The kids are all right

When we first brought up the possibility of our Australia adventure, the kids' initial responses were pretty characteristic of their personalities.

Lauren: Cool! When do we find out for sure? Can I come? Can I have one of our cars here at university?

Maddy: (in the middle of G's sentence "my company has an opportunity in Australia-"): YES! Let's do it!

Sam: (quiet, measured look on his face): Hmmm. I don't know. I'll have to think about it.

Keep in mind that we have always talked about how great it would be to live abroad as a family. And that we love to travel and have tried to emphasize experiences over things. On top of all that, we have a pretty strong lineage of wanderlust and adventuring. So, while this opportunity came kind of out of the blue, the concept is not too earthshattering for our offspring.

Even so, as we've absorbed the reality of the enormity of this change, of course all of our initial responses have gone through stages of both tempering and leavening. Sam has gradually warmed to the idea and now is enthused and even predicts he'll want to stay through high school. Lauren remains upbeat and inquisitive but I'm sure she has moments when it feels like we'll be far away (I know I do).*  Maddy has had some sad moments of leaving-itis (e.g., student body elections for next year) sprinkled amidst her excitement. She kindly demonstrated the progression of her emotions:

As I told my parents and sibs recently, it definitely feels like that metaphoric roller coaster ride, complete with adrenaline and the occasional leaden lurching stomach. Weeee...oh no no no....weee! But it will be good, all in all. We'll learn a lot, explore new things, and figure out everything else. Mostly we feel upbeat**, encouraged, and calm in the knowledge that no matter what, we have each other. That will stay the same.

. . .

*L posted this about it on her blog.

** How can you not feel upbeat about Australia when you listen to this?

On the shifting of family plate tectonics

When I got home from the dropoff trip, I opened Lauren's door and sighed at its emptiness. She pretty much packed up everything and cleared the room out, partly because it needed to be that thoroughly cleaned (she's an accumulator, that girl) and partly because bedroom space is at such a premium around here that we might need to use it for other uses when she's gone.

Later in the day, G said "oh, you opened her door! I've kept it shut because it's too hard to see it so empty and Laurenless."

We realized, G and I, that part of our melancholy is because we are both oldest children in our families. We've never been the person left behind before! We did the moving out, intoxicated with new freedom and forward momentum and oblivious to the shifts in the family plate tectonics we left behind.  I have a new appreciation for those youngest children in families, who say goodbye and adjust, goodbye and adjust, goodbye and adjust, bearing witness to the dwindling resident family numbers and the countdown to an empty nest. 

So I want to apologize, these decades later, to my youngest brother. Sorry, Chris.  Being left behind kind of stinks.

That's not to say what we have right now, with the four of us, isn't wonderful. It is, and all the sweeter for realizing how quickly the time will fly until we will say goodbye and adjust, goodbye and adjust, again. We've shifted our places at the dining table to be more cozy. Maddy and Sam get along famously and seem to be closer than ever: friends as well as sibs. We text and call Lauren like crazy and love to hear about her life and update her on ours. For instance, Maddy is in the throes of watching the disgusting driver's ed movies and Sam is rereading the summer book assignment for 8th grade for good measure and learning Somewhere Over the Rainbow on the ukelele.  Life is good. We're adjusting and shifting.

. . .

FYI, Lauren has started a blog of her college days. Email me if you'd like to know where to find it...I asked and she's fine with us living vicariously through her. :)

Stepping outside

 

On Friday evening, everyone was swirling around the kitchen after dinner. Dishes were done. Sam was strumming Hey, Jude on his beloved new ukelele. Laughter. Glow. Singing. It was delicious, hyggli. And, suddenly, too much. I stepped outside to the twilight yard and sat on the patio to cleanse my palate of the sweet heavy rich thoughts and memories we have been serving up lately.  

Lots of happenings around here in the last week: Sam's birthday on Monday, lovely family times, Lauren's breathtaking patriarchal blessing last night, her birthday today, sorting and packing and shopping and (tomorrow) flying west with Lauren to deliver her at university. All wonderful, happy events with an aftertaste of leaden, sweet melancholy.

Truth is I've been avoiding writing here. The emotions have outpaced my ability to step outside of it all to reflect and do it justice. I crave sparse and spare and breezy lightheartedness.  Luckily I live with these guys:

"Pteradactyl!"

Or, at least, I do for another 12 hours, give or take...  

See? I can't be trusted not to take a maudlin u-turn.

I know: She's going to have a fantastic time. She'll be back home in that bed of hers and I am her mother whether she's near or far. But I'm fighting those pesky lumps in the throat today, this week. Far seems                             far.

Like a dream

 

Maddy recently discovered the joys of photography and can be found with my old film camera slung around her neck, focusing on various details and worrying about lighting and shutter speed. I can't wait to see the world through her lens. And I do have to wait. Oh, film. Remember the patience of film photography? She's taking a class and learning the darkroom techniques of developing film. Twice someone else opened up the developer with her film in it and she lost the entire batch of photos. Twice. Gone, like a dream untold. Heartbreaking.

. . .

I admit I'm a little out of sorts today. I went back to bed after the last of the kids left for school at 7:30 this morning because I went to bed at 1 (G got called out for a bit last night) and got up at 5:15 (driving kids to seminary) and I'm not a very nice person on 4 hours of sleep. Or at least that's the feedback I've received.

Morning dreams are odd. Today I had this strange & vivid dream where G and I were driving along and he remembered he needed to get something so suddenly he was gone and I was alone in the car. La di da di da, looking out the window, enjoying the scenery. Then I looked up and the car was veering toward a cliff because (hello!) no one was driving. I grabbed the steering wheel but ended up rear-ending two cars that were parked in a row, one filled with policemen. G showed up, a little bewildered about how I managed to crash, but kind about it.  We decided to find some bicycles.

Don't analyze that, please.

And, sorry, retold dreams are never very interesting but this is just to say that now I have a dream hangover, fuzzy and a little irritated and kind of defensive.

So fingers crossed on the nice person thing today.

Me vs. Me

Turns out that going to London for a week, then turning around and going to Washington, DC, for my (final!) fellowship meetings for four days results in a sizeable backlog of work on the homefront.  I have to pay the piper, apparently.  Man, I resent that piper sometimes. I'd much rather hide my head in the sand. Or in a giraffe costume, should that be conveniently on hand.

Towering at the top of my list is a major paper I promised to my advisor this week. It's sooooo close and yet so far from being done. I am experiencing major writing dread and I seem to be repelled from my computer. Well, maybe not my computer (here I am enjoying it immensely, see?) but definitely anything associated with academic writing.

On the other hand, I really want to do it. I do! I love the ideas I'm writing about and want to keep moving forward. I chose this set of challenges. So there's the battleground: me vs. me. I'm so good at sabotaging myself, too: my ultimate opponent.

When I was driving home this weekend, I heard a compelling Radio Lab story about this very issue. A woman named Zelda Gamson was trying to stop smoking: wanted to stop, knew she should, but somehow the "other" her kept getting in the way. I was fascinated to find out how she finally triumphed over herself. Would it be setting up a fabulous reward? Finally deciding to improve her health so she could be there for her grandchildren and (please bless) even their children?

You know what it was? She made a pact with a friend that if she had another cigarette she would send $5000 to the Ku Klux Klan. That's right, she would fund lynchings and prejudice and evil. And you know what? After decades of trying and failing to rid herself of smoking, this time she never took another puff. The key for her was finding something so revolting that it outsmarted all of her little excuses and compromises. Fascinating!

Well, back to work...surely you've figured out that even this post is a distraction from what I really should be doing. Time to locate some self discipline or get out my checkbook, I guess.

What would be the worst negative consequence you could give yourself to motivate a change or behavior you're after? Or do you work better with rewards?

p.s. I will do a mega-London post once I have made some headway toward my deadline. (Besides, if you're like me you probably overdosed on London and royal wedding coverage over the weekend, right? Take a breather and I'll inundate you soon. xo)

If you are joyful...

...it will shine in your eyes and in your look, in your conversation and in your countenance. You will not be able to hide it because joy overflows. Joy must be one of the pivots of our life. It is the token of a generous personality. Sometimes it is also a mantle that clothes a life of sacrifice and self-giving. A person who has this gift often reaches high summits. He or she is like a sun in a community. ~Mother Teresa

I know people like this, don't you? I aspire to this. I would especially like for my family to think of me as someone who is joyful, a sun in our community of home. Sometimes I find this so inspiring, so aspirational.

But I have to admit that sometimes--today, for instance--I'm not a sun, I'm a raincloud. A bowl of cold oatmeal. A brittle fall leaf. Rather than overflowing, my joy congeals in wobbly puddles at the bottom of my heart. Telling me to be joyful just mires my feet in guilt. You know how it is sometimes. Instead I lean on hope.

Tomorrow will be better, as I used to whisper in the ears of my young ones at the end of hard days. Tomorrow will be better.

. . .

image via

Adeste fideles

Yesterday, G left on his surprise post-birthday trip to Utah. I have to say I was so excited it all came together for this well-deserved, long overdue adventure.  After Christmas I contacted a handful of his best buddies from high school to see if they'd be willing to meet up in Park City for a ski weekend to celebrate G's birthday. These are lifelong friends who really get each other, great guys all. Happily, they were all game (and, in fact, enthusiastic) so yesterday Chris flew in from Oregon, Sugata from California, Chuck from Arizona, G from here and they met four more friends who already live there: Mark, Nate, Justin, and Kelly.  Watch out, Park City.

Once he got a seat on the plane, he called to tell me goodbye and thank you, that he made his plane, and that he accidentally took my credit card with him. We were chatting away when in the background I heard a woman say (obviously to G), very clearly, "hi! do you mind if I sit in your lap?" + playful laughter.

Now, maybe there are some situations in travel I'm not aware of where sitting in a strange man's lap (or offering to) would be advisable.  I can't really think of any right now. Or, let's give her the benefit of the doubt...maybe G was accidentally sitting in her seat.  But, still.  It rankled.

I piped up on my end of the line "um, I DO!"

He relayed, "my wife says to tell you she minds."  We all laughed. Hahahahaha.  (Grrrr.)

. . .

It really was funny. Except not really.  

It's been a tough year for the marriage model, fidelity wise.  It feels like every month there's a new scandal about someone (Say it ain't so, Dave! and Tiger. and various governors. and presidential candidates. and friends' husbands.  Say...it...ain't...so.)

I hate that this betrayal happens...especially when it's to people I love.

I hate that with every new story another whisper of a fear enters my marriage heart, despite my trust in G.  I really do trust his love and goodness. Even saying that, the whisper pipes up "that's what all those wives said, too."  

And you know what else? I hate that women feel free to flirt with other people's husbands. We should be better to each other than that.

. . .

Because marriage is a leap of faith. And fidelity (the Latin fides, meaning trust, belief, faith) is the privilege and price of that unique, wholehearted relationship that marriage offers.  

Because this is what should be happening more often, not less:

My grandfather was born and raised on our New Zealand farm. He and my grandmother were married nearly 60 years. Preparing for a photo in the barley, my grandmother lovingly reached up to adjust his hat. This was his last harvest.

Gemma Collier, National Geographic Photo of the Day, 11.04.09

Back | Forward

Looking back

2009 was a year of growth:

teaching my first solo college course

going out of my comfort zone

learning how to better serve

learning how to better forgive

and ask forgiveness.

Giving myself pep talks and permission

writing monthly for Segullah

connecting and gathering

friends, family, thoughts, challenges.

But in many ways it was hard to distinguish it from the years before it.

When I think of the past decade

(looking at the forest rather than the trees)

it was, after the child bearing decade of the 90s,

a time for child raising, when we became a family.

We moved from "young parents" to (early!) middle aged ones.

And I figured out myself a bit.

We stayed put and let ourselves

send out roots and branches.

We wandered around the planet a bit.

Decided to embrace possibilities and 

be the captains of our ship.

. . . 

Looking forward

(hello, 2010!)

I'm excited and nervous about

what the new year and decade might bring.

Today I'm making lists of hopes and goals and plans

(and watching a Harry Potter movie marathon)

Happiest new year to you~

may it be filled with good things.

. . . 

Write it on your heart

that every day

is the best day of the year

(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

. . .

Song: My Brightest Diamond | Feeling Good

((^click to listen))

Keeping on

Best of .09    |   Best challenge of the year

I'm a serial starter, an enthusiastic idea person. You want to brainstorm? Pull up a chair, I'll heartily join you with verve.  I run headlong into new projects with good intentions and start-up energy swirling in my wake.

But there's a flip side.

My weakness shows up as I try to trudge on in that middle place where the doubts creep in.  Why am I even doing this? I'll ask. Maybe this isn't such a great idea.   Sometimes the lull is brought on by other people's opinions, sometimes it's just the loss of momentum.  Case in point: Look! Here I am in the 9th or 11th day of the year-in-review posts (depending on how you count them) and I'm starting to be late. Sigh. Typical, I scold to myself.  But I'm not really a quitter, just a fizzler.

This year my biggest challenge has been to learn how to harness the energy of that initial spark and plan for the time when the lulls come and I just don't really want to [fill in the blank] anymore and I'll need something to carry me through.

Through it, I've learned the sweetness and integrity of following through to the end, even if it means limping along for while until the spark returns.  And it does return!

I've learned that I don't have to do everything that comes across my mind, that it's okay to have idea orphans for a while.

I've realized that just because I can do something, don't mean I should do it.  I'm getting better at using my judgment to filter which ideas/projects/requests are worthwhile.

And, probably most importantly, I've learned to be kinder to my weaknesses.  They respond not to heartless, ruthless stomping but to compassion and a nice margin with plenty of room for failure.

. . .

Best of 09 year in review, Gwen Bell style. 

What was *your* best or biggest challenge this year?

On not taking the road less traveled by

 

Just so you know, we will not be moving to Australia.

Probably you are not either?

We have been keeping this exciting possibility (Australia relocation) under our hats since late July, when G was told that he was one of a few attorneys in his company being considered to head up legal for the Australian branch of the company.  We didn't tell the kids (why get them all excited/nervous until we know for sure?), we didn't tell family (same reason), or local friends (it's so hard to be straddling the line between being here and leaving).  I did tell a couple of people who could know from afar and give me someplace to bubble up our news when I felt like I'd overflow (thanks, gals).

But the two of us, G and I, have talked about it a lot over the last months.  Most plans began with "If we're in Australia...." or "If we're still here..."  I admit, I looked into real estate and schools and church congregations.  I knew it wasn't a certainty but I did enjoy thinking about the possibility of starting all over in a faraway country (and continent!).  Unless I was worrying about going--moving the kids to a new country and new set of friends, distance from loved ones, missing our wonderful town.

Along the way, Australia came up in the oddest places. Almost every day someone mentioned it to me: they had lived there, were from there, wanted to go there. Was it a sign?!! 

No. We found out that someone else is going. Which is fine, really. We'll buy curtains finally and stay here longer. Now we know which set of advantages + blessings we keep. Plus I'm relieved for Lauren, who would have spent her junior and senior year there (is there a more impossible time to move?).

The thing is, I kind of like adventure and the road less traveled. Now I'm still just doing what I was doing before and where's the fun in that? (I know, I really do have a good situation here and it's a happy life but compared to Australia? Meh.)  It was fun carrying around this little nugget of a secret.

So long, Australia.  I had great hopes for us.

Also in other news: I am not pregnant. But for a while there (at least in my active imagination), I was raising a little caboose baby (12 to 17 years younger than the other kids) in Australia!

Why is hard to let go of something you never had?  And be relieved at the same time?

. . .

Best of 09 day 4: Best book. Fiction:  The Book Thief, a book I have been meaning to read for at least 2 years. I had started no less than 5 times before and never gotten past the first chapter.  Finally I did it this fall and loved it. I finished it on a Saturday afternoon on my bed. G came in as I was weeping profusely at the end and kissed me on the forehead.   Non fiction: Mindset.  I love Carol Dweck and her research. This is her general nonfiction book about her work, looking into how our mindsets (fixed traits or growth) affect effort and achievement.