The I can't complex #2

When I take my son to the park it is very seldom that you don't find him running, here, there and everywhere.  It is one beautiful game to him.  I use these pictures of him and the joy of running for contrast :)

I find that this particular dilemma, the feeling that I can't, has been a particular companion of mine through out my life.  There is a feeling that I have kept it as a friend for far too long.

  When I was in high school, I ran. At least I picked up my legs and propelled myself forward, much like a turtle with severe rheumatism might propel themselves forward in the middle of winter across a deep snowy road.  It was in this slow, methodical, never ending pace that I ran Cross Country and Long Distance in Track.  

Frequently, I imagined that I was one of those slow plodding draft horses, strong and uniquely beautiful (when impersonating a horse you are always beautiful :), never quiting but not sleek and fast like a thoroughbred... In fact, later, one of my friends asked me if I wasn't horrified or embarrassed that I came in last frequently.  I had never thought about it, it was just how things were.  I was slow.  

I came in when I came in, it was never about winning for me, but about trying to do better, trying to survive the race and the burn in my lungs and body.  It was also a means to an end, I wanted to be in shape and be skinny.  I never thought about or dreamed about winning a race, leading the pack or passing them all... it was never my vision because I never dreamed it was possible.  

I couldn't.  I knew it was physically impossible for me to run faster or as fast as everyone else.  My body was different then the majority of other people's.  For instance, most people have fast twitch muscles.  I knew I had none, my muscles were all composed of slow twitch muscles, thus making it impossible to run fast.  Also, I was given alligator legs as my birth right... short and stubby... not even short, small, and slightly curvy... short and stubby.

I don't know how many memories I have of running, pumping my little legs as fast as they could go only to be outstripped, easily, by a long legged friend, well almost any friend really.  That was always discouraging, losing in a sociable race.  For whatever reason, my heart was in those battles, loosing them made it hard to invest in 'real" races,  knowing I would only lose no matter how hard of an investment I gave. 

The last difference between my body and others' was that somehow they surely 
didn't feel the pain I did.  To me the pain was a sure sign, that obviously, I was not meant 
to run fast.  I was so sure that everyone else ran faster because it didn't hurt them as 
much.  How silly of me.  I doubt there are many people who don't experience pain or discomfort when they run, the trick is pushing through it.  I remember still, the night I realized that running fast was all about running through the pain.  It was delicious.

I remember the sensation of almost flying, not that I had reached epic speeds but I had a good pace and I was pushing through the discomfort in my body, so much so that I didn't feel it anymore... I only felt the elation of conquering my weakness and doing something my body had resisted doing for so long... I felt I had wings and could conquer the world.  It was a moment I will never forget, still I can see and feel myself running with my friend, both of us inhaling the dark crisp night with enthusiasm, never slowing the pace, never stopping... just flying.

The I can't complex #1

As a young child my dad frequently took his family into the wild.  We would go hiking, fishing, huckleberry picking, or take long trips into the mountains... trips my dad called "short cuts".  As a young child I mostly enjoyed it, all though the short cuts may have taken "forever", in retrospect I now find those long lost moments not tedious, but lovely.  Now, in my spare time I have many good memories to thumb through.  

For instance, there was the time I hooked my finger instead of the wriggling worm.  Or the time when David and I fell into a deceiving  inch of water and two feet of mud deceptively disguised underneath.  It was a strange sensation, stepping into shallow water and then having your leg sucked into never ending mud, I never did touch bottom as I fell, but luckily only one leg fell in and my brother pulled me up before any real damage could be done.  The rest of the trip we were cold and muddy.  

 There was another occasion when we lost the car on a hike into the mountains.  Most people lose their cars in parking lots or parking garages, we lost ours in mountainous nature on a solitary dirt road.  The walk back to the car was arduous and dark, dark being very significant to a young child with fears of wild, rapid, black dogs attacking.  I remember forcing our way through thick brush and clambering over fallen down logs as we headed downhill, towards where we thought the car was.  Other then a fear of black dogs, I don't remember being particularly scared.  My dad was there, I could hide my panic, pleasantly, comforting it with a gentle pat, in my coat pocket as long as my dad was still there.

Despite the peculiar accident, or two or three or four, we odd children found ourselves in, I mostly remember a vague sense of comfort being together, and a feeling of awe at the beauty and wonder of nature and a certain knowledge that with my dad nothing could hurt us.  Except once, when my dad allowed me to discover for myself just what I was capable of.  

We were fishing, and my dad hooked a particularly large and strong fish.  I remember holding onto that fishing pole with all the strength my little body could muster and still my feet were dragged forward inch by inch towards a small drop off into the water, which I was pretty positive would suck me under immediately, being the large, dark and deep pond that it was.  Determinedly, I tugged back fighting for my four year old life but the fish pulled me forward again, just as resolute to safe his own.  I was teriffied and angry, loosing my ground. 

I looked to my dad for help, why wasn't he saving me, didn't he see the danger.  My dad just stood there, maybe even laughed.  I was so sure the fish on my line was going to pull me in... it was so strong!  I remember clearly the feeling of desperation, tears in my eyes and angry that he thought I could do something so hard all by myself.  This fish was seriously contesting whose life would be forfeit and my dad was doing nothing to help!  My memory loses me there. 

Right there.  Forever fixed in that one spot.  An epic battle between fish and girl.  Both fighting desperately for our lives.  It is a little obvious, I suppose, who won the fight (this is not a fish typing here), but I do not remember how it was won, if finally I mustered enough strength to hurl the beast to shore, or if my tears and anger finally called my dad to my aide.  I have talked with my dad about this moment since then, and he is very adamant that the fish was not going to pull me in, he had full confidence in what his little girl could do, and that if anything happened my dad would be there to protect me.  Looking back I believe he may have been trying to teach me a lesson...the I can lesson... when you are faced with all the fear and doubt of "can't" but find that despite crippling angst you are able.

Who are you?

Who are these two boys going to be?  Intelligent, crazy, funny, sweet, imaginative, persistent, stubborn... how does this translate from baby, to toddler, to child to teenager anyway?...I have to admit, teenager is the age I am most worried about.

It is the hardest time of life.  I hope I can prepare them well enough that even if they do make mistakes, they will love themselves, they will love others and be kind to them, they will love God and  know who He is and that they can trust in His forgiveness.  I hope I can be their friend and that they will trust me and talk to me.

 I know I will have to be Mom and watch out for them, take care of them and do hard things like say no, but I really do hope I can be their friend too.  I also know the friendship I want in the future starts today.  It starts with setting boundaries and being consistent, with having a love first attitude and an anger last attitude.  (What I mean is, yes, you will get angry but the anger should never be stronger then the love in your heart and in your actions, give the consequence but give it lovingly and firmly. )

 The way I treat my boys today, will probably be the way I treat them when they are a teenager but amplified.  Thinking of that inspires me to change, it inspires me to not allow my anger and frustration to win... but my love and firmness to win instead.  I am not meaning to be better then anyone else or preach (we all must find our own way as parents)... I work hard on this everyday, because I feel it is right for me, and sometimes, frequently, I fail.

This is a sad little face, he was angry because he couldn't move in his snowsuit :)

But I try again and again until I can be better at it.  There is nothing in this life that I want to be good at as much as I want to be good at being a parent.  I feel so much is in the balance for my children.  The better I am, the more opportunities they will have to be confident and loving, strong individuals who can know there isn't anything in this world that they can't do.

Would there, Could there, be anything sweeter at the end of your life to know your children love themselves, that they serve and love others, and that they love God.  That they have no fear but have love and confidence in all or most of what that they do and say (most because they won't be perfect :).  Awesome.  It would be awesome.

My boys have the potential I know.  My worry is what can I do, and how can I change as a person and a parent to most facilitate this awesomeness? :) That is what I frequently ask myself.  And I frequently find I need to change, but it is so nice when you move a step closer to what you want to be.  I will never be the perfect mom I want to be, all though I will never stop striving for it, but I will allow myself to be okay with it rather than feel guilty about.  It is okay to be imperfect and make mistakes.  It is splendid being able to learn and change.

We had fun at Lynaea's

  These are Photographs we took while at Lynaea's house.  Any of the house you see in the pictures was designed and partially built by my sister and her husband.

This is part of her designing and the Picture is Mara 

  (She built most of her last house with her husband and they had more help the second time... all though Lynaea did put in all of the Wood floors in this house by herself).  The characters in these Photos are, Nora (Lynaea's youngest daughter), Sari (Mara's second child ( Mara is my sister)), Nana (my mom), and Asher and Isaac my two children... there were more people there but these are the pictures that we have.

Nana and Isaac

It's kinda squishy between my toes and I am not sure how I feel about it

I have traversed the wonderful world of mud already, I am wise beyond my years and now I merely poke sticks in the mud. Look Beautiful. And stay clean, mostly. (Nora)

Poking the mud, is it safe?

Mud as it should be enjoyed. (Sari, pronounced Saree)

I may play in the mud, but I am an absolute Princess!

Showing off my walking skills

Testing out our stair climbing skills

Oh, hey mom!

Here are my Flirting skills, much better than my Ninja skills at this point

It is true, I am stair climbing baby machine.  I can go up and I can go down with Minimal damage.

So full of life and light

Cousins and friends

From the Biography of Sergeant Nibley PhD, Memories of an Unlikely Screaming Eagle

 First, I would like to warn the reader that this exert will contain a graphic, disturbing, heartbreaking, and beautifully touching scene.  I am writing it because I feel it is important to read.  It contains what is most beautiful and what is most horrifying... the worst and the best of humanity.
It is taken from a World War II biography of a Famous Mormon (famous to Mormon's anyway), Hugh Nibley.  Hugh Nibley was a genius, he spoke several different languages including ancient Egyptian (to me that is certain proof of genius, any dead language takes some mental exertion.)  He has published several books all of which help me to see the world, the gospel, and the future just a little bit differently.  During World War II he served in intelligence and was part of the group famously known as the "Band of Brothers", one of the first to drive onto the shores of Normandy on D-Day, literally he made and drove a water proof jeep onto the beaches.  I love his biography, it draws you in without being horribly graphic, it is thought provoking and inspiring, truly amazing.

This is from the testimony of Gustave Gilbert
"Without screaming or weeping these people undressed, stood around in family groups, kissed each other, said farewells, and waited for a sign form another SS man, who stood near the pit, also with a whip in his hand.  During the 15 minutes that I stood near I heard no complaint of plea for mercy.  I watched a family of about 8 persons, a man and a woman both about 50 with their children of about 1, 8, 10 and 2 grown-up daughters of about 20-24.  An old woman with snow-white hair was holding the 1-year-old child in her arms and singing to it and tickling it.  The child was cooing with delight.  The couple were looking on with tears in their eye.  The father was holding the hand of a boy about 10 years old and speaking to him softly;  the boy was fighting his tears.  The father pointed to the sky, stroked his head and seemed to explain something to him.  At that moment the SS man at the pit shouted something to his comrade.  The latter counted off about 20 persons and instructed them to go behind th earth mound.  Among them was the family which I have mentioned.  I well remember a girl, slim and with black hair who, as she passed close to me, pointed to herself and said, "23."  I walked around the mound and found myself confronted by a tremendous grave.  People were closely wedged together and lying on top of each other so that only their heads were visible.  Nearly all had blood running over their shoulders from their heads.  Some of the people shot were still moving.  Some were lifting their arms and turning their heads to show that they were still alive.  The Pit was already two-thirds full.  I estimated that it already contained about 1,000 people.  I looked for the man who did the shooting.  He was an SS man, who sat on the edge of the narrow end of the pit, his feet dangling into the pit.  He had a tommy gun on his knees and was smoking a cigarette.  The people, completely naked, went down some steps which were cut in the clay wall of the pit and clambered over the heads of the people lying there, to the place to which the SS man directed them.  They lay down in front of the dead or injured people;  some caressed those who were still alive and spoke to them in a low voice.  Then I heard a series of shots.  I looked into the pit and saw that the bodies were twitching or the heads lying motionless on top of the bodies that lay before them."

From the book (Alex Nibley)
"Here again the paradox: is it possible a picture so hideous and painful can be such a portrait of human love and dignity.  As I read this I think of what Hugh Nibley said about war and the way he lived and I ask myself: given my choice, would I rather be the SS guard or a member of that loving family going to their death? Is it only in the face of death that we come to understand life?  Is it possible to find peace in the battlefield?  Is it possible for a soldier to renounce war, even as he obeys his officers and shoots at the enemy?... He hated war and volunteered to fight.  The objective was not to take himself out of the war, but to take the war out of himself."

Viktor Frankl:  ... it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us.  We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life- Daily and hourly.  Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct.  Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.

Hugh Nibley said "I remember the dream I had in the foxhole outside of Carentan.  The one where Dave Bernay woke me up and I felt so happy because it was just a dream and I hadn't actually committed the terrible crime I had dreamed about.  There I was in the middle of a battle, and I was completely happy.  It came to me very strongly:  I shouldn't be happy in this circumstance!  But it't  not what happens to you that matters.  It's not what becomes of you, it's what you become that is important."

It is after reading this book and The Hiding Place that I decided that you could decide to be happy no matter what was happening.  Maybe it isn't any easy choice and it is never a matter of just flipping on a light switch within that illuminates and creates a lasting happiness that is not diminished by the hourly pace of life.  But rather the ability to make a decision, no matter the circumstances, to believe that you are not the victim but the person in charge of who you are and become, what you do, feel and think.  And if at first it is not possible just by the strength of your will, then make a decision to search out for those things (The Savior, medicine, counseling, yoga...etc, etc) that will enable you to make the decision to be happy and peaceful, in control of the core essentials of human being... your thoughts and your feelings.

I should add... hastily... that I do not mean to imply that these people were happy... but rather they were able to maintain hope, dignity, beauty, humanity, love... all good things.. all things which lead to happiness...so... it is my translation... they were able to maintain these things despite the worst that could happen to a human being... could I not learn to be happy in my circumstances which are some of the best this world and the people in it have experienced?... this is my Personal application

Today, written a few days ago

I actually don't want to be here right now.  I would rather be taking a shower or eating popcorn and gazing blankly at the TV or sleeping in a nice warm bed, all snuggly, marshmallow toasty.  Instead I am here.  Why? Well. Hmmmm.  No answer.

But, since I am here, I will say that I have the sweetest little boys.  Today, we went on a walk which eventually took us to the park where we played for an hour or so.  Asher had his Lightening Mcqueen car with him and was driving it around on the park benches making a horrible noise that attracted the eyes of all the children playing there.  One little boy came up to Asher to see if he couldn't "share" the car with him.  Seriously, how cool can you get when you have Lightening?  Instead of sharing, they ended up running around and around the park and then all of sudden one of them, and then the other, would plop down on the ground, throw their feet over their heads and then collapse down into the ground and then just lay there smiling.

I didn't get a very good  picture of it... I felt awkward taking a picture of
someone else's child without permission

 It reminded me of Rachel's boyfriend's (Tanner's) comment last night about dogs. (I paraphrase).  How great would it to be a dog, where you are just so happy to be alive all the time.  Sure, something bad might happen, but the next moment you are just as happy as can be.  No problems or worries.  Nothing gets you down (end of paraphrase:).  This is exactly how these two boys were behaving.  Laughing and smiling, life was great and wonderful... oh! plop! and enjoy!... kick your feet up... stare at the sky... feel the warm sun and then jump up running and laughing again... as if every fiber, every atom was participating in the joy, exhilarating just to be alive.

Isaac and I stayed closer together.  I worry about this little boy sometimes, I try not to worry too much because sometimes when you worry too much... it gets worse.  This little cherub of mine laughs when you tell him no too firmly. For instance, when he is grabbing for electrical chords and etc, a sharp no will only illicit a laugh from him.  Sigh.  Surprisingly though, it eases the tension rather then makes it worse, something so sweet and innocent in the way he laughs.  Not in defiance, but as if he doesn't understand and thinks it is a great joke.  It wouldn't be so funny if something happened, but so far nothing has come of it and in the mean time I will keep teaching him the pros and cons of playing with electrical outlets.

I have a feeling we will have to think and rethink ways to discipline him, something that doesn't make him laugh, but doesn't crush him either... just teaches him to know and respect his boundaries.  But not only does he laugh when disciplined, he is very stubborn and persistent.  And now I am discovering that he is fearless.

If given the chance, created by my absence, he would have gone down the slide all by himself.  Headfirst.  No fear.  I believe this is a little bit of the dare devil seeping through his serene and sweet character.  I have seen many kids freeze with fear on top of a slide.  To have a one year old go down enthusiastically, laughing and climbing back up... well, yes I would say dare devil.  It may not be so much what he is doing, but the thrill seeking, the pushing yourself to do something hard, trying to catch up with your older brother, sort of attitude he has.

It all leaves me wondering how these characteristics (sweet, serene, laughint at authority, stubborn, persistent, fearless, intelligent, humorous etc, etc)  as a babe will shape and form the toddler, child, adolescent and adult. They will be all right, but I do believe there may be some steep climbing/learning curve for all of us in the future