Memorials and humanity

I am catching a plane to Minnesota this weekend to be with family and memorialize my Grandma, who passed away bluntly and unexpectedly a couple of months ago. My mom informed me today that there will be a time during her lakeside service to share thoughts about Grandma (GiGi, as my kids refer to her, for Great Grandma)  A memory, an appreciation, an endearing trait, a funny story. Keep it short, she said, I'm sure there will be many who will want to talk.

How to memorialize a life in such succinct terms? She had so many rabbit trails, pathways and journeys that I was not privy to.  What I to decide share at her service might not be correct or important.  There were so many facets to her life, to my life, to all of our lives. Our stories are long and they have so many unexpected patterns. What is the sum of it all?

So here it goes.

What I appreciate about Grandma was her absolute insecurity in herself and her place on this Earth and her ability to mask this insecurity with an amazing self confidence in all areas of her life. This has taught me that the conflict between my most deplorable weakness and my most awesome strength, that wages in me every minute and hour of my days, is the purest definition of humanity. It is within this battle that I am chiseled and ironed out in the hopes of one day reaching my final conclusion. My story may take many unexpected turns and twists but it is my story. Mine alone. Mine to write. When I finally reach my last page and close my book all I can hope is that I am happy with how I engaged in battle.

All of us are on this same path. We are all battling our own hostiles. Give grace.

I love you Grandma. Thank you for teaching me this lesson.

What will you do with your time?

I have fallen apart over my kids and I am slowing learning how to be put back together.
I am taking advantage of this time given to me to live strategically and intentionally
so that I may be authentic in all my interactions.

I didn't anticipate that my kids would slowly unravel me, crack me apart and spill my guts all over the street. But I also didn't think they had the ability to put me back together.

After my oldest stomped his way upstairs tonight, mad after two hours of lego building that he couldn't figure out the last step and mad that his mom was trying to save the day when (he reminded me) just two years ago, I had destroyed his play mobile castle when carrying it across the floor, (it slipped from my hands and crashed to the floor), I begrudgingly climbed the stairs to "have a talk." As I reached for the banister I instantly understood his angst. My childhood was thrown back in my face. It hit me pretty hard. Unraveling emotions I didn't care to think about. Why didn't I ever trust my own parents when I was little? They always seemed to know just the right way to take care of things. It made me mad.

I had a good chuckle. I cant believe he remembers when I broke that castle! Reaching the last step I figured that if he could remember the castle he for sure was going to remember how I reacted to his feelings. I walked into his room and rather calmly let him know that I had figured out the last step (I didn't break anything) and that I was hoping he would come down so I could show him. As I walked out I heard a faint, "thank you." Once at the table again I reminded him that it is not okay to yell when frustrated, that we can indeed work as a team. He agreed. I sighed a big sigh of relief. I hadn't lost my temper. But, I still was unsure about what our teamwork would look like in the future.

Time marches on. It can be a gift or it can be a slave master. Since birthing my children and up until a few months ago I have been ruled by time. I have deemed myself powerless. My emotions have been a rollercoaster of good, bad and ugly. There has been no strategic plan, no forethought, no lessons learned. Just time. Get through the day. Get through the phase. Get through the age. As I am "getting through" all of this my kids break me down, clear cut my nice scenery. Make me tired. Gut me.

As I kissed my not so little bundle of joy goodnight this evening I was instantly thrown back into time. Four years ago my oldest was her age. Only 4 years old. The transition of having a baby sister was just too much to handle. One night, while My Love was traveling, he got frustrated with one of his toys and threw a tantrum. He came into her room while I was trying to get her to sleep and kept repeating the same thing over and over again. He wouldn't leave me alone. I lost my cool. I got really angry. I put his little sister down in her crib and proceeded to yell and scream at him. We went at it. Nobody won. While replaying this nasty memory I wondered if he still remembered it too.    My heart cracked wide open.

Lately my kids are helping put me back together. I have decided that I don't want to just get through the day. I want my kids to have good memories of these years. I want my kids to be better at this parenting thing than I am. I want my kids to see me laugh and sing. I have one year left until his baby sister goes to Kindergarten. One year. What can I do with a year?

A few days ago I picked my oldest up from school. As is our habit we stayed so that he could play on the playground. His sister was sleeping in the stroller and he asked me to play tag. Why not? We played tag. I ran. He ran. We laughed. The best part though was after the tag we hung upside down on the bars together. We looked at each other upside down and laughed. "You look pretty good upside down," I said.  "I have never seen you upside down," he said. "We should do it more often," I said.

I am slowly being put back together and it feels good. I gave up coffee and alcohol in January and have started exercising regularly. I am striving to find ways to be thankful for all I have been given. I am trying to giggle more and am learning to let things go. Professionally I am trying to figure out my next steps that will put me unto a career path that makes me happy while juggling the needs of my grown up family. There is so much that can be accomplished in one year!

I have fallen apart over my kids and I am slowing learning how to be put back together. I am taking advantage of this time given to me to live strategically and intentionally so that I may be authentic in all my interactions.

Thank you to my children -- without you I never would have had to be put back together -and I am so much a better person for it!

Brain Clutter. Your last regret?

I often wonder what my last thought will be. My last memory. My last dream. My last spoken word. My last gesture. There are some spaces in time that consciously go into my "last moment" rolodex. There are other periods of time that just like to take up space. Like when you are trying to find some important contact and you just keep flipping through needless information. I sometimes forget that these rolodex cards are removable and should be promptly trashed when happened upon. Brain clutter. I only wish to keep those cards worthy of being my last. But this is so backwards.

I yearn with all my heart to live, think, dream, talk and gesture like it is last. Forget the rolodex. Alas, I am beaten most every time by my brain clutter. There is only one time that I forge through this so called life and subconsciously live like it is my soul's last breath. This happens when I say goodbye to my kids. Pure love springs eternal when they are going to bed all snuggled sweetly or when they go off on a grand adventure with their Dad. When I kiss their pink cheeks as I watch them walk into school or when I say yes to an after school play date. I am fiercely struck by these moments of separation and I can do nothing but live like it is my last moment.

I have too much brain clutter. Last moments do not happen nicely, tied with a ribbon. More often than not last moments happen within the brain clutter. Yelling, distraction, frustration, sickness, tiredness and being overwhelmed are just a few of my everyday emotions - my brain clutter. This clutter gets in the way. It prevents me from finding  that one important contact.

No regrets. The "R" word. My Love and I used to pride ourselves on not having any. There was a moment in time that I could not even remember the actual word. I would say, "What is that R word, again?" But it can slowly creep into your life and take over without even asking permission. I don't want to keep asking for "do overs." I just want to breathe  like I have been given a do over - all the time so that when my last moment comes I am not living within a regret, covered up with brain clutter.

The other night I had THE BEST night's sleep. It wasn't because I went to bed early or because my kids didn't wake up. It was because of my continuous dream. Prior to going to bed that night we had been breathing in about 8 days of straight sun and highs in the 60s. In March! All night long I dreamed of torrential rain. The rain kept raining. Downpour. It rained hard all night in my dream. There was no story line. No happenings. Just rain. I woke up to a rainy day and I felt so comforted by the water. My "rain" dream kept replaying all day in my head and when I went to bed the next night, I said out loud (to my Love's horror, I'm sure), "I wish my dream last night could have been my last dream. It was so wonderfully peaceful." I don't want to die of course. I just want to make sure that when in the act of dying that I have wonderful amazing joyous peaceful brain activity, with no regrets prying their way into my domain.

The only way for me to achieve this is to start throwing away the brain clutter and start living to die. Every moment. Every day. This cannot be a goal to attain. At this point in my life this has to be a decision of commitment to my life, my Love's life and to my children's lives.  

Opposites Attract

Why does the middle so enchant me? I yearn to go beyond but cannot unstick myself. Opposites attract. Or, in my case, I dwell on what could become of the merge. The two opposites, finally connecting, compromising, merging, as one. Authentic meets Intentional. I cannot decide which opposite suits me. You may qualify this as a bit crazy.   I would agree. Especially given my personality of black and white thinking. ...But there are times (when I am alone) that the opposite game just doesn't work. I am thinking about my being. My personhood. My identity. My nature.

You know of the conflict I am speaking about. We all deal with this. We want so much to show our true feelings, to let it all hang out. We want people to know us deeply. We want love that comes to us unconditionally, no matter  the makeup or fashions of the day. Confusingly, we also so need/want to look nice. We need the pretty package. We plan, think and strive to look and say smart pretty little sayings. Our lives have to have the most intentional ribbons tied around it. We have to at least show others how amazing we are. Authentic meets Intentional.

We played little bear this morning in bed, my two kids and me. My smallest is always the most crowded bear and she kicks us all off the bed, laughing that she is the only one left with all the blankets. My oldest today wanted to be the littlest. We complied. He sang the song,  but at the end he  belted out,  "roll over, roll over, and they all came closer and the littlest one said, I'm happy."

There HAS to be a happy middle point. I cannot live in the Authentic world for too long but get so bogged down in my Intentional world. So, I have determined to live Intentionally Authentic and Authentically Intentional. I know that this doesn't make any sense. But for me, I am happy, I have discovered the middle and am content to continue to dissect these feelings until one of my own pulls me in an opposite direction.

To Reach the Top

It was easy. It was a sunny September day, no plans. A trek to the top of Tiger Mountain was intriguing. Four miles round trip. Having just arrived home from the Salmon Days festival with my family, I knew if we left quickly we could be home before dinner. I threw a couple water bottles and granola bars in my backpack and we spontaneously all jumped into the family van. I told our kids of the adventure about to begin. Many times since moving to Issaquah we had seen the paragliders jump from the summit of Tiger Mountain and gracefully glide around and eventually down to the grassy ground. I joyfully told our giddy kids that we were going to trek to where the paragliders jump from. My then only three year old looked wonderfully amazed and my seven year old started to ask questions. This is where our journey began.

It ended in the same way, in the car. Five hours later.

But what of the middle? The kids scrambled out of the car. So exciting. Walking sticks procured. Seven year old bounding ahead. Parents cautioning the fast pace. Slowing down. Taking pictures. Stopping for a water break. And then the complaining. Are we there yet? My Love and I peered into each other's faces not wanting to break the silence. Trying to read each other's thoughts. It was supposed to be fun. Should we give in? Should we turn around? We had only been hiking for 20 minutes. Positivity still abounded. We trudged on. Fascinating items were pointed out to small children. Snails traveled faster. My Love and I kept glancing at each other. We still could not figure it out. Should be keep going?

Continually moving out of the way of descending trekkers we started to ask, "how much further until the top?" "You're almost there," is what we heard 25% of the time. "It's totally worth it!" we heard from another 25% of them. "You're only half way there," is what we heard from the half of them.

Only half way. Only half way. The middle. How many water breaks and complaints could one put up with until deciding to turn back? My Love and I weren't sure. And then my 7 year old sat down. "I am not going any further," he blankly stated. Ok, there is was. My Love and I decided that it was commendable. We had gone far enough. Had a good time, but it was time to turn back. We both agreed  -- and then our eyes fell on our three year old. Big crocodile tears slide down her cheeks and she started wailing. "I have to get to the top," she wailed.

My son was content. He had done and seen enough. He had enjoyed his journey but was done, ready to descend. My daughter was not content. She had to keep climbing. I was torn, but only for a split second. I turned to my 7 year old and blankly stated, "we have to get to the top." He was not happy with his sister for quite some time.

We of course made it. It was gorgeous. The view was exquisite. Our happiness on having made it was paramount. The icing on the cake: while we were soaking up the view, three paragliders jumped and took off on their journey. My three year old was awestruck. My seven year old seemed content still.

I have looked back on that day many times. There are some people that have to reach the top. It is in their blood. No matter the mountain. They have stamina, perseverance, a dream and just the right amount of silliness to make it possible. Others are content with the middle. Others still are content in the journey whatever that may be. On this specific day however it did not matter what any of us wanted. We had to reach the top. Our spunky three year old demanded it.  We had to climb. We had to sweat.

I am so thankful for those that have to reach the top. She will not be the one to sit with another because they are content and don't need to go on. She will trek ahead, always returning but with new found memories and emotions. She appreciates the view from the middle but knows deep down it will always be better from the top; for the view and her essence will mix to form something entirely new. She will always recognize the middle for she will always be a part of this family but there will always be enough love to allow her to keep going. This perseverance will earn her the right to discover new heights and to take risks. To take the leap. To change the organic world by being an active participant.

Looking back I don't know why I just didn't sit with my seven year old while My Love took her to the top. Why was it so important that we did it together? It was so important because we had to show her that we all believed in her. The ones that are constantly reaching for more (for the top) need so much encouragement and so much support. They crave other's belief in them.

To this day, whenever we pass the Tiger Mountain trailhead, my now four year old belts out, "remember that day, when I changed all your minds?" I smile and know that no matter the hardship, I will always believe in and strive to meet her at the top.

What Time Is It?

**How do you follow a wonderfully crafted speech? You do it by being yourself. By being sincere.You won't find the same feeling twice. If you are lucky, you may find an extension -- a time altered, mutated emotion displaying itself distinctly but with familiarity.**

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I am fascinated with Time. It marches on - succinctly. It cannot be bottled. It does not carry emotion. It simply displays an accurate picture of the moment and then it moves on. It does not know the next step - but it takes the step and the next and the next. It has no memories. It carries us within it. It organizes us. Gathers us. Disperses us. Moves us. Stalls us. It is entirely divorced from us yet we cling to it with utter desperation. To pause. To fast forward. To reverse. All of it is out of our control. There is no remote. We are passengers. Bystanders. Battered.

There is no short cut. There is no compromise. There are no actual do overs.  Time is precise. Time is ruthless. Time continues to count out our days, our hours, our minutes. Time does not know our end but clicks by second by second, holding us within its grasp.

Time is NOT human. It does not understand our wants. Our indecision. Our mistakes. Time cannot compute our risks nor can it grasp our strategic methods. Time is a robot. A pre-programed device -- set up to operate strictly off of mathematical equations. It is law.

Time holds me to this law. Scientifically I move forward. Unrestricted. Free. Unattached. It marches me forward. I strive for this. I want to be free of my emotion, my regrets, my pre-planning.

Unfortunately Time has no memory. It is the snapshot without the back story. It can display color, shapes, letters and numbers but cannot gather them together into a strategic pattern. Time has no future. Time has no story. Time has no heart. We will continually be at odds; arguing over clicking through Time and simply being in Time. Conflicted.