Saturday, February 14, 2009
Disillusioned
I work so hard to keep a good attitude, but sometimes I find myself wallowing in the disillusionment of being a mom. What I mean to say is that it isn't what I once thought and hoped it would be. Of course everyone knows that you can't know what it's like until you're in it, but I have one child who to me is a complete puzzle. And while I don't want to go into detail complaining about the problems we face, what I need to express is how painful it is to have a child who has desperate needs and to find myself so mystified about how to help or what to do. I have taken parenting classes and read many books and prayed at length and talked to counselors and other moms and still have no idea if anything I'm doing is getting through or making any difference. I feel so helpless and even more disillusioned as the mom in this relationship. I've always been so confident in my life that I could face whatever comes my way but this has beaten me down time and time again until I feel completely at a loss and incapable of facing the challenge any more. I've never been one to run away in the face of adversity, but I want to run and never look back sometimes. And then I feel guilty about it because that's not what "good moms" do. They don't run away from their children. They love them unconditionally and help to solve whatever problems arise. But what do I do when I'm SO TIRED? I turn to the Lord again and again and ask for His help. I feel like each morning I wake up and just say "Help!" to the heavens, but somehow I feel so inadequate and still so incapable. What makes the whole situation worse is that I feel like I can't address the needs of the household because I'm so mentally zapped--like the laundry, cooking, and cleaning. So then I end up feeling like a slob. Where am I in all of this and where is God leading me? Is it just my challenge to endure it and keep trying, or is there a lesson in this that I am completely missing so I can't move on until I learn it? I promise I'm trying so hard to be who God wants me to be and learn what He wants me to learn, but I'm so tired and sometimes to just keep trying seems too overwhelming. Where are the answers and will I ever find them? Or is this child's life just destined to be hard and confusing? How do we find our way through?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
presents vs. presence
The past year I have been learning about what it means to truly love another of God's children. Often I cannot solve another's problem, and sometimes I can't even find words of comfort or reassurance, for in this life sometimes there are none. I've been reading a book about a woman who has answered the call from the Lord to serve people who suffer from the effects of HIV/AIDS and her experience of turning her life in that direction even though she had never planned to do it. She tells about one experience she had visiting a leprosarium in the Phillipines, where people go to live out their remaining years as scarred outcasts who have recovered from leprosy but are maimed. She and her group had brought gifts for the residents, but the caretaker told her that while the people would appreciate the presents, the truest gift she could give them was her "presence."
I believe this is true. It seems that my truest of friends are those who are willing to sit with me in my moments of grief and sorrow and pain, offering their embrace and love. The other ways people serve each other are wonderful, such as meals, cleaning, etc. When a fellow human is willing to enter my "mire" and share my pain, cry my tears and be with me so I know I'm not alone, I feel the love of the Savior.
I believe this is true. It seems that my truest of friends are those who are willing to sit with me in my moments of grief and sorrow and pain, offering their embrace and love. The other ways people serve each other are wonderful, such as meals, cleaning, etc. When a fellow human is willing to enter my "mire" and share my pain, cry my tears and be with me so I know I'm not alone, I feel the love of the Savior.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Body Image Clarity
Body Image Confusion
So I've come across an interesting phenomenon. When I go take my dance class at the Treehouse on Monday mornings, although my flexibility doesn't quite measure up, I look in the mirror and feel quite good about my appearance and abilities. But when I attend my "Ultimate" rehearsal on Wednesday nights, I come away discouraged and feeling quite like an overweight thirtysomething wannabe who has no business putting on dance pants.
Hmmmm....
At the Treehouse there are a few mini-moms who have tight abs and teeny rear-ends, but for the most part, at that class at least, it is a group of real women in all shapes and sizes who have carried babies inside the womb and out, put careers on the back-burner, eaten chocolate to get through the day (more than once and the effects are starting to show), shared one too many chicken nuggets with their children, and experienced the effects of slowing metabolisms, pregnancy weight gain, and age. In there, I look pretty darn good.
At my dance class I'm surrounded by beautiful, fun, energetic young women whose lives are just beginning. Some of them have babies or little ones, but I'm the only one who has completed FOUR pregnancies (the biggest birth weight coming in just under 10 pounds). These young women still get to focus on being 20 years old and all that means. Their skinny thighs show it. Their skin is youthful and their bodies are lean, and once upon a time, I would have matched.
But I don't match. My body is scarred with flaws of age, pregnancy, slowing metabolism, and experience. My thighs don't really want to shrink like they used to. My waist is gone, replaced by a layer of "baby fat" as a souvenir of carrying Ben. My face requires a little bit more foundation than it once did, and while my arms are still tone (swimming continues to do wonders in that department), there are plenty of other body areas that are not to counteract!
Next time I get discouraged, though, I think I'll remind myself that my dancing is more authentic than it was when I was 20-something because it comes from within. Not at all do I imply that the young beauties in my group's dance doesn't come from within. It probably does. They are all beautiful dancers. But MINE has changed. My dance comes from a place of peace, inner calm, and energy that extends far beyond my limited leg extension! I am a woman, and I embrace all that being a woman means.
Being a woman means serving, child-bearing, mothering, caring, striving, gaining and losing weight, sitting in the mire with another, and allowing dreams to shift to other realities than planned. It means rocking the baby in the middle of the night, and holding the frightened child, cooking spaghetti, eating chicken nuggets or mac-n-cheese when I'm too tired to cook something else. It means listening to a child who has been wounded, and getting through the tough moments. It means loving a spouse who is being unlovable, and waiting for that love to penetrate. It means waking up in the morning and sharing love with all those around her to try to create warmth in what can be a cold, cruel world. It means exercising but growing more weary from it that when I was younger. It means walking into the fiery furnace to gather up my child, even when that child doesn't think he wants me to. It means waiting patiently for others to feel my love, with no guarantee of its return.
There are many beautiful bodies, but the woman who truly lives her womanhood is rare. Can I love my scarred and weathered body? I'm a work in progress. It takes time when I stand next to young women who are embarking on womanhood. Strangely, when I stand next to women who are living and breathing the experience of full womanhood? THEN, I feel beautiful. Perhaps I am.
So I've come across an interesting phenomenon. When I go take my dance class at the Treehouse on Monday mornings, although my flexibility doesn't quite measure up, I look in the mirror and feel quite good about my appearance and abilities. But when I attend my "Ultimate" rehearsal on Wednesday nights, I come away discouraged and feeling quite like an overweight thirtysomething wannabe who has no business putting on dance pants.
Hmmmm....
At the Treehouse there are a few mini-moms who have tight abs and teeny rear-ends, but for the most part, at that class at least, it is a group of real women in all shapes and sizes who have carried babies inside the womb and out, put careers on the back-burner, eaten chocolate to get through the day (more than once and the effects are starting to show), shared one too many chicken nuggets with their children, and experienced the effects of slowing metabolisms, pregnancy weight gain, and age. In there, I look pretty darn good.
At my dance class I'm surrounded by beautiful, fun, energetic young women whose lives are just beginning. Some of them have babies or little ones, but I'm the only one who has completed FOUR pregnancies (the biggest birth weight coming in just under 10 pounds). These young women still get to focus on being 20 years old and all that means. Their skinny thighs show it. Their skin is youthful and their bodies are lean, and once upon a time, I would have matched.
But I don't match. My body is scarred with flaws of age, pregnancy, slowing metabolism, and experience. My thighs don't really want to shrink like they used to. My waist is gone, replaced by a layer of "baby fat" as a souvenir of carrying Ben. My face requires a little bit more foundation than it once did, and while my arms are still tone (swimming continues to do wonders in that department), there are plenty of other body areas that are not to counteract!
Next time I get discouraged, though, I think I'll remind myself that my dancing is more authentic than it was when I was 20-something because it comes from within. Not at all do I imply that the young beauties in my group's dance doesn't come from within. It probably does. They are all beautiful dancers. But MINE has changed. My dance comes from a place of peace, inner calm, and energy that extends far beyond my limited leg extension! I am a woman, and I embrace all that being a woman means.
Being a woman means serving, child-bearing, mothering, caring, striving, gaining and losing weight, sitting in the mire with another, and allowing dreams to shift to other realities than planned. It means rocking the baby in the middle of the night, and holding the frightened child, cooking spaghetti, eating chicken nuggets or mac-n-cheese when I'm too tired to cook something else. It means listening to a child who has been wounded, and getting through the tough moments. It means loving a spouse who is being unlovable, and waiting for that love to penetrate. It means waking up in the morning and sharing love with all those around her to try to create warmth in what can be a cold, cruel world. It means exercising but growing more weary from it that when I was younger. It means walking into the fiery furnace to gather up my child, even when that child doesn't think he wants me to. It means waiting patiently for others to feel my love, with no guarantee of its return.
There are many beautiful bodies, but the woman who truly lives her womanhood is rare. Can I love my scarred and weathered body? I'm a work in progress. It takes time when I stand next to young women who are embarking on womanhood. Strangely, when I stand next to women who are living and breathing the experience of full womanhood? THEN, I feel beautiful. Perhaps I am.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
What happens in Vegas...
Last weekend five girlfriends and I headed south for a weekend in St. George and Las Vegas, the pinnacle being the Celine Dion Concert Saturday night at Caesar's Palace! I love that women never tire of chatting despite being carsick, sleep deprived, hungry, or just plain tired. We had so much fun! I haven't partied like that for a VERY long time!
I think we could have been a reality TV show--follow the shenanigans of 5 Mormon Moms as they travel without their families into the desert town of St. George, Utah and Las Vegas. Watch as they immerse themselves in the culture of Las Vegas. What will happen? How exactly DO Mormon Moms party? What do they do for fun?
There were even a few instances that would have set any sitcom audience a roaring. One friend was pumping her breastmilk in the car because we didn't have another more private facility. She handed her cup full to another friend while she put away her pumping paraphernalia and forgot about the cup! She dozed as we drove and the loving friend held the cup patiently for quite some time. As we arrived at our shopping destination, the friend in her cutest Michigan dialect asked, "So do you want your breast milk back?"
And to watch us navigate the Strip. I was driving, me who has never driven the strip in my life (only visited as a passenger). Why didn't I get out and let another drive? I don't know. I think all five women during the course of the driving decided that their way was the best route and gave me instructions--all at the same time, for the entire drive! Some calling out from the back, some from the middle row, or from the front passenger seat! And I thought driving the Strip was stressful to begin with. When we FINALLY reached the entrance to Caesar's Palace, we couldn't get in the parking garage because we had my luggage carrier atop the car and it was too tall--word of note, if you drive a tall car, don't try to park in Caesar's Palace. During this whole event one of our gals was inside waiting with nervous anticipation as the concert time grew closer and closer! Then when we finally arrived, we had been in the car so long that we all had to visit the ladies' room even though they were seconds from shutting the doors.
But we made it! And Celine was stunning, and beautiful, and breathtaking, and all I could have imagined and more. She is the embodiment of beauty and class. Her show was breathtaking, the dancers were absolutely beautiful, and the scenery was awe-inspiring.
I think we could have been a reality TV show--follow the shenanigans of 5 Mormon Moms as they travel without their families into the desert town of St. George, Utah and Las Vegas. Watch as they immerse themselves in the culture of Las Vegas. What will happen? How exactly DO Mormon Moms party? What do they do for fun?
There were even a few instances that would have set any sitcom audience a roaring. One friend was pumping her breastmilk in the car because we didn't have another more private facility. She handed her cup full to another friend while she put away her pumping paraphernalia and forgot about the cup! She dozed as we drove and the loving friend held the cup patiently for quite some time. As we arrived at our shopping destination, the friend in her cutest Michigan dialect asked, "So do you want your breast milk back?"
And to watch us navigate the Strip. I was driving, me who has never driven the strip in my life (only visited as a passenger). Why didn't I get out and let another drive? I don't know. I think all five women during the course of the driving decided that their way was the best route and gave me instructions--all at the same time, for the entire drive! Some calling out from the back, some from the middle row, or from the front passenger seat! And I thought driving the Strip was stressful to begin with. When we FINALLY reached the entrance to Caesar's Palace, we couldn't get in the parking garage because we had my luggage carrier atop the car and it was too tall--word of note, if you drive a tall car, don't try to park in Caesar's Palace. During this whole event one of our gals was inside waiting with nervous anticipation as the concert time grew closer and closer! Then when we finally arrived, we had been in the car so long that we all had to visit the ladies' room even though they were seconds from shutting the doors.
But we made it! And Celine was stunning, and beautiful, and breathtaking, and all I could have imagined and more. She is the embodiment of beauty and class. Her show was breathtaking, the dancers were absolutely beautiful, and the scenery was awe-inspiring.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Gasping for Air
Survival of the Fittest:
The mom with the most kids in timeout wins.
Tonight at the swim pool one of my sons jumped upon a smaller son and held him underwater, not letting him rise to catch his breath. It's so ironic that the smaller son, who can hold his breath for probably 20 seconds while swimming the freestyle, can not even hold his breath at all when being forced upon by the larger boy.
Needless to say, the dunking ended our swimming adventure, for the dunker refused to take a 5 min. timeout for dunking, calling me a few choice words in the process and yelling about how mean I am, leaving me not option but to end the outing as a result of his most obvious defiance. As I closed the pool cover, he continued to add to his defiant heap of comments, resulting in more discipline measures to be taken by me until we finally got home and I sent him, very angrily, to his room to keep him safe from the violent urges that were brewing within me!
It occurred to me that my reaction was similar to the younger son's reaction to the dunking. If I am prepared in advance for the defiant behavior, I can pace myself to endure it gracefully just the way my young son can hold his breath when he races in the pool. However, if I am "dunked without warning," leaving me no option about dealing with an immediate issue, with no time to plan ahead and no time to relax and gear up for the ride, I can easily fill up with the same panic that my young son had when his brother was holding him under the water, away from the air. I feel as if I flailed my arms wildly through this episode of defiance today, kicking and clawing for the surface. And to be so harshly attacked by my defiant son made me to feel that he was indeed holding me under the water, where my lifeline, air, was out of my reach.
So now, as he sleeps, I breathe again. A new day begins tomorrow, and we'll both try again.
The mom with the most kids in timeout wins.
Tonight at the swim pool one of my sons jumped upon a smaller son and held him underwater, not letting him rise to catch his breath. It's so ironic that the smaller son, who can hold his breath for probably 20 seconds while swimming the freestyle, can not even hold his breath at all when being forced upon by the larger boy.
Needless to say, the dunking ended our swimming adventure, for the dunker refused to take a 5 min. timeout for dunking, calling me a few choice words in the process and yelling about how mean I am, leaving me not option but to end the outing as a result of his most obvious defiance. As I closed the pool cover, he continued to add to his defiant heap of comments, resulting in more discipline measures to be taken by me until we finally got home and I sent him, very angrily, to his room to keep him safe from the violent urges that were brewing within me!
It occurred to me that my reaction was similar to the younger son's reaction to the dunking. If I am prepared in advance for the defiant behavior, I can pace myself to endure it gracefully just the way my young son can hold his breath when he races in the pool. However, if I am "dunked without warning," leaving me no option about dealing with an immediate issue, with no time to plan ahead and no time to relax and gear up for the ride, I can easily fill up with the same panic that my young son had when his brother was holding him under the water, away from the air. I feel as if I flailed my arms wildly through this episode of defiance today, kicking and clawing for the surface. And to be so harshly attacked by my defiant son made me to feel that he was indeed holding me under the water, where my lifeline, air, was out of my reach.
So now, as he sleeps, I breathe again. A new day begins tomorrow, and we'll both try again.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Wanna dance?
A couple of months ago some people I know who are involved in the Performing Arts Industry coerced me into coming to one of their rehearsals and learning some choreography to be in one of their performing groups! It took MUCH encouragement on their part, for my dancing shoes have been hanging in the closet for about 17 years. (Of course, I don't really have dancing shoes, because I danced in the era pre-jazz shoes, gore boots, and heaven forbid Jazz Sneakers!) I do have one pair of white jazz shoes that my little sister gave me after she retired them so I could take a little Adult Jazz class a few years ago, but I digress.
My children's performing group director, Danny, assured me that I would be welcome among his group whatever my ability level, and although I didn't believe him, I felt somehow compelled to try out the rehearsals. I think it had more to do with my need for fun and a creative outlet than anything else.
Oh the soreness of my muscles after that first rehearsal! My legs hurt, my neck, shoulders, back, feet, arms, and every other muscle hurt and ached! I took heating pads to bed and popped the ibuprofen like candy and thought to myself, "Are you crazy!? You can't do this! This is insane! You are not 22 years old, like half the members of the group! This is undeniably crazy and there is no way you are going to be able to do this!"
So after that little pep talk, I decided to go back again, because after all, I'd had a lot of fun, even if I did feel so inferior and actually quite dorky among my new dancing 20 year old friends. After the next rehearsal, I decided that learning more than one count of eight was going to be impossible for me. I simply could not follow and remember the combinations being taught!
In competitive style, I returned, determined to learn something and not walk away with my head hung. I think more than anything I wanted to prove to myself that I wouldn't give up. I just didn't know at the time how to discern between accepting the reality that my flexibility is just gone after 17 years of non-dance and 4 babies and following through to prove I wouldn't give up! Where was the fine line! I never found it, and hey, I'm still not giving up!
And I'm having a riot of a time! They even convinced me to perform with them! I even sang the first solo of my life! Holy smokes! And I can remember combinations that last more than one count of eight. In fact, I learned 8 or 9 songs in their entirety for our concert! Some jazz, some lyrical, some line dancing, some hip hop (holy cow, that's a stretch for me). And it's SO MUCH FUN! I'll have to include some pics soon from our show. I think I'm going to need pics to prove to myself that I actually did it. Maybe this is all a dream.
My favorite comment was from my daughter (12) who said: "I can't believe my mom did a body roll. That's just WRONG!"
You got it, baby! Mom's doing body rolls, and you better get used to it!
My children's performing group director, Danny, assured me that I would be welcome among his group whatever my ability level, and although I didn't believe him, I felt somehow compelled to try out the rehearsals. I think it had more to do with my need for fun and a creative outlet than anything else.
Oh the soreness of my muscles after that first rehearsal! My legs hurt, my neck, shoulders, back, feet, arms, and every other muscle hurt and ached! I took heating pads to bed and popped the ibuprofen like candy and thought to myself, "Are you crazy!? You can't do this! This is insane! You are not 22 years old, like half the members of the group! This is undeniably crazy and there is no way you are going to be able to do this!"
So after that little pep talk, I decided to go back again, because after all, I'd had a lot of fun, even if I did feel so inferior and actually quite dorky among my new dancing 20 year old friends. After the next rehearsal, I decided that learning more than one count of eight was going to be impossible for me. I simply could not follow and remember the combinations being taught!
In competitive style, I returned, determined to learn something and not walk away with my head hung. I think more than anything I wanted to prove to myself that I wouldn't give up. I just didn't know at the time how to discern between accepting the reality that my flexibility is just gone after 17 years of non-dance and 4 babies and following through to prove I wouldn't give up! Where was the fine line! I never found it, and hey, I'm still not giving up!
And I'm having a riot of a time! They even convinced me to perform with them! I even sang the first solo of my life! Holy smokes! And I can remember combinations that last more than one count of eight. In fact, I learned 8 or 9 songs in their entirety for our concert! Some jazz, some lyrical, some line dancing, some hip hop (holy cow, that's a stretch for me). And it's SO MUCH FUN! I'll have to include some pics soon from our show. I think I'm going to need pics to prove to myself that I actually did it. Maybe this is all a dream.
My favorite comment was from my daughter (12) who said: "I can't believe my mom did a body roll. That's just WRONG!"
You got it, baby! Mom's doing body rolls, and you better get used to it!
In the beginning
Why a blog? Why me? Why now? Okay, so I'm almost 35 and life ain't over yet. I find that I don't usually take the time to write down my thoughts, not even in a journal. In fact, I think I never even accounted for the complete births of all my children in my journal. Maybe I'll do it here. Maybe here I won't feel the pressure of relating each account in its entirety before I close the book for the night!
There is so much to who I am and I add a little on every single day, making me feel a little more complex, and somehow a littler simpler at the same time, if that makes any sense. I love to write, and I love to talk, and hopefully I'll make a little sense. If I don't, then hopefully I'll be loved anyway!
There is so much to who I am and I add a little on every single day, making me feel a little more complex, and somehow a littler simpler at the same time, if that makes any sense. I love to write, and I love to talk, and hopefully I'll make a little sense. If I don't, then hopefully I'll be loved anyway!
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