I always like to look back on last year’s resolutions to see how I did. I did pretty good this year if I do say so myself. Probably a B average. I’ll take it. Of course I do love A’s, but I’m learning to be satisfied with imperfection.
80-100% Success
1. Don’t have another baby. Ever.
2. Write.
5. Camp and hike.
6. Love.
9. Give more to God. Daily quiet time and service.
10. Read.
13. Remember!!! My family is my greatest blessing.
60-80% Success
3. Take care of myself.
4. Take pictures. (Read my camera manual if I get around to it.)
7. Self-improve. Be kind and gracious, let go of control, live in the moment, and be happy.
8. Self-discipline. Bed earlier, up earlier, no FB wasting.
Keep trying
11. Save at least $10,000 towards purchasing a home. Sacrifice.
12. Overcome my fear of physics. Watch some smart youtube videos.
So, onto the new year!!!
I want to take hint from the great JJ and focus on not looking back but becoming someone I have never been. Resolve to think of us and we. Feel alive. And fight the good fight.
But here are my few specifics.
1. Straight A’s! Work towards publishing something. Do some resume building. Keep reading and writing.
2. Run a half marathon again. Run at least one 9 minute mile.
3. Camp and hike. Hike TIMP!
4. Plan a week-long summer vacation.
5. See somewhere new in Utah.
6. Temple every week.
7. Sundays – Family game every Sunday – (1st week) kid interviews (2nd week) PP (3rd week) Family History
8. As a family work on cutting out carbs and meats. Eat more plants. Be more active together. Drink water!
9. Create a reasonable budget and live by it religiously. Buy a house.
10. Dailies. Quiet time and exercise! Take care of myself.
11. Let GO!! Quit using control as a coping strategy for fear.
12. Daily check-in with LG. Love harder.
This morning I was reading Bill Gates’ list of Top Good News from 2015. I highly admire his habit of yearly review on a global level. What a wonderful way to practice optimism! I decided in the middle of Gates’ list that I must implement this practice in my own life. I found this cool science video.
Here is an additional great compilation of many random acts of kidness that occured this year. I sit and cry my eyes out every time I watch something like this. I’m such a sucker for humanity!!!
I would like to compile my own list. It’s been a good year.
Here is my list of the Top Ten 2015 Gold family triumphs.
The family has been extremely supportive as I started back to school by babysitting Max, and the man has actually been making dinners sometimes. Woo-hoo. I might have to stay in school forever. Even better than the dinners is the fact that LG is a great paper editor. Thank you to the University of TN School of Law.
We actually took two vacations that required a little planning. We went to Northern CA for spring break and Vernal UT over the summer. This is a really big deal for us fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants people.
We made the temple a greater priority. We’ve done a lot of family history research, attended an open house, went to a temple out-of-state, and tried to attend every week taking our girls with us every other time. Being in the house of God more often has really increased the peace we feel in our lives.
We implemented monthly (okay bi-monthly) interviews with our kids to help them work on their emotional well-being, and have all benefitted from working on and being accountable to one another on common goals.
The kids are always progressing: Abigail started driving, dating, and earning her own paycheck. Yay for first jobs! Even though she got a 27 on her ACT as a sophomore she thinks hair school sounds way more exciting than college. Sophia picked up the viola and is so excited to finally be old enough to volunteer at the local library. She and Bella have been enjoying their creative writing class at school. They have very different writing styles, but are both talented. Bella started volleyball, middle school, and volunteering at an elementary school. Caroline and Bella started and stopped dance deciding they didn’t like it all that much. Caroline started Chinese. She wasn’t very happy with her indoor soccer experience this year. Her coach was a former pro-player from South America and she only got to touch the ball maybe a total of 5 times in two months because all the hispanic kids were ballhogs. Ha ha. Lucky we have outdoor again in the spring. She also wants to start tumbling. Everyone is getting great grades, and they all like to mess around on the ukelele.
Max gets a line of his own. He has blessed our family so much giving us a joint interest and a unified undertaking. In 2015, he learned how to sit up, crawl, walk, and tackle: breaking my rib when snatching my legs out from under me in the shower. He can say mama, dada, bye (pronounce Buhye like a southerner), thank-you, what’s that?, I…..love…..you, uh-oh,nuh-uh while shaking his head no, Bella, eee-uh (for Sophia), doggie, woof-woof, and Jesus. He always makes monkey sounds when he gets his diaper changed because there is a monkey on the front of each Luvs diaper. Everything else he wants to communicate just comes out in screams. (We’re working on it.) He loves gogurt, goldfish, and applesauce, balls, throwing everything, conducting music, his pacifier, dragging blankies everywhere, dinosaurs, dancing, dogs, playing matching games on the ipad, and saying “woooh” at anything exciting or new, especially the snow. When I just asked Bella what Max loves to eat she answered, “Uh, everything.” Yes, this boy is a chunkers. The cutest chunkers ever. Over the summer the pediatrician had his blood drawn because he thought he may have thyroid issues because he was so fat. He was normal, and has since leveled out just a tad – like 100th percentile instead of 110.
We’re still married. I know that sounds negative, but it is a big accomplishment. We’ve been learning a lot with the same marriage counselor for three years. However, it seems like we still have a long ways to go. Yet, we’ve found that there is nothing more satistfying than learning and growing together, even if we wish we didn’t have the need for it.
We finally got an outdoor grill after Abigail claimed it for us when her bestie’s family was getting rid of it. We also got a new washer, dryer, and kitchen mixer. The mixer was a gift, and I couldn’t help but cry when I received it. It is a Bosch that I have coveted for a long time, and would have never been able to afford. What a blessing it was after my KitchenAid died. I cook so much for this family that I probably use my mixer 4 out of 7 days of the week. LG is still waiting for the TV fairy to show up and replace his 55″ plasma, but it looks like he might be waiting a long time. LG’s 2.5 year-old dream TV mysteriously quit working until we later found Max hitting it with a remote in the very spot where it initially blacked out. Did I mention that it doesn’t seem worth investing in anything nice when you have 5 kids?
Three of my girls went to girls camp this year. It was a large source of sadness for me that I’ve never been invited to go along or serve in Young Women’s. I am sure I won’t be this year either (which will be Abigail’s last), but after a lot of prayer and pondering I decided that I wasn’t just being discriminated against by more righteous Utahns, but I could trust in God and let it go. Trusting God is a reoccuring life-lesson for me. If He would just give me what I want!!! Nonetheless, it’s not my will, but His. So besides camping with my family, I joined a wilderness writing class and went camping with a bunch of X-Mormons and homosexuals. Maybe that is what God wanted for me all along? It still would have been more fun to be with my daughters, but I will forever cherish my new school friends. I’m not gonna lie though, when my daughters told me that they thought camp would be more fun with me there it made it all okay.
Abigail told LG and I that we need to be more affectionate. We’ve been having all kinds of fun with that!
And after working all week on my list of 2015 this morning I watched this video that is all about not looking back, and I’m wondered if compiling this list of 2015 is actually a bad thing. Dang Bill Gates, you steered me wrong!! lol Oh well, here is to an even better 2016!
Change starts with one person at a time. Steve Harvey did a fantastic job of owning his mistake and apologizing recently at the Miss Universe pageant. He even made millions of people laugh when he showed he can laugh at himself. And his wife did a great job of showing her unconditional support. If the ripple effect takes control, then before you know it, we can all live in a better world where we support each other instead of killing each other emotionally.
On Christmas he posted this pic with the caption “Merry Easter y’all” on his facebook and twitter. Class act!
Steve Harvey screws up. I screw up. You screw up. Everyone screws up. The screw up doesn’t matter as much as if we are able to identify it, apologize, and better ourselves.
The following is my Christmas story this year.
Here’s a screw up of mine at FedEx a few weeks back.
You see, the clerk didn’t have the best customer service skills, and I reacted harshly when she told me I was forced to pay $5 for a shipping box because the one I brought didn’t have the FedEx logo on it. I was trying to ship back a textbook I had rented, and there was no way I was paying $5 for a box when mine would work perfectly fine. I insolently told her how I felt: I would go to UPS because I wasn’t paying $5 for a box! Then I stormed out.
I drove home to print the shipping label as I realized after-the-initial-trip that with the preprinted label the textbook company would foot for the shipping cost. As I drove home with full intentions of taking my business to UPS I evaluated my impatience and realized what I needed to do to make it right. Maybe because I was so abrupt I didn’t allow her to explain correctly? Maybe it would actually cost $5 for the box and the shipping? I printed the label and stopped at Chickfila and bought a $5 giftcard.
When I got back to FedEx the original clerk was busy with another customer. Another employee came to help. I showed him the box and the label. He explained that FedEx could ship my shoebox, but it couldn’t guarantee its safe arrival. It did indeed cost $5 to buy the box and have it packaged by them for total assurance. I explained I didn’t want to spend $5 on a box and we evaluated my other options. I decided to go home and get a box other than a shoebox. But, yes, the first clerk had been wrong about the FedEx logo necessity. Maybe if I would have let her properly explain I would have saved myself a trip. Or maybe not because she seemed to be learning this for the first time as I did.
Before I left I went up to the original clerk and apologized explaining, “I was rude to you, I’m sorry. I got this for you, so you will know of my remorse for acting impolitely.” She said, “It was fine.” I continued, “It wasn’t fine. I jumped to conclusions and was aggressive and these are things I am trying to work on personally, so I thought if I bought you lunch it would help me remember how I should act next time.” She took the giftcard and thanked me. All three Fedex employees were staring at me in disbelief.
I went home for the right kind of box, and returned to FedEx towing along for the third time my 37 pound one-year-old who was now ready for a nap. I grabbed a bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter cups at home for the second customer service rep. that was truly helpful, and thanked him profusely for his patience and competance as I handed him the candy and the correctly packaged book with the shipping label. While he handed me back my tracking information I realized that it had taken me all morning, but I ended up not spending a dime at FedEx.
Unless, of course, you count the gallon of gas, the $5 giftcard, and the bag of Reese’s Cups.
Lesson learned. I laughed at myself the remainder of the day, and when my husband got home from work and I told him of my whole morning spent going back and forth to FedEx he laughed too.
The thing is this….we’ve learned a lot in therapy. He gets what I was trying to do. Be a better person. He knows that I’ve learned that I am aggressive. I’ve learned that I am abrupt, and that those behaviors are keeping me from having the relationships I want with others. I am actively trying to change my bad behaviors. It’s hard to do. Old dogs like old bones, not new tricks.
However, we both understand, also, that no one is perfect. All we can hope for is improvement. All we can give is effort. We should be patient with ourselves and others. When we openly work on our stuff (like I did at FedEx) other people might be inspired to openly work on theirs. They may not work on their stuff because “working on stuff” has never been demonstrated. They may have never “worked on their stuff” because everyone around them is either in denial of their own stuff or critical and not allowing room for work.
So, even though I have a great desire for altruistic behavior all of the time, my actions fall short. Often. I am no saint. But, I still can be someone else’s inspiration when I say I’m sorry. I screwed up. And so can you.
And change is a beautiful message to ponder this Christmas season.
I was at Caroline’s school the other day and noticed this hanging outside her classroom. If you can’t read it from the photo it says,
My hero is my dad because he gets us money.
I couldn’t help but notice the resemblance between the hubster and Wreck-It-Ralph in the picture. He’ll be so flattered. (Another embarrasing sidenote is that when I read this, I automatically inserted new lyrics into the Golddigger song. Sing along: “He gets us money, when we’re in need.”
It was a fun mom moment. It’s not every day you get to see inside of your six-year-old’s head. I should have taken more time to see what the rest of the class wrote. I’m not sure if they all have an understanding of the neecessity of their dad’s paycheck quite like Caroline.
I’ve been chuckling in my head for days over this art. I am grateful that across the hall was another art project that read
I am thankful for my family. I am thankful for my home. I am thankful for Jesus.
It looks like we’ve gotten past just plain old materialism. Phew.
So, with all of this circling around in my mind, our family had tithing settlement last week. I just had to come and write about what has happened since.
[ Read more here. Essentially, every member of our family pays ten percent of our income to our church. At the end of every year, we have an opportunity to go in and talk with the Bishop about what we’ve paid and tell him we’ve given a full tithe as well as get our tax statements.]
Most of the time paying tithing is easy. It’s just the first check we write every payday. Other times (like Christmas around the corner for five kids) it’s a little bit harder. But, we always do it. My entire married life (18 years and counting) we’ve given back to God 10% of what He has given us. We have repeatedly tested His promise in Malachi 3:10 . He never fails us.
Now, we haven’t been given a mansion. In fact, we probably have a lot less than a lot of our fellow American tithe-payers, but we have been blessed over and over again. Since paying tithing last week we have gotten an unexpected rebate check in the mail, my mom and dad sent us some money, and today I got a one-time exception 40% discount at Target for Christmas stuff I bought four days ago that happened to be on sale today only. Abigail got a job. My kitchen mixer keeps working despite its weird noises. A lady from church gave our girls some clothes. An old friend of mine brought us some clothes for Max. Another generous friend insisted on paying for my breakfast yesterday and when we ran to Costco for a few things before I dropped her off, she also insisted on paying half of my Costco bill. A lost phone has been found TWICE.
Tithing isn’t just for material blessings, it’s for blessings of faith. Every time something has come down the pipe, I can’t help but exclaim, “Yes, God, I know you are there. You are always watching over us.”
I’ve heard a lot of crap from non-believing friends about tithing and the financial status of my church. People have told me how bad it is that my church spends so much on temples. (What do they think a house dedicated to God should look like?) I think temples are worth every penny. Look at this one just finished in Tijuana, Mexico. Tell me if you can find anything else as lovely in all of Tijuana. Temples bring heaven to earth.
Other people have asked me if my money couldn’t be used for better purposes? Again, I wonder. What is better than this?
Whenever I hear of suffering around the world. Anywhere. I know that my tithing will be utilized to alleviate it. Hurricane Andrew. Hurricane Katrina. Check and Check. Hurricane Sandy. Check. Chronic Homelessness. Check. Tsunami in Japan. Check. Devestation on the Polynesian islands. Check. Phillipines typhoon. Check. Clean water and immunization worldwide. Check. The Ebola outbreak. Check. I could go on and on and on. Here is a great read.
I’m not sharing this to brag. I also didn’t use any of my church’s newsroom links, but cited a variety of news sources above. I just want to show what tithing is capable of doing. It’s a trillion times more efficient than government because God directs its utilization.
It’s funny. I always dreamed of joining the Peace Corps. I never got to, but my money has been sent to the far corners of the earth. And I usually don’t take time to even think about it. I just consistenly give my 10% and every day my mite blesses people around the world in real need.
Anyhow, like my six-year-old, my hero is my dad. My heavenly one. He gets us money. Then we try to give Him some back, but He takes it and gives it back to us and a million other people in need. The system is flawless. Also like my Caroline, I’m so thankful for my family, my home, and my Jesus. I’d give everything I own for any one of them, but Jesus says my 10 percent is plenty. And I believe it is.
“What better way is there for me to spend quality time with my kids than to be their coach? I have to take them to practice anyhow.” That was my reasoning at the beginning of this season when as a mother of five and a part-time college student I was already feeling stretched. Little did I know that my kids didn’t need me to be their coach as much as I needed them and their team to be my trainers.
I’ve loved volleyball since I can remember. I played on the JV team in high-school, and quit before I had the chance to reach any braggable level of competetive skill. But for a recreational league I knew I would be “good enough”. When I showed up to coach training they didn’t even warn me that coaching has very little to do with skill and a whole lot to do with modeling and mentoring. They let me learn the hard way. Best gig ever. Learning the hard way is my super power.
Let me just start by confessing our season record. 1-7. Yes, that’s one win and seven losses. And, yes, you can stop reading now if you are anything like I was eight weeks ago in believing that the wins are all that’s important.
You see, my lesson #1 was this:
Winners are not those who never fail but those who never quit.
I started with a really inexperienced team. We got our butts kicked over and over again, but I taught them the basics and told them to master them. I promised them if they could just get down their bumping and serving we would be good for the tournament.
These girls never quit. They kept working. And on Saturday we have our last tournament game. We go into it 3-0. Yes, three wins. Zero losses. If we win tomorrow, we will be the league champions. They never quit. And I’m so glad I never did either.
Lesson #2: Actions speak louder than words. Actions are determined by thoughts and beliefs.
One time when we were losing badly, I hurriedly sent the team back on the court without the traditional team cheer. I was distracted, frustrated and worried about how as a coach I was letting my team down. I had just ran on about mechanics and with the impatience of the official raining down on me, I pushed the team along without any encouragment, a sweep of the hands and a, “Just go.” My daughters informed me on the way home that Olivia had looked at them both with anxiety all over her face. She felt bad. Coach was mad and disappointed. My lack of positivity brought the whole team down.
That brings me nicely to my third lesson:
You can only teach someone who wants to learn. You can only learn when you want to be taught.
My daughter Bella has been struggling with her serving the entire season. Last night before the game I was determined to get her serving perfected before the game started. I took her aside and dug in. “You need to keep your arm straight. Hold the ball steady. Don’t start so far back.” She refused to move up six inches. The more I tried to explain how her balls were falling short that exact length, the more she shut down. She ended up in tears. It’s not a proud moment. Thankfully my husband came over and asked me, “Alice, is it really worth it?” She didn’t want to learn what I had to offer, yet I still wanted to stuff it down her throat. Both she and I had really fragile feelings for the whole first set. It wasn’t worth it. Unless you call her first two perfect serves from too far back worth it. Like her mama, she is out to prove a point. For the record, I know now I was wrong. I’ll never forget the horrible sinking feeling I had while watching her sit on the bleacher and cry.
Lesson 4: Change is progression.
I’m the kind of person that holds my ideas and opinions tightly. I feel like if I need change I failed. Volleyball has reminded me that the only thing that defines failure is being too rigid to progress. At the beginning of the season I was using a lot of practice time on cardio and strength building. I realized early on that my team needed more time on the ball. I had to completely change our practice outline.
And last:
Always, always, always focus on the positive.
It took me six losses to figure this out, but on a positive note, I guess there are slower coaches to be found somewhere. In the beginning of the season, I kept harping on the girls about what they were doing wrong. They couldn’t bump the ball for the life of them, and so I determined to force competancy on them.
Meanwhile, the other teams were not just mastering bumping, but also learning new skills too. Or so it seemed to me. I decided that I had to change my approach. I started finding ways to compliment each player. I dished out praise like Halloween candy. I demonstrated and allowed time for practice and encouragment. I continuously repeated how much I believed in them. I told them the could win. They started to believe it.
I can’t really explain the beautiful experience it is to jump around a court like a crazy kid with a team full of girls that you know you helped to learn the lessons of champions. Last night, as I watched them high-give and congratulate each other with joy written in each smile line, my heart swelled. I was so grateful that they coached me way more than I could have ever coached them.
Update (next day)
We won. My favorite part was when we all sang “We are the Champions” in celebration.
Sometimes I wonder why I am a churchgoer. Well not just sometimes, all of the time. I probably think about this more than is considered sane. I would like to lay this consistent self-dialogue to rest. I find writing about troubling topics helps me to set it down and walk away.
Let’s face it, organized religion + imperfect people is a recipe for disaster. Sensitive people like myself are especially vulnerable.
There are so many reasons to NOT go to church. For an obnoxious person like me, there is a new reason about every minute. Embarrassing, but true.
They either don’t trust me to do anything,
or they ask me to do way too much. (I do realize this is a defeating paradox. And sometimes I actually feel both of these at the same time.)
I don’t have any real friends there.
I am not valued.
They don’t like me.
That guy just taught a bunch of crap over the pulpit.
I don’t agree with his viewpoint, or hers, or his, or hers, or his, or hers….this can keep going.
I’m too liberal.
That Bishop just pounded his fists on his desk and yelled at me to “repent”. (Yes, that did happen. And my husband was in the Bishopric. – It’s all patched up now. He was 80% right.)
That group of people I thought were my friends just outed me from the musical number.
That similar group of people outed my hubby from the college intramural basketball team.
That kleptomaniac stole my roast right out of the church kitchen.
They’re so full of themselves.
They play favorites.
No one understands me.
No one loves me.
I’m not a breastfeeding advocate.
I don’t do hypnobirthing. (ha. that’s not even a real word in wordpress)
The same ten people do everything, and my family members aren’t invited to the cool club.
I don’t 100% subscribe to essential oils.
I don’t want to be invited to your Mary Kay party.
They really don’t like me.
They never let me teach anyone older than 8 because they think I might corrupt them.
Those people I have to serve with dump everything on me.
The kids are way too out of control. Everywhere I go. No, not mine…the other ones.
You get the picture. I honestly could go on for at least another few web pages worth.
Why do I go? I go because no matter how dysfunctional they are (and, even more than them, no matter how dysfunctional I am) it’s home. It’s not my home. It’s my God’s home. And I need Him. I need Him more than the air I breathe. Sure, I probably do need Him more because of all of them, but I think that is part of the plan.
I don’t judge people who have left the church. I get it. Every explanation they give, I understand. If I don’t, I try to, with all my heart. I do not see myself as better as anyone because I stay and they don’t. But I do consider myself more blessed. Why? Because through all the crap, I go, I open my mind, and I let God love me…From His perfect house, full of imperfect people, HE ALWAYS LOVES ME. Even when they don’t. Especially when they don’t.
I am very much like Simon Peter. Let me take some liberty with the verses John 6:67-69…the italics are mine.
Then said Jesus unto the Alice, Will ye also go away?
Then Alice answered him, Lord, to whom shall I go? thou hast the words of eternal life.
And I believe and am sure that thou art that Christ, the Son of the living God.
Today, on a “thousandth something” of Sundays in a row, I made myself forget all the reasons to run away as fast as I could, and I went home to my Jesus. He sent a very loving message my way to remind me that He is the reason I do anything I do. Thank you, Jesus. I know you get it. Even when the lady in Sunday school today said that we can’t understand the verse about you asking God WHY he forsook you, I know you know about all the times I have asked the same question.
I know I will never experience the pain and suffering you did. I don’t even have the words to thank you for your infinite atonement, but I guess she was right to a degree: even when I feel like you and Father forsake me at times, I know you never have. I know it’s all just in my head. I also know you never will, no matter how much I want that untruth to explain my offenses. Please, please give me the strength to never ever forsake you either. Especially when I’m so quick to have hurt feelings. Especially when they are so quick to judge and misunderstand me.
I had to write an emergence myth for my Wilderness Writing class. I’ve struggled with it all semester. My professor is all about the process of writing, so he doesn’t just take our assignments, grade them, and hand them back. He gives feedback, workshops, and hopes for his students to grow and evolve. As a black/white enthusiast this has been beyond difficult for me. The class is finished in two weeks and I have not even a hint at my earned grade. I’ve had to work on multiple projects at once. I’ve hit a lot of walls. I’ve vacillated between utter despair and overpowering revelation. This was the perfect class to initiate me back to school. I’m glad I stuck with it.
Here is my Emergence Myth, A Writer’s World. This emerged after five weeks of inner turmoil. I’m proud of it. It is the most personally powerful piece I have ever written. I hope it will be followed by many more that are nothing like it.
Her name was Nobody. All she wanted was to be a Somebody. Somebodies were better. Somebodies were happier. Somebodies were successful. So, she signed up for Somebody school. She left her stifling dreary brown Nobody world without looking back and happily entered the newest Somebody classroom with glass walls. Holding a pen and paper in her hand, surrounded by Somebodies and other people learning to be Somebodies, she felt happier. She thought only of Somebody ways. She tried to learn their words. She studied their beliefs. She liked the Somebodies. And they liked her. But when she went to sleep at night staring at the books in her lap, she felt like she was living a lie. She didn’t know how to write Somebody stories, even though that is all she ever wanted to do. So she read all of the great Somebody myths. She pondered Somebody tradition and she tried harder to copy the Somebodies. But everything felt like it was wrong.
Nobody was persistent and brave. She would not give up without a fight. She stopped talking as much and started to listen. She found better tools and used them to build new ideas. After a lot of hard work she surprised herself when she started questioning the ways of Somebodies. She couldn’t believe that along the journey she was somehow convinced that Somebodies weren’t always right. What happened to that Nobody girl that worshipped all the Somebodies? She had changed her own mind. Somebodies didn’t do it. She did it. She realized that Nobodies could be good and happy and successful too. In fact, the only difference between Nobodies and Somebodies was their names. She didn’t need to be a Somebody any more. She could be a Nobody. That was perfectly acceptable. She felt liberated.
She started to think about going back to Nobody world until she had a rude awakening. The only reason she believed Nobodies were good now was because Somebodies had taught her so. Now what? She was still a Nobody, but was also a Somebody. Where would she fit in? The answer wasn’t with the Somebodies. Desperate, she allowed herself to look through the glass walls back out to Nobody world. Mountains had emerged. The skies were every color of the rainbow with clouds of all shapes and sizes. The vegetation was magnificently varied. The animals seemed to holler at her to tell their story. Nobodies never saw those things. She was no longer a Nobody.
She decide she had to stay at Somebody school, even if she didn’t want to give up her Nobody parts. She didn’t know what she would become. Maybe she should just be a writer? Maybe she could tell Somebody stories and Nobody stories? Maybe the best stories would be about Somebody and Nobody together? She looked at her paper, her new world was in it. It was totally blank, but she was not scared. She started to fill it, one letter at a time. She made Nobody words. She made Somebody sentences. She changed them all around and rearranged voraciously. Over and over and over again. She deleted some and added some others. The paper took the form of a glass building surrounded by a bounteous earth. Sometimes there was a Somebody inside, sometimes a Nobody outside, but neither would ever be confined again. Her new world was in the paper and it would be whatever she imagined.
Egregious adj. – Conspicuously and outrageously bad or reprehensible
So, you mean to tell me that every year you oblige your kids in the traditional Easter egg hunt? And you don’t feel completely insane while at it? Personally, I feel outrageously bad and reprehensible before, after, and during participation.
Why? I’ll tell you why.
First, let’s review the steps of easter egg huntery:
1- Gather your very large bin of plastic eggs you store for annual insanity. (If you aren’t as prepared, you will be forced to your local Walmart where you’ll fork over a minimum of $20.)
2- Prepare the candy. (We do that by taking our twelve bags of variety and dumping them into a pile and mixing them together on the living room floor.)
3- Fill the eggs.
4- Hide the eggs.
5- Find the eggs.
Now, this is where it really starts to get to you. You must sit patiently with a smile on your face, as to not ruin the tradition’s fun for your children. Just look happy as you watch the kids do #’s 1-3 in reverse order.
6- Dump out all candy from the eggs, back to a pile on the floor.
7- Reorganize the candy back into it’s original sorting so that you can literally place it back in the bags from where it came.
8- Take the refilled storage bin of empty Easter eggs back down to the basement for next year.
I’ve been obliging my family for fifteen years with Easter egg witchery. I’ve implemented every way around the frustration. I started with saving the eggs from year to year so I didn’t have to purchase them over and over again. (You’re welcome Mother Earth.) I advanced to requiring the children to do the work….more every year. Fifteen years ago they just had to do the finding. A decade ago, I started making them fill. (I kindly informed them there would be no finding without filling.) Five years later, they had to start hiding the eggs too. This year all I hoped to do was buy the candy. I tried to get them to do the whole thing without me, but they guilted me into believing that a mom’s participation is essential for the fun.
I snapped. I’m so ashamed. I started screaming, “WHY? WHY do we do this every year? Just eat the candy! Just eat the candy!” Tears started streaming down my face. My maniacal laughter must have startled them, but children…they just can’t see the error. It’s like their corneas have been rainbowed over with egg-dye and bunny candy poop. They were in a trance just going through the motions like an Energizer bunny with faulty programming. I tried waving my hand in front of their eyes, they just held their arms out stiff in front at 90 degrees and mumbled, “We must get Easter candy.”
This is my plea to the American public. We must find an immunization for this nonsense. And we must do it before next Easter. Please help me! We can’t all convert to Judaism, even though they are obviously the most sensible of the religions.
Maybe my parent’s solution can help you start thinking outside the egg. They just opened the bags of candy and threw them around the house and called it good bucking the eggs all together. Easter morning, their seven children would scramble like starving field-working immigrant children experiencing their first pinata. We never even knew to complain, we didn’t know any different. I think by keeping the plastic eggs out of the house they saved us from the trance all together. My only regret is that even though we lived in Southern California with perfect Easter weather, we only celebrated outdoors once. You see, we all learned the hard way that this method didn’t really work outside. When attempted, the morning dew sogged up every last piece (especially the chocolate) leaving me traumatized for life.
Although, I’m telling you, I would take eternally sogged up candy over one more year of the dark side. We must stop the madness. I’m afraid next year I might need a straight jacket. Maybe I can just start sporting one so my kids will see that my hands are tied?
My only consolence is at least I don’t live in Germany where I would be expected to hang 10,000 eggs from a tree.
I went back to college. I can hardly believe it. I have been waiting for “my turn” for a very long time. I am so grateful for an insistent therapist and a supportive husband who are helping me overcome my fear of failure. For me, I believe attending college is vital to my writing success. I need to learn so many things and I will triumph because of the confidence I hope to gain.
My first class…wait for it….writing in the wilderness. I honestly can’t think of a better synthesis for me, unless of course we add in motherhood. I am IN LOVE with learning. I don’t know if I can even put my adoration and satisfaction into words. For two Friday nights in a row I have sat at the feet of a very capable, intellectual professor with my laptop. I’ve typed away frantically trying to document every morsel while ogling out the windows of our classroom framing both the majestic peaks of Mt.Timpanogos and Cascade. For three hours each week cloud-gazing has been my privilege and philosophy has been my affair. I try to contain my awe with it all. My whole life has been waiting for this climax, I have to refrain from shouting hallelujahs at all times. Living the dream is overwhelming to my emotions. I’m grateful to have waited for so long because in the waiting I have honed wisdom and gratitude.
God knows what He is doing with my life.
So, my professor, Scott Hatch, is a poet. I swear I wouldn’t be happier if he was Emily Dickinson or Ralph Waldo Emerson. If you think about it, I actually am sitting at their feet, too. He has a lot to teach me. One of his teaching techniques in beautiful language and master transcendentalism is to have his students craft a writer’s journal. Every day, we are to write one paragraph and then when we are all through with our initial writing we are to extrapolate our favorite phrases. He said this is the beginning of poetry.
{this is me screaming in delight} I cannot believe I GET to do this!!!
I thought I would share today’s. I know I’ve been neglecting the blog.
17 May 2015
They gather around the kitchen bar on this Sunday morning. It’s not especially early; we’ve never been good at mornings. I am in my house-dress nibbling on a cupcake left on the counter and they are all already in their Sunday best exposing my guilt in the family’s sluggish morning habits. My hair probably looks like the inside of an anthill, but it bothers nobody, including me. This place is home and approval abounds. I tell of my horrible sleep and start to describe a dream that exposes my stressful night. I had left my five-year-old at school without realizing I missed her school pickup. My fifteen-year-old daughter pours fry sauce generously over her reheated fried rice in a white ceramic bowl, she’s unconventional in her breakfast choices She relays her dream about kissing some boy other than her boyfriend revealing her inner ethos that wants to be loyal. The eleven-year-old gathers and speaks about her dream of finding toys on the side of the road for her baby brother Max, her oldest sister refused to let her take them, disclosing the playful family theory that she is the meanest in the family. Dream interpretation at its finest. Who needs Freud?
They gather
good at mornings
Sunday best
hair like an anthill – it bothers nobody
This place is home
approval abounds
I tell
She relays
speak about her dream
interpretation at its finest
who needs Freud
alice w. gold 