be too huge, like a school district that falls apart and turns the children into gang bangers. Or the lot was built on a cemetary like the movie Poltergeist. ZANE GO TO THE LIGHT! Or move in thinking it's all dandy only to find dozens of scorpions stinging my children. Or bats in the attic, you know you saw that show and how the lady went blind from the air quality. The Money Pit, who doesn't recall that one?!
Seriously, though, I have my realitor and tools of advice and research on neighborhoods, schools, crime rates, sex offenders, inspection, etc. in addition to our family wish list for our price range and it will work out more smoothly than I imagine. It's such a funny feeling going into an experience for the first time. You gather up all the conversations together from those whom have done this before, but there are still gaps in understanding of what it's going to be like because everyone has a different experience. Just like going into marriage or parenting, it's so different depending on a gazillion variables that could apply.
No matter what it will rock to have my own parking place for our cars, a garbage disposal, dishwasher, no bathroom next to the kitchen sink, and a yard. Brooklyn does that to a girl. The rest is just butter.
4.24.2008
hungry like the wolf
So house hunting in Arizona..... in this market.......after living in two of the more costly states possible.....sort of feels like I am stealing.We are giving ourselves one week to hunt and buy. This is a crazy process, narrowing our search and determining our current plus future needs. Caring about things we never thought much about before like school districts, crime rates, floor plans, resale value, etc. It's like being engaged times 158, making too many decisions all at once and trying to get him to agree with everything I want, especially the pony.
This isn't going to be the home we buy, but isn't it awesome? I would totally wear a single braid on that porch and summon the children in for dinner by ringing a triangle.
*
But would I still love this home if I went to see it in person and it was lined up with 65 variations of this same perfect home? Because it's basically unavoidable in Unpainted Arizona. And that's alright by me. I am just sayin. Originality is sparse with homes there and I have to remember that or none will do.
4.18.2008
ch ch ch ch changes
We are moving to Arizona this summer!
Although the summers are a torcher chamber of welding tools blasting your eye balls into dry sockets, I am incredibly excited. For several reasons. Family, of course, in adition to the ability to house hunt for homes built well after the date of 1928.
After living in NY and CA, I have had to retrain my brain on what the cost of living looks like there. It is a huge difference. The kind that doesn't make a lot of sense to read about because it's the difference between that bathroom in Brooklyn, the one that was in the kitchen. The one that hit the tub when you opened the door and your shoulders would touch the walls when you would pop a squat. That one that had a heating pole (?) that would burn the hell out of your back when you washed your hands in the sink that was built for a midget. And this was actually a GOOD Brooklyn apartment because the floors and paint job were new. And by paint job I totally mean it was coat # 4,624 and always covered wires, part of the window - sometimes sealing it shut forever, and electrical outlets.
When considering a home in CA when we first moved here I looked at a place in the price range we are currently seeking. It was basically an apartment with two rooms, no central air (?), no space for a washer and dryer, and did I mention it was an apartment? Every single wall was attached to someone else's home.
While I still have pangs of mourning over letting go of New York and I will forever hold a place in my happy heart for California's weather and beauty, I am thoroughly pleased to be going to my homeland. It's going to be dusty. It's going to be hot. It's also going to be exactly what we want for us and our boys and our extended loved ones. Oh yeah, the friends there are awesome, too, I can't forget them!
I can't wait to find our own home, plant my own tree, paint my own walls, and invite as many family members as we can cram into our own space for some good old fashioned desert dwelling times.
Although the summers are a torcher chamber of welding tools blasting your eye balls into dry sockets, I am incredibly excited. For several reasons. Family, of course, in adition to the ability to house hunt for homes built well after the date of 1928.
After living in NY and CA, I have had to retrain my brain on what the cost of living looks like there. It is a huge difference. The kind that doesn't make a lot of sense to read about because it's the difference between that bathroom in Brooklyn, the one that was in the kitchen. The one that hit the tub when you opened the door and your shoulders would touch the walls when you would pop a squat. That one that had a heating pole (?) that would burn the hell out of your back when you washed your hands in the sink that was built for a midget. And this was actually a GOOD Brooklyn apartment because the floors and paint job were new. And by paint job I totally mean it was coat # 4,624 and always covered wires, part of the window - sometimes sealing it shut forever, and electrical outlets.
When considering a home in CA when we first moved here I looked at a place in the price range we are currently seeking. It was basically an apartment with two rooms, no central air (?), no space for a washer and dryer, and did I mention it was an apartment? Every single wall was attached to someone else's home.
While I still have pangs of mourning over letting go of New York and I will forever hold a place in my happy heart for California's weather and beauty, I am thoroughly pleased to be going to my homeland. It's going to be dusty. It's going to be hot. It's also going to be exactly what we want for us and our boys and our extended loved ones. Oh yeah, the friends there are awesome, too, I can't forget them!
I can't wait to find our own home, plant my own tree, paint my own walls, and invite as many family members as we can cram into our own space for some good old fashioned desert dwelling times.
4.13.2008
Nettie
Nettie turned 100 years old in August. I was really hoping Evan would be born on her birthday. I planned to take a photo of them together, what contrast that would be! He is seven months old and almost every month I have gone to visit her, but I have still not brought him. This month he was sick, prior months he was sleeping at the time I planned to see her.
Nettie lives with her daughter, Fern, who does most of the talking at our visits. I love them both. Nettie loves to crochet, she cannot do it as well as she used to and that disappoints her. She misses being able to read and quilt, passions of hers she is no longer able to do. When I began to visit her several months ago she did not look so different month to month. She always has a smile and bright eyes with vibrant life peeking out of her sunken face. She is so happy and loves my visits. She is looking very different now as the months go by, as if years pass in the short space of 30-odd days.
That first visit she showed me a little spot of skin cancer behind her ear. She said there is nothing the doctors can do about it. They told her that the cancer would not be the thing that would cause her to die. Treatment would not be possible for a woman of her age. Each month it is spreading and bleeding; leaving blackish scabs on the side of her face. It twists my stomach that I am sitting in front of someone who has cancer, that I can see it spreading, and that I can do little about it. And that someday (probably not far from now) she will pass on and her frail body will be all done with this mortal life. But I cannot do anything about it. I can't make her younger, give her hands the ability to sew again nor provide strength in her eyes to read again.
I love my visits with Nettie. I always drive away wondering if she will be there next month. I like to bring her cupcakes with sprinkles like it is her birthday every month. Because when you are 100 every day is a big deal.
4.01.2008
tinker
....Had a lesson on Sunday about good, better, best choices. How to spend your time by making best choices. I feel in the swing of things for the most part, but every week something drops. Good meals hit the table, but laundry is piled up. Or I am on top of the laundry, but the t.v. has been on too much, not enough outside/ kid play time. I make a best choice in one area and another lags too much.
It's like the way we all have discretionary income in our budgets, everyone has a different dollar amount some big and some small, but we still get to control how we spend that amount and plan it. But if it's not planned it usually (in my experience) gets spent on things are not the priority.
That's what is happening with my discretionary time week over week. The priorities I want to happen are finding a shortage of time cos I am wasting this valuable commodity on things I have not planned. Not bad things, I just need to plan this time more wisely so I can benefit myself and family and household better and not feel like I wake up and jump into a tornado of a day carrying me from task to task without direction. I want better control. More routine and schedule. I want to have a day where I know what I think about and what to ignore. But the flexibility to have fun opportunities happen as well. Just not the great accomplishments I want to simply be happenstance.
April is my month for planning best. FHE assignments and kits, Food Storage, fun kid outings, cleaning and laundry schedule, date nights, visiting teaching, girls night out, family vacation for the summer, reading schedule for self and with kids.
It's like the way we all have discretionary income in our budgets, everyone has a different dollar amount some big and some small, but we still get to control how we spend that amount and plan it. But if it's not planned it usually (in my experience) gets spent on things are not the priority.
That's what is happening with my discretionary time week over week. The priorities I want to happen are finding a shortage of time cos I am wasting this valuable commodity on things I have not planned. Not bad things, I just need to plan this time more wisely so I can benefit myself and family and household better and not feel like I wake up and jump into a tornado of a day carrying me from task to task without direction. I want better control. More routine and schedule. I want to have a day where I know what I think about and what to ignore. But the flexibility to have fun opportunities happen as well. Just not the great accomplishments I want to simply be happenstance.
April is my month for planning best. FHE assignments and kits, Food Storage, fun kid outings, cleaning and laundry schedule, date nights, visiting teaching, girls night out, family vacation for the summer, reading schedule for self and with kids.
3.20.2008
median
After living in rough and tumble New York where pot holes in parts of Brooklyn will never be filled until a small child gets swallowed up, I find things in my cute little California town a bit silly. Often we will be at a stop light and see about a dozen men working hard on fixing not a pot hole, but making the median more pretty. Digging, pounding nails in the concrete, and filling the void with pretty shaped bricks. Eventually 12 more people have the job of filling some of the space with trees and pretty flowers. Maybe even some bird baths and water fall rock gardens. Although it seems to me wasted community embellishment, it's good for people to have work.
My preschooler always asks what the men are doing and admires the tool belts. We talk about what they are doing as sweat drips from their heads and their hands continue to callous. We watch from an air conditioned car that will probably never leave us stranded and leads us into a drive-through where we are handed food to eat in our air conditioned home or leisurely at the park. Those are times I am always tempted to stop by the median again and hand out Whoppers and Otter Pops.
It's also times like that I think about the dignity it takes a man to do a job like that. To do something physical with his hands to make money for himself and/or family. I think about the way we speak of this man I want to teach my son to notice him and appreciate him and his work.
And then I wonder if he will figure out on his own that it's not necessarily a desirable job to have, even with the cool tool belt. What age will he be when he starts to think about matching his skills and interests to a future job and relate it to what kind of income it merits. And how will I present this information to him? If he is really good at being a tattoo artist, for example, and has this talent to develop I want him to find every and any way to learn it better and improve himself to do it the best he possibly can. Not just so he can be happy in his chosen career, but so he can be marketable in his profession and provide the best he can for his family.
My step dad wasn't the most awesome person I have ever met. But something about his stories of digging ditches and framing homes in the Arizona summers along with the constant reminder of him regretting his lack of education resonated with me as a kid.
My preschooler always asks what the men are doing and admires the tool belts. We talk about what they are doing as sweat drips from their heads and their hands continue to callous. We watch from an air conditioned car that will probably never leave us stranded and leads us into a drive-through where we are handed food to eat in our air conditioned home or leisurely at the park. Those are times I am always tempted to stop by the median again and hand out Whoppers and Otter Pops.
It's also times like that I think about the dignity it takes a man to do a job like that. To do something physical with his hands to make money for himself and/or family. I think about the way we speak of this man I want to teach my son to notice him and appreciate him and his work.
And then I wonder if he will figure out on his own that it's not necessarily a desirable job to have, even with the cool tool belt. What age will he be when he starts to think about matching his skills and interests to a future job and relate it to what kind of income it merits. And how will I present this information to him? If he is really good at being a tattoo artist, for example, and has this talent to develop I want him to find every and any way to learn it better and improve himself to do it the best he possibly can. Not just so he can be happy in his chosen career, but so he can be marketable in his profession and provide the best he can for his family.
My step dad wasn't the most awesome person I have ever met. But something about his stories of digging ditches and framing homes in the Arizona summers along with the constant reminder of him regretting his lack of education resonated with me as a kid.
3.19.2008
Lots of times I open my mouth and let words fall out, they just drop out into the air.
*
People giving lessons at church often like us to participate so they don't have to do all the talking. I have no problems with being the first to break the silence. I just don't always wait long enough to make sure I know what the lesson is about. Or long enough to make sure what I am going to say benefits the direction of the thoughts previously stated. But I keep doing it and it has become funny inside my head when it happens.
I normally enter the room late while the lesson has been going on, probably from wrangling my son into his class or feeding the baby. I take a seat and catch the tail end of whatever the teacher is saying. I only know she is taking pause and waiting for someone else to speak, answer her question or offer a precious piece of testimony. My arm shoots up before I can think and I am pleased to see her relief to know she has a participant! That's when I realize I might as well have said "space ships go really fast" because the words I offered had nothing to do with lesson. The teacher responds to my comment with a blank stare and blinks a few times. Then someone rescues me by sharing input more fitting to the topic.
I have to hide my smile and pretend it didn't just happen. The humor inside me that I did it again when I know better; remembering that I still don't stop myself very well. I force my bursting laugh to stay inside like helium in Mylar. Because sometimes that's how it feels to embarrass myself. It's like an addiction, it sort of feels bad in a good way.
*
People giving lessons at church often like us to participate so they don't have to do all the talking. I have no problems with being the first to break the silence. I just don't always wait long enough to make sure I know what the lesson is about. Or long enough to make sure what I am going to say benefits the direction of the thoughts previously stated. But I keep doing it and it has become funny inside my head when it happens.
I normally enter the room late while the lesson has been going on, probably from wrangling my son into his class or feeding the baby. I take a seat and catch the tail end of whatever the teacher is saying. I only know she is taking pause and waiting for someone else to speak, answer her question or offer a precious piece of testimony. My arm shoots up before I can think and I am pleased to see her relief to know she has a participant! That's when I realize I might as well have said "space ships go really fast" because the words I offered had nothing to do with lesson. The teacher responds to my comment with a blank stare and blinks a few times. Then someone rescues me by sharing input more fitting to the topic.
I have to hide my smile and pretend it didn't just happen. The humor inside me that I did it again when I know better; remembering that I still don't stop myself very well. I force my bursting laugh to stay inside like helium in Mylar. Because sometimes that's how it feels to embarrass myself. It's like an addiction, it sort of feels bad in a good way.
3.07.2008
a long and twisty one, take a seat
I know I have written about trials before and my confusion about why the ones other people get seem larger than mine. Be it financial trials, children's health issues, their own grown-up health trials, tragedy, or abuse. When I think of my life in comparison it feels as if a golden wand touched the top of my head and gave me the 'free of serious trial' spell. Which, of course, is silly to think, I have many years ahead of me still. Surely bad things happen to some people some of the time, and bad people some of the time, and any mix of those words you can put together. Life is life, hard and unexpected with a different balance of easy and joyful for every person and family.
So there is that. And then there is me being late all the time. What is it with me and late? Is it like this simple little cricket chirping I struggle with putting outside because I get too lazy to look for it behind each door? My little bit of memory that loses information like sand through a sifter. Too much to work on? How is that, Liz? There are people juggling a dozen kids going every direction each day of the week and I can't remember to pick up my husband's work clothes from the dry cleaning on Mondays? Even with a loving reminder call in the middle of the afternoon? How is that?
Driving down the road this week I thought about my sister and how different her responsibilies are on a daily and monthly basis with the unique needs some of her children have. Also, the adjustment to a new state, her husband's new job and long hours, sometimes traveling. I thought about the generations of women in our family and what their lives were like daily and weekly. My grandma experiencing The Great Depression and becoming a widow with 4 young daughters. My mother experiencing times as a single parent moving into a new state with little work experience. We have all had our own paths with our own hardships of varying degrees and they all look so different.
Then I circled back to the little souls my sister is raising and how perfectly well they fit into her family. It was like looking at a completed puzzle from afar, it made perfect sense given her ability to be so organized and orderly, careful and thorough. Her experience helping to raise me, the natural way things come to her as a loving and instinctual mother that the needs her children have match up to her skills evenly. They were predetermined to be with her and her husband, I believe, before they even came to this earth. Any other woman in my family would provide all they could, but she provides exactly the tools they need in a way that fits like a glove. Needs that just might have been a lot more challenging to meet in the years of The Great Depression, for a single mother, or an absent-minded mommy.
*
I sometimes wonder the path of my life and what it's prepared me for. What comes next, what I will be fighting for or standing up for or rooting my guts out for. Myself? My husband? My kids? The PTA meetings? HOA rules? Habitat for Humanity? Mental Health Causes? Better School Lunches? Sex Education? Cancer? My Neighbor? The Girl Scouts of America? Nothing? Boring regular life or H U G E things that are not the norm? I have no idea. I just know we are given tools and our life paths help us sharpen them for a reason; either for ourselves or other people. And they are not just for the purpose of making money to gain material things, they are given to us to make a difference at some point in our lives. I wonder if that time will be handed to me or if I will need to seek it out.
*
I was also thinking about how we all sacrifice different things sometimes. I was feeling rather privileged one day a few years ago and remember praying to my Heavenly Father to help me understand the feeling of sacrifice and how to prepare for it (this is a little personal so handle with care here folks). I remember looking around at my safe home and crazy things were happening in the world and I was safe and healthy and had a healthy baby boy. My husband had a job and was getting into a really great school. Some husbands we knew did not have a job at the time and other personal things in others' lives were not going so well. Of course, I didn't want to join their situations, but merely had heavy compassion in my heart and knew I had not had nearly the struggles they might be facing. It felt unfair.
As I look back between that time and today I can say we have still not been jobless. We are still healthy and intact. We are still not in the middle of a burning building, a flooded city, nor are we in the way of a brush fire gone out of control. We are in a good place, perhaps better place as a family than we were years ago. We sit and smile at each other and look around at each other and know how good it feels to be together. I can feel it because the sacrifice we made was one we needed. Some might not even classify it as a sacrifice. Two prayers were answered when Mike started his MBA program. Not only did he get in, but we began a course of feeling somewhat isolated from each other.
I learned how to be a mother with him getting home late on a 10pm train, only to get up around 5am the next day and head to work again. He had long weekend projects with peers whom also held full time jobs during the week. Zane didn't know his father very well, this was a source of great resentment for me. It created a wedge initially that was a bit of a challenge to remove. It took a lot of perspective on my part to get there and understanding of our plan for him to do this for the future of his career. Our sacrifice was the removal of the most important thing any family has: our time together.
I didn't realize that my prayer was being answered at the time, I didn't realize it was our little family sacrifice time and how temporary it would be. I also didn't realize how much it would mean to have him walk in the door at 7pm at night and feel so thrilled Zane gets to play rough with him before going to bed and Evan gets to babble and giggle with his daddy each night. I am grateful for the perspective those years have given us.
So there is that. And then there is me being late all the time. What is it with me and late? Is it like this simple little cricket chirping I struggle with putting outside because I get too lazy to look for it behind each door? My little bit of memory that loses information like sand through a sifter. Too much to work on? How is that, Liz? There are people juggling a dozen kids going every direction each day of the week and I can't remember to pick up my husband's work clothes from the dry cleaning on Mondays? Even with a loving reminder call in the middle of the afternoon? How is that?
Driving down the road this week I thought about my sister and how different her responsibilies are on a daily and monthly basis with the unique needs some of her children have. Also, the adjustment to a new state, her husband's new job and long hours, sometimes traveling. I thought about the generations of women in our family and what their lives were like daily and weekly. My grandma experiencing The Great Depression and becoming a widow with 4 young daughters. My mother experiencing times as a single parent moving into a new state with little work experience. We have all had our own paths with our own hardships of varying degrees and they all look so different.
Then I circled back to the little souls my sister is raising and how perfectly well they fit into her family. It was like looking at a completed puzzle from afar, it made perfect sense given her ability to be so organized and orderly, careful and thorough. Her experience helping to raise me, the natural way things come to her as a loving and instinctual mother that the needs her children have match up to her skills evenly. They were predetermined to be with her and her husband, I believe, before they even came to this earth. Any other woman in my family would provide all they could, but she provides exactly the tools they need in a way that fits like a glove. Needs that just might have been a lot more challenging to meet in the years of The Great Depression, for a single mother, or an absent-minded mommy.
*
I sometimes wonder the path of my life and what it's prepared me for. What comes next, what I will be fighting for or standing up for or rooting my guts out for. Myself? My husband? My kids? The PTA meetings? HOA rules? Habitat for Humanity? Mental Health Causes? Better School Lunches? Sex Education? Cancer? My Neighbor? The Girl Scouts of America? Nothing? Boring regular life or H U G E things that are not the norm? I have no idea. I just know we are given tools and our life paths help us sharpen them for a reason; either for ourselves or other people. And they are not just for the purpose of making money to gain material things, they are given to us to make a difference at some point in our lives. I wonder if that time will be handed to me or if I will need to seek it out.
*
I was also thinking about how we all sacrifice different things sometimes. I was feeling rather privileged one day a few years ago and remember praying to my Heavenly Father to help me understand the feeling of sacrifice and how to prepare for it (this is a little personal so handle with care here folks). I remember looking around at my safe home and crazy things were happening in the world and I was safe and healthy and had a healthy baby boy. My husband had a job and was getting into a really great school. Some husbands we knew did not have a job at the time and other personal things in others' lives were not going so well. Of course, I didn't want to join their situations, but merely had heavy compassion in my heart and knew I had not had nearly the struggles they might be facing. It felt unfair.
As I look back between that time and today I can say we have still not been jobless. We are still healthy and intact. We are still not in the middle of a burning building, a flooded city, nor are we in the way of a brush fire gone out of control. We are in a good place, perhaps better place as a family than we were years ago. We sit and smile at each other and look around at each other and know how good it feels to be together. I can feel it because the sacrifice we made was one we needed. Some might not even classify it as a sacrifice. Two prayers were answered when Mike started his MBA program. Not only did he get in, but we began a course of feeling somewhat isolated from each other.
I learned how to be a mother with him getting home late on a 10pm train, only to get up around 5am the next day and head to work again. He had long weekend projects with peers whom also held full time jobs during the week. Zane didn't know his father very well, this was a source of great resentment for me. It created a wedge initially that was a bit of a challenge to remove. It took a lot of perspective on my part to get there and understanding of our plan for him to do this for the future of his career. Our sacrifice was the removal of the most important thing any family has: our time together.
I didn't realize that my prayer was being answered at the time, I didn't realize it was our little family sacrifice time and how temporary it would be. I also didn't realize how much it would mean to have him walk in the door at 7pm at night and feel so thrilled Zane gets to play rough with him before going to bed and Evan gets to babble and giggle with his daddy each night. I am grateful for the perspective those years have given us.
1.27.2008
We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet
So the Prophet died. Tonight. Not that long ago this evening. And it feels sort of strange. Not panic, not necessarily teary-eyed, but sorrowful. I never met the man personally. But I know him to have been true. Benevolent. Inspired. Led by God. Amazing. Powerful yet tender. Funny. Talented. Direct. Charismatic. Humble. Real. Just to name a few.
I wonder what it's like for him to be with his beloved wife again. I wonder if it's anything like that first time you kiss. Or being together again after a long business trip, only times a million.
Having only joined this faith in the late nineties, he is the only Prophet I have listened to and learned about as an actual Prophet living on this earth in the present. I wonder if this feeling is a little tiny bit of what it might feel like when a parent leaves the earth. I know I will be alright and learn from others the things in which I need to learn, but his example felt like home and his words were just what I needed to hear at times.
I wonder what it's like for him to be with his beloved wife again. I wonder if it's anything like that first time you kiss. Or being together again after a long business trip, only times a million.
Having only joined this faith in the late nineties, he is the only Prophet I have listened to and learned about as an actual Prophet living on this earth in the present. I wonder if this feeling is a little tiny bit of what it might feel like when a parent leaves the earth. I know I will be alright and learn from others the things in which I need to learn, but his example felt like home and his words were just what I needed to hear at times.
1.19.2008
things i learned this week
* what a "razz" sound from a baby is
* when visiting preschool with evan during circle time, don't sit next to the little girl who LOVES babies
* it's good advice to do at least 1 load of laundry each day
* taking a deep breath when frustrated about something really helps
* positive energy from the mom in the house spreads quickly and sticks well
* gaaaaaaaaaawsh is feels so good to spend time with friends in person and on the phone
* cookies always make people happy
* shows about finding bones sicks me out
* shows about celebrities coming off drug addiction is interesting, oddly enough
* Sprite never tastes good after eating mint cookies or candy
* Henry Rollins is inspiring
* walkie talkies make irritating sounds
* 3 year olds really can be helpful AND funny
* 3 year olds can really drive you nuts
* it feels amazing to have a clean house and home-cooked meal
* i miss wearing my pink winter jacket
* i miss New York
* i am happy to have a little family to take care of
* evan for certain has his father's hair
* it's time to put some color and photographs on my walls
* i am really lucky, i have a really great life
* when quickly eating a powdered donut, be sure you don't have any on the inside of your notrils when picking up dry cleaning
* it might do me some good to join a book group for reals sometime
* when i have a hard day, all i normally need is an ear and a hug
* although ice cream helps
* passing up computer time to play with the baby is always a good choice
* schedules really do make my life easier
* i miss each and every friend that lives far away
* i am so grateful i never tried drugs, especially coke. it sure must suck to a) never quit or b) come off of it (according to television of course, no first hand reports to share and make this learning official)
* when visiting preschool with evan during circle time, don't sit next to the little girl who LOVES babies
* it's good advice to do at least 1 load of laundry each day
* taking a deep breath when frustrated about something really helps
* positive energy from the mom in the house spreads quickly and sticks well
* gaaaaaaaaaawsh is feels so good to spend time with friends in person and on the phone
* cookies always make people happy
* shows about finding bones sicks me out
* shows about celebrities coming off drug addiction is interesting, oddly enough
* Sprite never tastes good after eating mint cookies or candy
* Henry Rollins is inspiring
* walkie talkies make irritating sounds
* 3 year olds really can be helpful AND funny
* 3 year olds can really drive you nuts
* it feels amazing to have a clean house and home-cooked meal
* i miss wearing my pink winter jacket
* i miss New York
* i am happy to have a little family to take care of
* evan for certain has his father's hair
* it's time to put some color and photographs on my walls
* i am really lucky, i have a really great life
* when quickly eating a powdered donut, be sure you don't have any on the inside of your notrils when picking up dry cleaning
* it might do me some good to join a book group for reals sometime
* when i have a hard day, all i normally need is an ear and a hug
* although ice cream helps
* passing up computer time to play with the baby is always a good choice
* schedules really do make my life easier
* i miss each and every friend that lives far away
* i am so grateful i never tried drugs, especially coke. it sure must suck to a) never quit or b) come off of it (according to television of course, no first hand reports to share and make this learning official)
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