Time Revisited

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow,

and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace

from day to day."William Shakespeare

The older I get, the more I realize how fleeting life is. When I was younger it seemed that time couldn't move fast enough. I was always in a hurry "to get there" -- to grow up, to finish school, to get married, to buy that first house... Now, I find that time moves so quickly that I cannot seem to hold on to any one moment, like sand sifting through my fingers. I have often told myself, "I must remember this moment," only to find that the moment becomes buried and lost in time.

Not long ago I changed my last diaper. You would think that after fifteen years and more than 27,375 diapers (and yes, I actually did the math), this would be a momentous occasion. In truth it was quite the opposite -- rather anti-climatic and a little bit sad. Within that instant I suddenly realized that there were moments that would never come again. Call me sentimental, but the realization that no more diapers meant no more babies touched something deep within me.

Early Morning Run

“It is not the mountain we conquer
but ourselves.”
Sir Edmund Hillary

Some months ago Mr. V excitedly announced that he had registered us to run a race. “It will be fun!” he said. “We will run every morning and …”

Upon hearing the words “run” and “morning” in the same sentence I started to feel faint and began to teeter on the brink of hyperventilation. You see, I have never considered myself a runner.

My mind immediately took me back to Dixon Jr. High and Miss Roland’s gym class. It is one of those moments forever engraved upon the walls of my mind. I can remember every detail -- the feel of my blue polyester gym shorts; the boy staring at me because he wanted to “be more than friends”; and the sweet sounds of the Doobie Brothers’ What A Fool Believes playing somewhere in the background. It was the day of the mile run and I knew for certain I would surely die before ever reaching the end. And so, I hid behind the big pine tree and watched the other kids run, joining them on the very last lap. I am convinced that Miss Roland’s mind must have been elsewhere that day as she didn’t even notice, and happily called out, “Seven minutes and three seconds!” as I crossed the finish line. That day I joined the prestigious ranks of Presidential Physical Fitness Award hopefuls.

Confessions Of A Perfectionist

Lately, I have had a hard time sitting down to write. Part of it has to do with summer and the laziness of this time of year, and part has to do with writing for a deadline. And so, since I have not posted for quite some time, and have been using old posts for my column, I decided I needed new material. Despite my most creative efforts, nothing came to mind. I do have a few projects in the works, but true to the spirit of this post I decided against perfection. For now I'm giving you my revision -- the one for this week's column. I promise to soon get back into the routine, but not until after a few more dips in the pool.

"Homes are for free expression,
not for good impression."

Helen North from the movie Yours, Mine and Ours (2005).

I have come to realize (OK, so I realized this a LONG time ago) that I am a perfectionist. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that as a young bride I prided myself in the fact that my house was immaculate to the point that even the patterns from the vacuum cleaner lined up perfectly in the carpet.

Oh, how things have changed over the years! It might have something to do with giving birth to five kids, Mr. V's pasture full of farm animals, or the lack of sleep. Somehow, along the way I realized that perfection is just plain HARD WORK! And so, I now view life a bit differently.

Final Farewell

It was a great honor to be asked to present the eulogy at my grandfather’s funeral. For quite some time I contemplated what to write – looking for just the right thing to say. I have often sat at funerals where every minute indiscretion of the deceased’s life is hung out like dirty laundry for all to see. At other times I have listened as the speaker describes a life of perfection without any hint of transgression.

I did not want this for my grandfather as he was neither. His life was more like a favorite novel, read and reread until the pages are frayed and faded at the favorite parts. It was a story full of conflict, resolution, intrigue, anticipation, romance, deception, love, forgiveness, and redemption. And like a good novel, when it was over, we all closed the last page and thought, “Ah, yes -- that was a good story!” Early in the morning, in that space between slumber and wakefulness, the words came to me. They came so clearly that I could see them written on the page, but even more, I could feel them. And when I read them, I knew this was how I must begin his final tribute.

Again

Once again we packed the whole Rancho into our SUV to make that twelve hour trip back to the place of mountains – the second time in one week.

The trip was unplanned as this time we were returning for a funeral. And once again I wondered if the wild two-year-old should have some Benadryl; why one of my offspring peed in a water bottle instead of telling us he needed to go; if the teenager could please be a little nicer; and what passing cars thought upon seeing the five-year-old licking the windows.

I thought about funeral potatoes, a military salute, a handwritten personal history, laughter while remembering, and tears while missing. And I thought about family, and about how in times such as these it is good to be surrounded by loved ones.

And along the way I learned some important truths: NEVER stay in a hotel whose name contains any type of number, and if the billboard says, “Pet Friendly” it should be avoided at all costs.

Goodbye

“Don’t cry because it’s over.
Smile because it happened.”
Dr. Seuss

Each summer we pack ourselves, five kids, and piles of “too much junk” into the SUV to make our annual pilgrimage to the place of my childhood. Over the Blues, through the valley, past endless fields of sagebrush, until we reach the mountains of the Wasatch Front.

As we drive I am thinking, “Who gave the five-year-old a harmonica? How many granola bars have been stuffed under the back seat? Will the neighbor boy remember to water my flowers? Should I give the wild two-year-old some more Benadryl? Will my teenager go deaf after listening to twelve hours of ipod?...”

In my heart I know that although this trip will be as wonderful as it is each year, it will also be a last goodbye to a grandfather dearly loved. After 92 years and a lifetime of experiences, he is slowly fading. His frail body has become a shadow of the man he once was, and although I will not mourn his passing (as his was a life well-lived), I will surely miss him.

Complacency

“There once was a beautiful house on a hill that worked so hard to stand until one day it just crumbled, disappearing into dust. Its foundation had been neglected for so long that it could no longer carry the weight of its walls.”

-- L. Leavitt

Somewhere in the middle lies a place called Complacency. It starts where the newness leaves off and the good is “good enough”. It is a place of passing words and passing actions, where we hold on because that’s what we’ve always done, and life is lived side by side rather than ever intersecting. It is where predictability and habit preside, and routines become lifetimes. It is a place often “stumbled upon” and unrecognized; and is not to be confused with Love, Trust, or Loyalty, as it is a very dangerous place to venture. And in the end the carelessness that leads us there will slowly eat away at the foundation of all we hold dear, until we are left holding only the pieces.

Some time ago I realized that my life consisted of passing conversations as I hurried to and from meetings, baseball games, piano lessons, parent-teacher conferences, grocery shopping, doctor appointments, church responsibilities … It was something that just happened, and before I even noticed it seemed that Mr. V and I were living our lives side by side -- far away from the hopes and dreams we once shared.

Life On His Planet

1. If you swallow a battery you get to go to the hospital where they take cool pictures of your stomach and try to decide if they have to perform surgery. You also get to see your mother practice relaxation breathing.

2. When you live on a farm it's OK to pee outside, even in below freezing weather.

3. Nacho Libre is the coolest movie ever made EVER!

4. "Jingle Bells, Batman Smells" is TOO an appropriate church song.

5. According to Poison Control eating a whole bottle of Tums will not hurt you... Also, the dog's thyroid medication is not poisonous; neither is White-Out, permanent marker, or the solution dad has to drink before his colonoscopy.

6. Mountain biking is an indoor sport...so is cliff diving, high jumping, and MMA fighting.

Troubleshooting, p. 5

After the first few years of marital bliss I so wanted to have a baby! I dreamed of having a cute little one to cuddle and hold. I thought, "How hard can it be?... After all, my degree is in Human Development and I do know everything about early childhood..."

Well, the moment I first held my screaming red-faced baby girl I realized that parenthood was going to be more like a roller coaster ride than a sweet stroll through the park.

Wouldn't it be nice if every baby came with an owner's manual?




Troubleshooting, p. 5

If your baby cries too much simply press the off button located under the left ankle. If this doesn't work, just remove batteries and replace when you are ready.

If you have difficulty feeding your two-year-old foods other than cold cereal, push the reset button located under the right ankle, and hold for sixty seconds. Your child can be reprogrammed  to eat green peas, Brussel Sprouts, grilled salmon, and hummus, as well as a variety of other nutritious and filling foods.

The Art Of Impression

"The ultimate in hot. This sauce is way past insanity. WARNING: Keep out of reach of children. Consume one drop at a time with extreme caution. Pure Habanero pepper enhanced with Habanero infused flavor create a sauce measured at 119,700 Scoville units. Wicked beyond belief! NUCLEAR."

Even after all these years of marriage, Mr. V never ceases to amaze me. Although we have a house full of kids and there is no chance of me ever leaving (I am quite comfortable, and why in the world would I ever want to train another husband?), he still feels the need to impress me.

At first it was little things -- tying a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue, flipping a toothpick between his teeth, and holding his breath for amazing lengths of time. As our relationship progressed he moved on to greater and more impressive feats -- driving twelve hours in a car without a radio just to see me, spear fishing with my dad despite his fear of sharks, and playing rugby with the Tongan cousins.

One of my ultimate favorites was the night he cooked me a full-course meal complete with Spanish Rice and homemade enchiladas. I think his moves were quite calculated as that was the same night he asked me to marry him. Without hesitation I accepted the proposal. After all, how could I resist a man who knew how to cook?

So this brings us to his most recent feat. The sign read: "Grow up and be a man! DARE to try the HOTTEST hot sauce in the world!"

Time

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day."

William Shakespeare

The older I get, the more I realize how fleeting life is. When I was younger it seemed that time couldn't move fast enough. I was always in a hurry "to get there" -- to grow up, to finish school, to get married, to buy that first house... Now, I find that time moves so quickly that I cannot seem to hold on to any one moment, like sand sifting through my fingers. I have often told myself, "I must remember this moment..." only to find that the moment becomes buried and lost in time.

The other day I changed my last diaper. You would think that after fifteen years and more than 27,375 diapers (and yes, I actually did the math), this would be a momentous occasion. In truth it was quite the opposite -- rather anti-climatic and a little bit sad.

Within that instant I suddenly realized that there were moments that would never come again. Call me sentimental, but the realization that no more diapers meant no more babies touched something deep within me.

All the plans I had made for myself this year -- my time to finish that masters degree, my time to work on the career put on hold for so many years, my time to "rediscover myself" and "begin where I left off" -- all those plans suddenly seemed so insignificant.

I found myself frantically searching for more time... More time for all those things that for so long I wished would just "hurry up and happen". And, although I realize that I can never turn back (and I'm not sure I would even try), from this point on I will take time to savor each moment as it comes.

Confession

"It is the confession,

not the priest,

that gives us

absolution."

Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) Irish poet and dramatist.

They say confession is good for the soul. It cleans the inner vessel and prepares us to meet our maker. If this is the case, then all of us at the Rancho are well on our way to sainthood.

It all began when one of the kids blurted out that she had been paid $10 to do a friend's homework. The poor child just couldn't handle the guilt any longer. This tearful confession left such an impression on the rest of the Rancho that suddenly confessions where coming out of nowhere:

Do The Math

As we get older we start to contemplate some of life's more serious questions:

What is the purpose of life?

What brings true happiness?

Do I really have a houseful of kids and a

mortgage payment?

Would it be possible to make Bill and Melinda Gates the legal guardians of my children should I meet an early demise?

Last night, as I lay pondering these things, I realized that one unanswered question still weighs heavily on my mind.

How many diapers have I changed in my lifetime?

Choices

A Step Past The Crossroad

A step past the crossroad I stop and turn
To reflect upon paths not taken.
A slight yearning within
Stirs the clouds of regret
And darkens my road up ahead.

Yet, just past the crossroad I cannot turn back
And I question if indeed I would.
If given this path again to trod
Would my steps follow course?
Would I have change of heart?

Of such things I cannot say
But reflection grants me this,
In dwelling upon paths not taken
My eyes might easily miss
The light on the road up ahead.

In life there are always choices.

Mrs. V

If you would have asked me twenty years ago, I would have told you that I'd rather have all my teeth pulled without anesthesia than ever teach elementary school. At the time the only Elementary Education majors I knew were people who absolutely LOVED children and wore matching everything (according to the current holiday). They were the "sweet spirits" who dedicated their all to their chosen course of study as there wasn't much else happening in their lives.

That just wasn't me. I was the only girl in my neighborhood that hated babysitting. It may have had something to do with Mrs. LeBaron paying me only .75 after watching her six terrible kids for eight hours. Or it might have been the fact that I absolutely detested sticky hands, boogery noses, and endless questions.

I just couldn't fathom the idea of willingly spending my days with a room full of little kids. My career dreams played more like an Indiana Jones movie. I would be the first to discover the Lost Temple of Altahualupe deep in the jungles of Guatemala. Or maybe I would travel the world to faraway exotic places and spend my time writing wonderfully romantic adventure novels. At the least, my life would be full of travel and adventure, and would certainly have meaning.

Well, all I can say is be careful what you wish for... My dreams happened, but for reasons other than the ones I had imagined.