Cindy and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

I got up too late to eat breakfast before I left.
I forgot to take my water bottle into the gym.
I got a headache from exercising.
I bought Greek yogurt at Fred Meyer to get rid of the headache but then spilled some of it on my exercise pants.
When I got back to the car after buying Rachel's marker at Michael's the car wouldn't start.
Russ didn't answer his phone...
When I went to Les Schwab to get a new battery there was a long line and the tire smell in the store was so strong it made my head hurt more.
Russ didn't answer his phone...
I stayed up too late and am tired today.
The house is a mess and I'm too tired to clean so I'm going to take a nap instead.

Some days are like that, even in Australia. 

[So glad my period waited to start until I was home!!!]

Through a glass, darkly

My phone is a hand-me-down, it came from my nephew Jake who's on a mission now.  I've added a few apps to the phone in the year I've had it, but never done anything physically to the phone.  Which means that for a year it's had the case it came in, and the screen protector that came on it.

Lately it's been looking pretty scratched.  Let's be real.  For a long time it's been looking pretty scratched, and lately it's been looking terrible.  I *knew* that, but it was the kind of thing I never noticed in a moment where I could do anything about it and that never stayed in my memory for very long.

Finally there was the perfect conjunction; the stars aligned and I ordered a new screen protector.  I begged Jared (one of my tech guys) to put it on for me and I walked away.  Some time later he told me it was done and I came and got it.

All I can say is

WOW!!!!

I mean

WOW!!!!!!

It was so CLEAR!  It was so BRIGHT!  It was amazing and for the rest of the night and most of the next day I just stared at it in amazement every time I looked at it.

I can see clearly, now, I thought.  And I had no idea how un-clearly I *had* been seeing.

Then I started thinking...

---

For so many years in my life I was confused by part of a verse in the New Testament,

"For now we see through a glass, darkly..."

What on earth did it mean to see through a glass darkly?  It was really annoying to me, especially as the rest of the verse made a lot of sense to me and I really liked it.  The first time I heard an explanation for this idea was such a relief to me--that it might have to do with seeing something, (or through something), but not very well.

As I looked at my phone with it's spiffy and shiny new screen protector I understood on a new level.  Now that I was seeing my phone so well, I could see that for so long I hadn't been seeing it well at all.  I could see that then I saw through a screen protector, scratched up.  Which might be a lot like seeing through a glass darkly.

The most interesting thing to me, though, was the realization that while I knew I probably needed a new screen protector,  I had no idea how bad the situation really was *until* I had the new screen protector.

Which made my brain that loves analogies wonder--where in my life am I seeing through a glass darkly without knowing it?  Where do I think I have a little problem when there's actually a much bigger problem?  Where will be the biggest surprise when I no longer see through a glass darkly??

Rebel that I am

Gretchen Rubin, one of my favorite non-fiction authors, came up with a new way to evaluate people.  She divides them into four groups based in how they respond to expectations. One group responds readily to both outer and inner expectations.  One group responds to external expectations but not inner.  One group questions everything, then if they decide in favor of the expectation they meet it.  The last group rebels against all expectations, both outer and inner.

When I first heard her talk about her "framework," as she calls it, I assumed I was a questioner.  After all I ask a lot of questions.  About everything.  But when I talked to someone else who was a questioner I could see that I was really quite different than her.  

And then one day on Gretchen's podcast she had people send in mottos they had made up for their tendency.  She read a bunch, and then read off this one:

I'm a rebel: you can't make me, and neither can I.

I can't tell you what a light bulb moment that was, and how confusing at the same time.  After all, I don't LOOK like a rebel.  I look like a normal middle aged Mormon woman.  But from the moment I heard that motto I started seeing the signs in myself.  Want to shut me down? Tell me I *must* do something.  Want to get me to actually do something?  Tell me it probably can't be done!  And on, and on.

This makes so much sense with the rest of my life, especially when you combine this rebel tendency with the fact that I don't transition from one activity to another very well.  (Something I realized about my kids when they were young and I've known about myself for years now.)  Even things that I want to do are difficult to actually get myself to do.  Remember, "neither can I."  I've found that I have to be strategic to get things done that I want to do--either by sliding into them sideways or by putting myself in the correct place first instead of expecting that I'll be able to transition from one activity to another.  It's still a work in progress, but at least I feel like I have a grasp of what the issue is for the first time ever.

One last funny bit.  I realized after the first couple of days at work that I was feeling very uncomfortable ending phone calls.  As I thought about it I realized that this was the problem--I would end the phone call by saying "Have a great day," but then I felt like I was "bossing" the person around!  Because they might not like to be told what to do!  Not sure how that will end up, but at least I know that it's ridiculous.  Mostly.  ;)

Facebook Soulmates

Today I was sorting screenshots that were saved on my computer and I came across this series.  I usually ignore quizzes on Facebook but I had to pay attention to this one, and was so entertained by it!

Please "talk" me

Without a doubt Kate's favorite thing to do is to "talk" things.  Beanie babies and other stuffed animals, to be sure.  But also completely inanimate objects like forks or cups; anything can be "talked" in Kate's world.  (Her very favorite activity is to bring several things over to Cindy Lynn, or Jenna, or me, and demand like the pint-sized dictator she is, that we "talk" something too.

-----

Mahon and Cindy Lynn are going to go do some training at the pediatrician's office in hopes that they can work better with some of Kate's outbursts.  It sounds incredibly high tech: the psychologist will sit behind a 2 way mirror and watch them interact with Kate.  They will be wearing earpieces and she will tell them exactly what to do or say to help them learn this technique.

-----

Sometimes I get so frustrated--that I said something too harshly, that I couldn't think of the right response in the right moment, that I just can't bring myself to reach out in a loving way in a situation where I've felt hurt.  After Cindy Lynn told me about this training I started thinking--I want that!  Except not just for parenting, I want it for my whole life!  I want to have an earpiece in my ear. I want them to tell me what to say and when to say it, to give me the gracious words I resist, to give be a verbal kick in the butt when that's what I need, to caution me when they can see I'm headed in a direction I'll regret later.

I just need someone to "talk" me!

The whipped cream and the mousse

I shake the whipped cream can (yes sometimes we do eat whipped cream out of a can and actually my kids love it so much that they will spray whipped cream out of the can straight into their mouths if you can believe that!) and try to spray it on my pie, but even though it sounds like there is still whipped cream in there, nothing comes out. It must be empty, even though it doesn't sound that way.

My hair styling mousse, on the other hand, is just the opposite. I have been sure for 3 months now that it was empty.  Each time I shake the can there is a pathetic little rattle, & I think "it is surely gone, and I will have to break out that new can," but then I give it one last try, and much to my surprise out comes enough mousse to do my hair for the day.  I am astonished every time.

It occurred to me this week that there is a life lesson in this for me, in the whipped cream and in the mousse. And the lesson is this: that some situations in life are like the whipped cream. Sometimes it seems like there is something left, but that is deceptive, because it really is all gone. And sometimes situations in life are like the mousse. It seems forever like it is all gone, but there is still more left. 

I think the message for me here is about openness, about accepting that there is so much that I just don't know.  And about having a heart that is open enough to allow each situation to be what it is without judgement in the moment. That some things will end sooner than expected, and some things will go on for longer than they appear to be able to. 

My new goal: to receive what I receive with gratefulness and to focus on gratitude when something is over.  But also to realize that things are not always as they appear and those endings may not be as obvious as I am inclined to think.  Lastly, to rejoice about the extra mousse, the unexpected gift. 

In the Twilight Zone with trash bags

My version:
Eighteen-ish months ago I visited Lindsay and stayed at her apartment in Miami.  (Such beauty!  Such a wonderful trip!!)  At some point I asked if she had a grocery bag I could use for something.  She went into the kitchen and instead of the billowy bag I expected, put a small triangle in my hand.  I was perplexed and asked why the trashbag was so small?  She explained that in such a small apartment she had to store things efficiently.  I was enchanted by the triangle trash bag and asked her how to do it, and have spent the intervening eighteen months folding grocery bags--my own and other people's as well.

This weekend Lindsay and Katie were at my house.  I pulled out a grocery bag and Katie made a comment about it.  I explained that Lindsay had shown me the way of the triangle grocery bag.

Lindsay's version:
I've never folded grocery bags like that.  I've always tied them up in knots like this.

-----

Isn't that the strangest thing?  I'm sure, she's sure.  But if she's right, who taught me to fold the grocery bags???

Purse sadness

I just happened upon this purse. I was shopping for Josh for something else and I saw it on the clearance rack and was immediately taken by it, especially at a deeply discounted price. I think someone must have swiped the little brand label that was meant to hang on it and that was part of the reason it was so cheap. I have carried it and loved it for the last year and a half in a way I did not know I could love a purse. Now the straps are starting to break and I think my heart is breaking a little along with them.

I've always been a very practical purse person, carrying a cheap Walmart black purse that met my needs. But I don't know that I can ever go back to living that way again. Its not that I'm going to spend a lot of money for a purse because then the cost / benefit analysis would be all off. But I'm determined to find another purse that I can love...for the right price.  Wish me luck!

Semantics

euphemism: a mild or indirect word or expression substituted for one considered to be too harsh or blunt...

My mom died almost 20 years ago.  When I tell people about this part of my life I tell it exactly like that.  My mom died when I was 31.  My mom died ____ years ago.

I'd hear other people talking about their loved ones passing away, or passing, or some other comforting euphemism and I'd think--I just can't say that.  To me a euphemism would soften what happened, perhaps making the listener more comfortable with my story but robbing me of the truth.  My mom didn't "pass."  Or "pass away."  It may have been God's plan for her, but it felt like she was torn from our family, ripped away in the prime of her life.  She was taken from us before most of us were adults and before any of us were ready to live without her.  She *died.*

***

Can you imagine my surprise when I started telling people last fall that Russ's mom had died, and found that every time I opened my mouth I couldn't actually get the word "died" out?  I'd resolve that that was what I was going to say, that I was going to use language in the same way I had for my own mother, but I never could do it.

And one day I figured it out.  

If there is a passing away, it surely is what Marie did.  After living with leukemia for more than a decade and being more and more of an invalid, she had a stroke and then, for the next few weeks, slowly passed out of life.  She really did pass away.  There was grief for the loss of a mother and companion, but none of the trauma that my family had experienced two decades ago.  I stopped trying to make myself use the word *die* to describe what had happened, and told people that my mother-in-law had passed away in as gentle and peaceful a way as possible.

***

I have long known that words are powerful but still it surprised me to realize again that some synonyms are actually not, after all, interchangeable.

[PS--I still have never said to anyone that my mom passed away.]

What we're watching

For not being a tv watcher I'm watching more tv right now than I have for most of our married life.  Part of it because Russ & I have a few shows that we watch together for "dates" and part because it turns out I'm a lot happier about making dinner when I'm entertained while doing it!  I thought it would be interesting to preserve this moment in time...I'm sure in a decade we'll laugh to think about what we watched.

With the kids:

One of my friends had mentioned a few years ago that she was watching Parenthood while exercising.  I had been curious about it before because I noticed that the actress from Gilmore Girls was in it. (Gilmore Girls will forever be the backdrop of 2006 because I watched all however many seasons  while I did all of that sewing the year Cindy Lynn got married.)  So one day I pulled up the pilot episode of Parenthood as I started cooking dinner.

(One of the great things about our house is that the cooktop is on the island and faces towards the tv, which makes it easy to watch something & work.)  

I enjoyed the show enough to keep watching, but what was funny was the pretty quickly Jared and then Rachel started watching it with me.  This made things more complicated since during wrestling Jared was gone M-Th until 5 and on Monday and Thursdays Rachel left for colorguard at 4:30.  This made it so that there were only a few times a week that we could watch an episode together, and neither of them wanted me watching without them.

We're almost to the end of the show now--I think we have 4-5 more episodes.  I've laughed with Russ that EVERYTHING happens to this family, and it appears that will continue to be true right down to the end.  The thing that I love about Parenthood is the depiction of the family.  I joke that it's clear that these people aren't Mormon, because they wouldn't have so much time to hang out together if they were.  But I love the idea of a family that functions like this--that picnicking in the yard under twinkle lights, siblings meeting up at the diner for breakfast, being there for each other in hard times and good ones too, arguing and apologizing.  I love the love that I see in this fictitious family.

One day something happened to Jenna and so I had to take her to the doctor at Intel.  We had to wait quite a while and the tv in the lobby was playing this show called Love it or List it.  There were only 15 minutes left in the show when they called her in to see the doctor and we both were crazy curious to know what happened in the end.  I searched and searched and searched and searched, and finally managed to find which episode we'd been watching, and eventually found that I could pay to watch it on Amazon.  Which I promptly did--it was totally worth it to find out what had happened!

In the process of my searching I had seen that there were some episodes of Love it or List it on Netflix, so this became our backup dinner prep show.  If one of the kids was gone and we couldn't watch Parenthood, we'd watch an episode of Love it or List it.  We've watched enough episodes now that we know what a decent remodel budget is and when people are asking for more improvements than their money will buy.  We know that there will always be some major house problem and that it's very likely that one of the spouses will be negative about everything.  And we know that houses cost a TON in Toronto, even more than where we live.

(Apparently they started filming Love it or Leave it in North Carolina last fall--we can't wait to see those!)

 

With Russ:

You know how there are those moments when someone shows that they really know who you are?  Downton Abbey has been one of those moments for me.  Several years ago Russ came in and said that he had a show he thought I would enjoy watching.  He pulled it up and we were fans from the get-go.  Sometimes we've rolled our eyes at the melodrama of it all, and some of the storylines we haven't enjoyed, but we've always enjoyed this peek back in time at a very different life.  For a while Josh watched it with us and always said something about how he liked it more than he expected to, which is a ringing endorsement from him! It's been a fun Sunday or Monday date night for several years now. We were so sad to hear the recent announcement that next season will be their last.  

I'm not sure when Russ started watching the Amazing Race, but several years ago I started watching it with him and it became our Sunday date night.  Now we both love watching the teams fly all over the world doing crazy tasks to try to win a million dollars.  Frequently I apologize to him that we can never be on the Amazing Race, but I know that doing *anything* without enough sleep and food is a recipe for disaster in my body.  Instead we'll have a great time watching.

True confession.  When I first heard about Survivor I thought it was evil.  It seemed to me that the show was designed just to turn people against each other, and that seemed terrible.  At some point I decided to watch it and I was quickly hooked.  I don't enjoy the social part of the game very much, but the "challenges" each week are such fun to watch.  Russ & I have often talked about how much fun it would be to be on the Survivor crew and get to build all of these sets for the different challenges.  Plus the location is usually tropical and we always love to see the ocean, waves, and sealife.  

One year I watched a season of Survivor while doing a lot of sewing.  I am ashamed to say that the triplets could identify each person on the show and intelligently discuss how they were doing.  At that point I was certain that we had been watching too much tv!

 

By myself:

At Christmastime when I was working long hours on the girls' dresses I needed something to watch to keep me going.  But it had to be a certain kind of show--it had to meet all of my regular criteria (decent, not gross, interesting enough) but it also had to be something that would still entertain me even if I wasn't looking at the screen.  Numb3rs turned out to be great for this--I went long stretches of time without doing more than glance at the screen, yet I always was able to keep track of what was going on and the storyline kept me interested.

My fallback when I'm sewing alone is a very old videotaped from tv copy of the BBC Pride & Prejudice.  Every year at Christmas while I'm sewing I also watch You've Got Mail and It's a Wonderful Life, and sometime during the year I watch Emma too.

So there you have it, future self or future family, a moment in time of our tv viewing habits...

I did not see this coming

I've said before that I don't like change and that I'm not very good at it.  But I'm realizing lately that I usually don't expect it either.  When things are *this* way, regardless of what *this* is, I generally expect them to stay that way.

Which is why it's been so unexpected to me that there are many many days in my life where I feel like I just pull out of and then back into my drive way All. Day. Long.  Pull out, go exercise, pull back in.  Pull out, take the kids to school, pull back in.  Pull out, go to physical therapy, pull back in.  Pull out, take girls to colorguard, pull back in.  Pull out, go pick up Jared, pull back in.  Out and in, out and in, over and over and over.

It's surprising to me because I thought I had settled long ago that I'm not a soccer mom and that I just do better when I'm not spending all of my time in the car.   Except that now we're here and not there, and everything is quite close and some things are very close.  And now there's school.  And the kids are growing up and needing some activities which fortunately are available nearby.  It all makes sense (and is making them happy) but it sure has caught me off guard...

The problem with Harry Potter stamps

When I heard that there were Harry Potter stamps I thought it was a great idea.  And one day when I was at the post office and remembered to ask I bought some.  Two books, even.

But.

There is a problem with Harry Potter stamps.

[Now apparently there is more than one problem with Harry Potter stamps.  More problems than my problem.  I learned this when I was looking for images of the stamps online because I am quite frankly too lazy to scan them.  It turns out that a member of the Citizens Advisory Stamp Committee (yes, there is such a group) resigned in protest over the Harry Potter stamps.  This committee has met quarterly for over 50 years to decide which things will get to be on stamps.  And apparently the committee is concerned that the USPS is sacrificing ‘gravitas’ in favor of more commercially viable stamp images.  In fact in his resignation letter this man suggested that the USPS was prostituting the stamp program.  Who knew!]

On to *my* problem with the Harry Potter stamps.

I got them.  I looked at them.  I oohed and ahhed at them.

Harry reading his Hogwarts letter!  How cute!

Little Hermione who always knew all of the answers!

And a fun shot of young Ron, Harry, and Hermione.  I loved them.

I would use any of them on mail to you, you know.

But.

But what about some of the other stamps?  Can I really use them on anything other than an impersonal bill?

Maybe I can put this one on a letter to you.  Harry fighting for the right and all that.

But Malfoy?   Some of Cindy Lynn’s friends liked Malfoy in the beginning, thought he was cute.  I never did, though.  And by the end I thought he was pretty awful, even when I also felt sorry for him. 

And this?  Bellatrix?  Could I really use her stamp on any friendly mail?  How would it be interpreted??  (Though it might remind you of that fantastic scene with Molly Weasley.)

Lastly… Seriously, could this be interpreted any way but badly?  “When I think of you I also think of He Who Shall Not Be Named!”  “Nose job, anyone?”  “Avada Kedavra!”

I think not.

And that is why, as cool as I still think they are, I doubt I’ll be buying another book of Harry Potter stamps.  Because honestly they’re just a little too much work to use.

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.

Coming to terms with myself: miscellany

There are plenty of other things that I’m trying to come to terms with myself about.  Don’t get me wrong—I’m trying to be careful that I work towards changing the things that I can and should try to change.  But some things have been with me for so long that I am sort of (or all the way) giving up hope:

I do NOT follow schedules well.  Though I’ve been listening to a book on CD called The Power of Less that gives me hope that I may partially be able to overcome this.  Only partially, though, and only if I am absolutely firm with myself.  And I mean absolutely.

In a similar vein, I’m very disorganized.  Almost spectacularly.  I am redeemed from being flat out spectacularly disorganized by random pockets of organization in my life.  Such as my tupperware drawer, which is a (surprising) model of organization.  And my digital picture files also.  Hopefully the Power of Less can help me with this as well, though I will have to stay home for more than a week or two at a time in order for that to happen.

Speaking of staying home:  I like to travel.  I really like it.  I’d rather spend my money on a fun (mostly cheap) trip somewhere than on a thing, I’ve come to realize.  I’ve already done a nice bit of travelling as part of my 2014 plan to combat seasonal depression.  It’s working, and I’ve still got great trips ahead!

I need lots of sleep.  Lots.  And lots.  And then some more.  I blame my parents for this.  This is what happens when a person with high sleep needs marries another person with high sleep needs.  It’s like high sleep needs squared.

I am super sensitive.  And I really hate that about myself.  I heard someone say once that they were never offended by anything.  I was so envious.  I eventually decided that there is an upside to the downside of my sensitivity, and that is that I am generally sensitive of other people’s feelings as well.  (No, please don’t email me all at once to tell me if I’ve not been sensitive about your feelings.  Because it will hurt my feelings.)

I eat slow.  And I mean SLOW.  Like I can have been eating for 5 minutes before Russ gets to the table, and I will still be eating for 15 minutes after he’s done.  (He eats remarkably fast.  But I’m not going to talk about that, because this is about me, and not him.)  I appreciate all of the people over my lifetime who have been held captive by my slow eating.  I appreciate them hanging out and sticking around and talking to me while I chew.  Seriously.

I’m a navel gazer.  There.  I’ve admitted it.  Not literally, of course.  (Although from time to time my belly button does get irritated and then requires some literal gazing, which is always really awkward.)  I’m more of a metaphorical naval gazer.  I’m intrigued by what’s going on inside of my head and why, and I’m just as interested in what’s going on in your head too.  So let’s talk.  About our navels. 

I’m bad at change.  Really bad.  Super bad.  Spectacularly bad, as it were.  Especially in cases when I’ve convinced myself that change would never occur, and yet it did.  I mourn what is lost and work on it and mourn and work on it some more.  And yet the fact remains.  I am BAD at change.

 

S0 there you have it.  A lovely listing of some of the things I love to hate about myself.  That I am working on coming to terms with.  I’m sure that given 2 or 3 minutes I’ll think of a couple more.  In fact in the time it took to press “publish” and wait for the browser to open a new window showing this post, I thought of another one two three.   Here’s to learning to accept myself for who I really am, (sleepy) warts and all!

Coming to terms with myself: talking to strangers

Here’s something else that I’ve thought about a lot.

I have a chronic habit of talking to people.  I probably never thought much about it until one of my children (he who shall not be named) started expressing annoyance that when we were out together I invariably struck up a conversation with the people that we interacted with.  Each time he would ask me in irritation, “Do you have to talk to everyone???” 

The result was that while I didn’t necessarily talk to fewer people, I felt less comfortable doing it—without even realizing that I had let his comments affect me. 

While we were in Utah Russ & I went to a 3 day seminar.  There were probably 15 or 20 other couples in the seminar with us.  Invariably during the breaks I would end up talking to someone, even though I now have this little voice in the back of my head telling me that maybe I shouldn’t.  But gradually I began to realize that each interaction ended up being a happy moment in the day, that I left the interaction happier than I entered it, and that the other person also seemed lifted by the interaction

So do you know what?  I’m not going to fight it or even question it any more.  I’m going to accept this part of myself.  I am a person who likes people.  I am a person who is interested in people.  I am a person who enjoys talking.

One day while I was in Utah I was in Walgreens.  The man who checked me out had such an interesting accent.  After a moment of hesitation (actually after he did something really nice for me and let me change my mind about which credit card to use) I told him that I thought his accent was beautiful.  He explained that it was because English wasn’t his first language.  When I asked what language was, he said Nepalese.  So of course I had to ask him if he’d climbed Mt. Everest, and we had a nice little conversation.  I left the store smiling.

Hi.  My name is Cindy and I like talking to people.  Even people I don’t know!

Coming to terms with myself: talk, talk, talk

You know what—I like to talk.  Not that I like to talk to myself, so maybe I should say I like to have conversations.  I almost always have interesting things rolling around in my brain (what I’ve been thinking about, what I’ve been reading about, what I’ve been going through) and I’m usually interested in what other people are thinking about/reading about/going through as well. 

Sometimes (often?) I feel anxious about my talking tendencies.  Sometimes when I’ve gone too long without regular talking outlets I’ve ended up verbally vomiting on the first unsuspecting person that comes my way—and that’s really embarrassing.  But even when that’s not happening I can feel uneasy at the disparity between the amount of talking I’m doing and the amount of talking the next closest person is doing. 

[Many years ago I heard a statistic—that women usually spoke about 25,000 words/day while men spoke less than half that.  I don’t know how true this is, but I certainly do seem to have a lot more words than some people.]

Anyway, back to my anxiety.  Because this blog post really is all about me.

One time I missed my book club in North Carolina because I was out of town.  When I got back home several people said something to me about book club just not being the same without me.  And then one book club friend said something that I just loved—she said, “We really missed your gift for conversation.”

Gift?  A gift?  Clearly I had never considered myself “gifted in conversation.”  If I thought about it at all I was more likely to think of my self as “conversationally needy” or “overwhelming to non-talking people” or something like that.  But I would much, much, much rather think of this as a gift.  (While still trying to keep it under appropriate control, of course.)

Recently something happened that made me think through all of these thoughts again.  Two days after Erin’s wedding, (after Russ & Josh had flown home and we had left Jenna to spend an extra week at Cindy Lynn’s house) Jared, Rachel, & I picked up Ken, Alisyn, and Connor and drove with them to central Washington for the second wedding reception.  My motives in this were completely selfish—I had figured out long before that if I provided transportation to this reception that I would get to spend more time with them and that they would come and stay a day at our house before flying back to North Carolina. 

My plan worked exactly as I had hoped.  Hours and hours in the car with some of my favorite people, and no vomiting at all.  (Yay!!)  But here is where the slightly embarrassing part comes in.  I will preface it by saying that I really hadn’t talked to Ken in quite a while—we try to talk every couple of months, but it’s hard to mesh our schedules with the 3 hour time difference.  And while I talk to Alisyn much more regularly, she’d been really busy with last minute details leading up to the wedding.  So there I was, in a car with the two of them (and the three kids, of course, but they were each in their own digital world) for 10 hours.

So I talked.
and talked
and talked.

Almost without stopping. 
The whole day.

All of the pent up thoughts and conversations and long drawn out explanations and everything else you can think of came spilling out of me. 

Don’t get me wrong—they weren’t gagged or anything, they talked too.  But I am enough of a realist to know it was so much more me than them.  And that they were so so so kind to let me keep talking.

By the end of the day my throat hurt.  My voice was all dry and crackly.

But oh—it felt great.  I’d spend 10 hours in a car with Ken & Alisyn anytime!!

I’m still not entirely comfortable with my talking tendencies.  I still worry that I overwhelm people, that I’m not following social cues well enough, that I should be embarrassed about the amount I talk.  It’s been interesting to write about this and see how much concern I have about all of this.  (Interesting—as I looked inside I sampled many stronger words like shame, embarrassment, and anxiety.  But the right word was much milder—just concern.)  It’s definitely something I need to keep working through though.  Here’s a start:

“Hi, my name is Cindy and I’m a talker.”

Lockdown

Yesterday afternoon I picked up Jenna from the airport.  She had flown in from Salt Lake, where we left her to spend an extra week with Cindy Lynn’s family. 

Since both Jenna and Rachel had problems with their braces while we were in Utah I had made a quick ortho appointment for later in the afternoon.  I was surprised when I saw a text from Rachel (who would have been picked up at school or after school) saying that we could just go without her.  I wasn’t sure what she meant, and figured we would just pick her up at home and so it wouldn’t matter.  But when we drove by the house she still wasn’t there and I was surprised.  That’s when I noticed the other 7 texts on my phone.  Here you go, in the order received.

Rachel: Mom, I can’t come out here is a lockdown at the school.

Rachel: Like a real lockdown and I asked if you could come inside with me and escort me out but apparently not I can’t even leave the choir room.

Rachel: *Lockout*  We can’t leave the school.

Rachel: But we won’t get killed.

Rachel: It’s safe, they just don’t want us to go outside or out of our classrooms.

Rachel: Go ahead and take Jenna to the ortho.

Just about the time I was reading these texts there was a call from the school district informing us that both the high school and the middle school were indeed in a lock-out, and a later call clarified that there had been a threat made against a teacher (is there any more thankless job than a high school teacher??) and that combined with a possible gun sighting had prompted the lockout. 

I’m just glad that it all ended ok.  And that she clarified that she was safe. 

Coming to terms with myself: cramming too much in

I don’t know what it is about getting older that has made me less patient with some aspects of my personality.  Perhaps I assumed that by the time I was almost 50 (because I am, after all) I would have matured out of some things and managed to overcome others.  And maybe I have and I just still have so many annoying tendencies that I can’t remember those others.  Whatever the truth of the matter, all I know if that I still frequently wish I could be/feel/do differently.

I had a moment recently though that left me reconsidering my previous impatience with myself and wondering if I perhaps needed to reframe the way I was thinking instead.  So here goes my first effort.

Here’s something that I am realizing more and more about myself in the last several years.  [Thanks to all who have known this for much longer for no rubbing it in my face right now.]  I am not good about analyzing time and planning for it.  I tend to cram more things than are comfortable in a given period of time, especially travel time. 

We’ve known that we would travel to Utah for a wedding in mid April since last fall.  At some point I decided that Russ & I should go to a seminar while we were there.  Then at a different time Cindy Lynn told me that she & Mahon had gone to a great performance of Les Mis (my very very favorite) in Salt Lake and that I should take the girls while we were out there.   I, of course, said sign me up.  Our Utah trip also included (in addition to the wedding which occupied most of a day) a hotel overnight with a brother & sister and a bunch of cousins, a day with Russ’s parents, a Ray family dinner, and not nearly enough time with Cindy Lynn and Kate. 

The Les Mis performance was the afternoon before the wedding.  I still had quite a bit of work to do on the wedding slideshow and I knew that between the wedding and the reception the next day was going to be really full.  As the girls and I drove up to Salt Lake I was mentally kicking myself for yet again scheduling too much into my trip.  Here I was, going to a play instead of playing with Kate.  Here I was going to a play instead of finishing the slideshow.  How stupid was I… Over and over these thoughts played through my mind.

But then we went into the theater and the lights went down and the smoke came up and the familiar strains of music filled the theater.  Three hours later I was wiping the tears from my eyes and hugging my girls and agreeing that yes, this really was the best musical in the world. 

And then I realized something.  I love that we manage to have a lot of amazing experiences.  I am so happy now that (for a reasonable price!!) I was able to introduce Rachel & Jenna to Les Mis.  I realized that sometimes I am willing to trade a calmer more peaceful pace of life for fitting in some extra experiences.  It’s not the way I live my day-to-day life, but I think that sometimes it’s worth it.  So in the future I want to be careful about how I allocate my time, but once I’ve decided that something is worth adding I’m going to stop second-guessing myself and just go ahead and enjoy.

Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy…

 

A few weeks ago was spring break.  One day I got to sleep in, to sleep in as late as I wanted.  I woke up at 9AM.  I felt great.  From 11PM to 9AM, that’s what it took to make me wake feeling rested.

And this really was no surprise to me.  I’ve known I was a 10 hrs a night gal for a long time. 

But you know we normally get up at 6:30 now to read scriptures every morning before work and school.  And we struggle to get to bed before 11pm.

So the next time I’m wondering why on earth I feel the way I do, why I’m feeling tired and wanting a nap just after breakfast, and why I have to actually have a nap in order to get through dinner without killing someone—the next time I’m going to remember that this is my problem.  9AM.  Or 6:30AM. 

Or rather, the difference between 6:30 and 9AM. 

That’s my problem.

Shocking!

Last Saturday I was given a bunch of tulips to thank me for teaching a class.  I brought them home and set them on the island even though it was very messy.

These tulips are from a farm about 2 miles up the road and they are supposed to behave differently from tulips you’d buy at the grocery store—including that the stalks can continue to get taller.

I have loved watching the flowers throughout the week.

But this morning when I came in I saw something that startled me.

That last one was totally nekked!!