A list of lists

Things to be grateful for in the Denver airport:
Spacious
Lots of food choices
Outlets by our gate
Bathrooms near our gate
The toothbrush in my purse
Comfortable chairs to try to sleep in
The train ride between terminals
That the always present sound of the moving walkway was sometimes soothing
That we got a flight out the next morning!!

 

Things I miss about North Carolina:
Flowers growing along the interstate.
crepe myrtles
air like a warm embrace
lightning and thunder
gray skies that mean a storm is coming
the smell of honeysuckle in the air
the beach
fireflies
friends
kudzu
cardinals
blue birds
southern accents

 

Things I do not miss about North Carolina:
feeling sweaty all of the time
wanting to put my hair in a ponytail all of the time
mosquitoes
bugs
spiders
slow service
sagging!!

It is what it is

Invariably when I’d be talking with my aunt and we came upon a difficult topic, she’d say (in her still-a-southern-girl-after-all-these-years accent) “It is what it is, honey!”

And I, in my wisdom, would think things like “No!”  And “Do not go gently into that good night!”  And stuff like that.

Because I was sure she was wrong in giving in and letting it be.  Whatever it was, I thought she should fight to change it and make it different.

But as I’ve gotten older my feelings have changed.  I’ve seen the endless frustration I can (and have) cause myself by trying to change situations in my life that I actually have no control over.  I’ve seen the energy that can be wasted, the anger that is the result—none of it is good.

So now I’m working to be more like my aunt.  Working to realize that there actually are a lot of things in my life that I can’t change.  That fighting things only brings more exhaustion and frustration into my life.  Working to understand deep in my heart that in the end I’ll be so much better off if I can say with her, “It is what it is, honey.”

(now if only I could say it in a terrific southern accent!)

Reflections on leaving the beach

I am sitting in a darkened room, listening simultaneously to the soft sound of Russ breathing in the bed nearby and the washing machine running downstairs, waiting to be able to go and shift yet another load of wet towels before I go to sleep. 

I already know what tomorrow morning will be like—years of long experience have taught me not to hope for more than I’ve already experienced up to this point.  Not another walk on the beach, not another late breakfast after sleeping in, not another stolen swim.   Instead it will be a scramble.  We will scramble to eat, to wash the dishes quickly, to finish packing everything up and haul it out to the cars and pack it in.  If we are lucky we will be driving out of the driveway at 10, already hot and sticky, a caravan of beachy Cinderellas leaving the ball at the last possible moment while the clock strikes behind us.

Tomorrow morning will be hurried and hectic and sweaty.  For a couple of hours my sadness at leaving the beach will be camouflaged by the work-work-work of getting us all out of here.  But tonight, tonight while I sit in the dark, I mourn.

I’ve always felt sorrow at leaving the beach.  There are so many things to love here: the escape from regular life, time with friends, long lazy days, nights filled with games, the ocean I love so much.  But now the beach also seems symbolic—reminding me how our life has changed, remind me that things once taken for granted are now so difficult to achieve.

I can see that the only way through this is gratitude.  In this moment it is so easy to lose track and let the magnitude of this experience be eclipsed by my sorrow.  So instead I will remind myself what a privilege it is to have been here.  What a blessing to be able to afford not only to stay at the beach, on the beach, but also to have the means to travel here.  Yes, we made choices and sacrifices in order to be able to use our money this way, but to have the ability to make this choice and those sacrifices is a privilege.  When I focus on these thoughts my heart fills with gratitude—for the beach and the ocean, for our friends, for the house that sheltered us, for the safe travel at every step of the way, for life situations that allowed this. 

I am so very blessed to have experienced this week of beauty.

And me without my camera.

I usually bring one of my cameras out to the beach safely ensconced in a ziploc bag, but on our first trip out I forgot.  I played in the waves and then sat in the sand for a while, idly chatting and watching.  And then it happened.  I noticed how perfectly adorable Kate was; sitting there with a pink and white sun hat atop the wavy hair, pudgy arms moving the sand shovels back and forth to the bucket.  This is too cute, I thought, I should grab my camera.  Followed by the realization that the camera, any camera, was up at the beach house. 

Inside I had a quick battle.  Do I stay or do I go??  Part of me wanted to dash up into the house and grab a camera.  But I listened to the other part, to the part of my brain that was arguing for being in the moment over trying to record the moment.  I told myself that there was no guarantee that the cute moment would still be happening if I left to get the camera.  I told myself to sit there and watch and enjoy.  And I obeyed.

I won’t lie—I wish that I could have had my cake and eaten it too.  I wish that I had a picture of Kate in that classic beach moment because she was precious.  But at the same time I’m glad I stayed.  Glad I stayed right there, right in the moment.  Because it was beautiful.  Even if I have no photographic evidence of that fact.

(This is a picture from today.  When I made sure to take the camera!)

Days like this will make me grey(er).

It started yesterday evening.  One of my children came to me in the laundry room to tell me that something bad had happened to them.  Without disclosing any of the private details I can tell you that the child was badly shaken but not hurt, and that the end result of the disclosure was a phone call to the bishop and from him on to the stake president and the church’s abuse hotline.  At the end of an already exhausting day (Nine errands!  NINE!!) it really wiped me out. 

This morning as I was writing out a list of things that need to happen before we leave tomorrow.  While I was writing Jenna came in looking for her new shirt that is to be worn for the all important family beach picture.  As I talked to her I finally realized that when they were trying on alllllll of the new shirts I had ordered from Kohls she had not taken the darling shirt she had chosen up to her room but had left it with all of the other shirts.  Which meant yeah, I returned it to Kohls last Friday.  And it’s no longer available online.  (Did I mention how cute it was??)  So now we need to figure that one out.  You know, today.  In my spare time.

After a quick lunch at our ward’s book club I came back home to get started again on Stuff That Must Be Done.  My alarm on my phone went off, alerting me that I needed to stop everything and check everyone in for the flight tomorrow.  (Don’t ask me why, but we ended up with each person having a different confirmation number.)  I started checking people in.   (Did you know that if you’re checking in on Southwest starting at the first moment you can, the amount of time it takes until you can check in the next person gives you a boarding position that is 10 lower?  Yeah, me neither.)  When I put in Jared’s confirmation code the website told me that his ticket was cancelled.  Well obviously that was a mistake, so I put it in again.  And got that message again.  I had to breathe pretty deeply at this point to keep myself from panicking and I started searching my email for another confirmation code for Jared.  No luck.

As soon as I had the rest of us all checked in I called Southwest.  Waited on hold for about 5 minutes.  Finally got a nice-sounding lady on the phone and tried to continue breathing deeply so that I didn’t yell at her.  Explained the convoluted situation as clearly as possible.  Yes, 6 people.  Yes, 6 different confirmation codes.  No, weren’t intending to leave our youngest child Home Alone.  (No, I didn’t mention that he is only the youngest by 2 minutes.  It didn’t seem relevant.) 

As the woman at Southwest dug into our records she was able to make sense of what I was saying and finally saw that when someone at Southwest had made a reservation for Jared in March, they had cancelled it 9 minutes later.  Fortunately (FORTUNATELY) there were 2 extra seats available on our flight tomorrow and she pulled one of them for Jared.  Then she put me on hold for  what seemed like forever and went to consult with the help desk.

In the end they gave Jared a new reservation and charged me the original price for it.  I was more relieved than I could possibly say.  And equally exhausted.  I finally ate my lunch at 3. 

Now I think it’s time to eat some chocolate.  And take a nap.  What can I say?  Desperate times call for desperate measures…

Projectile

I have in my mind an image of what my life will look like, will feel like.  It will be a life of deliberateness and connection and above all, a life with a measured tempo.

Instead.

Instead…

Instead I feel myself hurtling, projectile-like, from one calendar item to the next, the breaks in between inevitably crammed with the necessary minutiae of living and raising a family.

I find myself unwilling to give things up, to pare back where I could.  I can see why some would, but in cutting back I would lose the things that are for me, the things that add zest and happiness to life.

And so I will  keep on keeping on.  Hurtling through time and space, wishing for that calm picture in my mind and yet knowing that it cannot, it will not exist.  Because I am unwilling to make it happen.

Father’s Day fun

Best father’s day idea ever.  Even Josh wanted in on it!