One day at a Time?

As I sit down to write about one thing today, another comes into my head.  We'll see what comes out.  Giving myself time to think and read and pray is both a blessing and a curse.  Maybe that 's why I avoid it so often.  Without thought--both on what I read and what I experience, there is no feeling.  Without expression of that feeling, there is no pain.  That's why really praying--sincere, heartfelt praying hurts.  Numbly stumbling along without thought or feeling is easier.  Of course it is.  That's why so many people choose to live there--even if they know there is more to life than that.

We had 2 talks in ward conference Sunday.  Both good.  Yes Keith, yours was very good.  I read it again this morning.  There's a problem for me, Michelle, in hearing the two of them together though.  I tend to be a compartmentalizer.   In my world, these 2 things cannot coexist.  One talk was on being perfect and one was on being happy.  I'm not very good at either one.  When I try to be more perfect is when I see more weaknesses and unfortunately I don't immediately see that weaknesses are good and that I have them so God can help me. 

When I was 8 years old, I refused to be baptized because I thought after baptism I had to be perfect and I knew I couldn't be.  I wrote a letter to the prophet at the time and told him of my dilemma.  I got a nice letter back from President Kimball and was baptized, but that feeling of needing to be perfect and being a failure at it lingers.  To this day, I can't imagine a person feeling like they are good enough to be in the same place with God.  I know that there are lots of things I can be perfect at, but right now the thought escapes me of anything that I am perfect at.

The happy talk was a little less overwhelming, but still it's an intangible that has to be maintained over time.  Plus, it's the lack of personal perfection that messes up my happiness.  I'm happy with my husband, my home, my overall station ...you know, except for that one giant whole in my heart where Ian should be. 

He said there were 4 keys to it and used scriptural examples.  To be happy you need to work, keep the commandments, recognize blessings and avoid contention.  Well, that's sounds easy in 4 neat little steps, right?

I remember a gimmick used in NH to get us all to read the Book of Mormon in a determined amount of time.  They gave out a chart and said we would read the assigned number of chapters and look for only one topic as we were reading and mark every time that topic was mentioned--something we needed to work on etc.  I chose being happy.  I remember how shocked I was at how often I found verses on it.  How many conditions were put on it and how badly the Lord wanted it for us--in fact stating it was the entire reason for our being.

Both of these things remind me of how alcoholism is described.  One day at a time.  You can be perfect--even me, for an hour or a day, but how do string those hours together?  And when you slip, you are right back where you started.  How do you get a 30 day chip on perfection or happiness?  I guess your gut urges that nag at you have to be those of wanting to be happy or perfect. 
If you're are focused on one, how can you be focused on the other?  I guess if I could manage perfect, I would be happy. 

Wait, let me go back.  I don't want this post to sound like I am fundamentally unhappy.  I'm not.  I expect more of myself than I give.  That fouls up the quest for both of these attributes.


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I Miss Snow--and Ian

This is what January should look like. 
Snow, snow and more snow. 
Keith and Ian with their snowman in Manchester, NH. 
Just a few months after we moved in--before we got the black shutters for our blue house.

Back to Thankful

I'm thankful for:

food that lends itself to chopsticks
good jokes
days where you can drive with the windows down
comfy shoes  (I'm wearing Ian's Crocs today)
finding lost stuff
random facts that impress my kids
newly painted walls
the invention of the telephone--not necessarily the cell phone
pistachios--literally translates to "happy nuts" in Chinese
school being close since I make 2-4 trips per day

Approaching 18

Ian almost 18 months old

There's another milestone looming--not even a real one or an important one--yet it is there.   Next week it will be 18 months.  A year and a half. 

That's the amount of time I was away from Keith after we knew we loved each other.  My mission.  Even though I was serving  and having the time of my life and enjoying just about every minute,  it seemed like an incredibly long period of time.  I missed him horribly and longed to be with him.  I was so excited to see him that we met in the San Francisco airport on my way home to Salt Lake.  It was a grand reunion.  That was one 18 month block of time.

That's 2 pregnancies.  What could possibly feel longer than that?  I've always said that it's the mother who is delivered, not the baby.

The last 18 months have been the worst of my life.  Painful and raw and draining and confusing.  So confusing.  How can the worst time of your life fly by so quickly?  How can it possibly have been a year and a half since I saw my baby?"  (No Ian,  I'm not calling you a baby.  I know you hate that.  But, you'll always be my baby.)  It's unfathomable. 

There are people around me that don't even know I have 3 children:  all the new members in our ward,  new teachers at school,  the ladies at Mikey's gym who probably wonder why I look so depressed sitting there for 2 hours every week.

Keith and I went to a work function in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago.  Food suppliers fly in from all over the country for these things and we dress all up and pretend we enjoy meeting each other.  I was seated by a man I had never met and since I don't work, people always ask me about the kids.  That's part of the reason we haven't gone for so long.  I should have prepared my answers in advance, but I didn't and I've felt weird ever since.

Guy:  "So, how many children do you have?"
Me:  "3."
Guy:  "How old are they?"
Me:  "11,  14,  and 17."
I turned to my food at that point.
Guy:  "So, the 17 year old is a junior then?"
Me:  "Yep."
Back to my food.  Conversation over.

Later that night I was talking to a woman at our table about how many pair of control top pantyhose she was wearing.  We were laughing and having a good time.  Then she asked about the kids.  I felt so disgusted with myself about the first conversation that I told her the truth.  She pulled the face.  She felt horrible.  I tried to continue the conversation, but it was over.

Why do I feel like I both betrayed Ian and turned myself into a psycho?  After 18 months I figure I should know what to say.  I think I should be able to have a little control over my emotions.  Not so much.  Still fresh.  Sitting in a chair a few days ago, watching TV,  I thought to myself,  "Does this mean he needs another cath?"  I remember asking the doctor that in April or May.  I'm still trying to reassure myself that I did all I could.  I actually considered emailing the doctor the other day and asking him what the life expectancy is for a baby with heterotaxy syndrome.  I thought maybe if he said 5 or 6 years old somehow that would make me feel better about the "bonus" time we got.  Stupid.

I got 10 full 18 month blocks of time with Ian.  They went so fast.  This block without him  has gone fast too, but the minutes and the hours haven't.  The 18 we should be approaching is years--in time for the election  Ian was going to vote out Obama!

Thankful Again

I'm thankful for:

idiots in the world that give us interesting things to talk about
the past being the past
recognizing that 2 people can be right at the same time
car air-fresheners
rain--I hope it comes tonight
nights when Keith is at home
indoor, flushing toilets
being able to worry about obesity instead of starvation
colored markers and scotch tape
cheapo reading glasses

Things I Want to Remember



Classic Ian with one of the many cow sculptures  in San Antonio


I told Mikey he should write some memories of Ian down and as we were talking these are 2 he came up with.

Ian--"What do you call a man with no arms and no legs in an elevator?'  What?  "Elvis."
We laughed harder at his attempt at a quad joke than almost any other joke over the years.

Mikey quickly added that he redeemed himself with,  "What do you call a man with no arms and no legs in the produce department?"  What?  "Barry."*

The other memory that came up tonight was Ian being in charge of family home evening treats.  He was never much of a fan of sweets.  Not cake, not ice cream.  He said we were all having glasses of water for treat.  It caused quite a stir.

It's fun to share memories with the kids.  It makes us all smile and laugh.  It makes him near.  Over the next few months, I'm going to complete the photo albums of the last 3 years.  They've been waiting for me.  I was working on 2009 early last year, but when I got to Ian's birthday there were pictures and I couldn't remember what he had done.  It made me so sad, I put it all away.  But now, we need those memories, all in one place where we can open them and look at them and smile and be in the moments we had.  The ones we didn't record with pictures will have to wait until we talk to Ian again.  Pretty safe bet he didn't forget what he did for his 15th birthday.  I miss my son.  Soon it will be a year and a half.  That's too long.

Another smile.  I have been wondering about famous people in the spirit world and whether they are still hounded and need special treatment.  I know, it's weird, but whatever.  Mikey asked tonight at the dinner table if Michael Jackson only had half a nose and we laughed and decided people wouldn't recognize his spirit.  Ian didn't think much of MJ anyway, but he may have snuck into some VIP spirit lounge to see Elvis by now.

*Quadriplegic jokes were a big part of Keith and I getting to know one another.  We have about 25 or so.

Messages Don't Wear Out

My scriptures are pretty worn out.   I'm not sad about it.  It makes me happy that I've used them that much.  They are 20 years old this year.  The writing is all worn off on the spine of my Book of Mormon and the binding is all loose on my Bible.  The pages slip up and down on the threads.  Yesterday though, the wear and tear proved serendipitous.

I got out my Bible during the sacrament and let it fall open to a page that was nearly falling out.  I began to read as the bread was being passed around the chapel.  The first verse at the top of the page started like this: 

 51 I am the living bread which came down from heaven: if any man eat of this bread, he shall live for ever: and the bread that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.

 52 The Jews therefore strove among themselves, saying, How can this man give us his flesh to eat?

 53 Then Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man, and drink his blood, ye have no life in you.

 54 Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day.

 55 For my flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed.

 56 He that eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, dwelleth in me, and I in him.

 57 As the living Father hath sent me, and I live by the Father: so he that eateth me, even he shall live by me.

 58 This is that bread which came down from heaven: not as your fathers did eat manna, and are dead: he that eateth of this bread shall live for ever.

 59 These things said he in the synagogue, as he taught in Capernaum.

While I do not think that it was miraculous that I turned to that page, I do think it was very meaningful for me.  It was the right message at the right time and really made me think about the symbols and the meaning behind them in a special way. 

Then I turned to look at the first of the chapter.  It was about the loaves and fishes and the miracle of feeding so many with so little.  I scanned the pages and started reading again where I had some underlining.

 28 Then said they unto him, What shall we do, that we might work the works of God?

 29 Jesus answered and said unto them, This is the work of God, that ye believe on him whom he hath sent.

 30 They said therefore unto him, What sign shewest thou then, that we may see, and believe thee? what dost thou work?

 31 Our fathers did eat manna in the desert; as it is written, He gave them bread from heaven to eat.

 32 Then Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Moses gave you not that bread from heaven; but my Father giveth you the true bread from heaven.

 33 For the bread of God is he which cometh down from heaven, and giveth life unto the world.

 34 Then said they unto him, Lord, evermore give us this bread.

 35 And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst.

 48 I am that bread of life.

 49 Your fathers did eat manna in the wilderness, and are dead.

 50 This is the bread which cometh down from heaven, that a man may eat thereof, and not die.

I know I cut up the chapter and put it out of order, but that's how I read it.  That's how it fit for me while partaking of the bread and water myself.  It was a good sacrament.  Symbols are important and the bread is a good one. 

I wish we still got to eat the sweet delicious home-made bread of Sister Blakes, then again, she's not the only person in the ward I wish wasn't gone.