Breathe

Sometimes when I try to explain to people what the past couple years of my love life have been like we can connect. They've done long distance and understand or even better they've dated/married a foreigner.  But sometimes we miss each other- big time. They've never gone more than minutes without texting their love or see them daily. I keep coming back to the same feelings though...

It's like when I left Fiji on July 18th of last year I sucked in a huge gulp of breath. Inhaling every sweet tender moment together and plugging my nose to arm myself for many lonely moments in the future.  I returned to the states ready to defend our relationship to anyone who doubted and live life, which can be oh so very hard by myself. And while there has been doubting it has been meaningless and rarely expressed but life well, it's hard.   Making huge decisions alone, working through my concerns and fears feeling like everyone's watching with baited breath to see what will happen, feeling so so different from other people- almost like a fish in an aquarium. Still really trying to own who I am and my choices but feeling afraid of failure. So keeping it all in, no breathing- no losing any of my happy, just smiling and pretending.

And then after 8 months we finally learned step one was done and the process would quicken. I let out a teeny tiny breath that night. He would come sooner than later. And I would have a partner to show everyone, maybe myself included we can do this and hold my hand when it is hard.  Over the last 2 months I have exhaled more as I have been celebrated, supported, and encouraged by those I love.  All the while knowing he will be here soon, 2 weeks to be exact to breath the air I need, that somehow only he can give me, back into my soul.

I'm not saying I couldn't live without him. I could. And that's another post for another day but I couldn't live this life with this kind of happiness without him.  He fills me with an air of ease, humility, and simple love that if bottled would be priceless.  So I've been holding it in for 10 months- all that I gain from him, guarding it fiercely.

The thought of being able to "breath" again. In and out. Knowing that when I'm all out of his air I'll be able to turn over and breath it in again ready to face things head on instead of having to hoard and hide the happy.  It's almost unfathomable. Almost.

So in our first misunderstandings or first many misunderstandings or the many after that, I want to remember these moments.  When all I long to do is breath him and face this life together.

Expectations and Submission

Last night I had dinner with my sisters.  After a horrible Pad Thai experience that was fixed with Gigi's Cupcakes we were sitting in the car talking about what's coming next.  As we each discussed what's going on in our lives and what will come next everyone has more education in mind.  I love that even as we each lead very different lives going down different paths we're always in the same park.

I shared a few dreams me and Momo have and my perplexity in how those will come to be.  I'm really wrestling with the differences in what I thought my life was going to be and what it could be if I relinquish such tight control and expectations and just submit to God.

We want to live in the United States. We want to live in Fiji. We want to teach our children the importance of education and give them all the opportunities in the world. We want them to learn the values of village life and work and gratitude. But how does that all look realistically?

I lived in the same house my whole life until college, in fact I never even moved bedrooms until I went away to Hawai'i. I'm not used to a transient life. I never expected or planned every little detail for it. So I don't know how to let it be.  And I think if I let it be it could be really great and really happy.

Maybe I'm we're not going to own a house. Maybe I'm not going to work the same job for many many years. Maybe I'm going to be different from a lot of family members and the "norm". Maybe that is all ok.

This year I've been thinking a lot about the words reconcile and submit. How can I reconcile my life to God's will and submit? And that's the bit I'm still chewing on.

Brizzy

I haven't written in awhile for many reasons but a new season of life has left me wanting to pen some more of my thoughts and experiences so I am trying again.  With the expectation that I might not write again for a year and that's ok.

This morning I was woken by a wet and rough tongue licking my face. Well actually, at about 2 hour intervals the whole night this is how I woke up. Sometimes annoyed and sometimes unaware but always knowing-that's my girl.

I adopted a dog in October.  I was struggling with Momo not being in the US yet and my sister's new romance which left me alone at home many hours.  So I went with the coping method of going and paying for a new friend.  Her name is Brizzy.  She is an ugly weird looking dog, which I never knew until other people told me. It's how I know I have a real mother's love. She's part lab/pit/corgi/weenier/boxer/something.  She looks like one of those weird machines where you pull the lever and all the body parts come together and looks... She has a big dogs head, a long skinny body that only about 6 inches off the ground, her back legs are longer than her front legs, and her ears stick out like miniature wings. Her silhouette was once mistaken for a large bird.  But she's mine.

Within the first month she bit me. But I was already in too deep and kept her because I love her and we all make mistakes, right? I heard my sister tell someone that first month that she was saving my life. And really she did. When no one else "needed me" or was "there for me" (all untrue really but seemingly so in my head)- she is always there.

But as I groggily get out of the bed and wander up the hill outside of my house in the dark and cold  morning so she could have some outside time before I left for work I re-examined our relationship. And this dog is teaching me so much. And truly I think she's teaching me about being a Mama.

-It's the first time in my life I've ever been the sole person in charge. With nieces and nephews I learned a love I couldn't comprehend before but I could always give them back. And I knew their parents would buy their food and worry about all the little things.  Now I'm doing that---- for a dog. I'm all she has to take care of her and it is the most rewarding and exhausting feeling.
-Every day as I leave for work I tell her "I love you! I'll be back soon! I'm sorry". Sorry I have to go, sorry she is alone.  I'm pretty sure this is how I'm going to feel about my own kids- most days. Sorry I have to leave you with a sitter. I love you.
-Each time she wakes me up in the night to potty, or snuggle, or clean my face, or just let me know she's there. I sometimes begrudgingly get up or swat her away and others pull her in close to nuggle and love but always I know she loves me and I love her.

-When she tries to attack and destroy every other living animal on this planet. IT. GIVES. ME. MAJOR. STRESS. I can hardly take her outside without feeling anxious she's going to get in a fight. And when she has I come home and cry at the thought of having to let her go because she's nuts. How nuts is that? I've hired trainers and counselors and spent tooooo much money to help her with her issues... because that's what you do for someonething who loves you and depends on you, yes?

And if all of these feelings that I'm having for a funny looking little creature who can't talk but runs to lick away my tears as soon as one falls to my cheek are even an inkling of what having children is like- I'm a little scared. It's a lot to handle. It's a lot to feel. It's a lot to think about and pray for. BUT- the love- the moments of nuggling and laughing and reuniting and connecting are so fulfilling.

***If you think I'm trying to win a crazy-dog-lady contest. I'm not. But if you know of any feel free to submit this essay***

Madame, you fat.

***I started this blog post on July 31st right after I had returned from Fiji but could not find the right words to finish and publish.  Those words were coming to me this morning and I want to finish this section on this chapter of my life book.

One of the most unexpected and funniest parts of my Fiji trip was EVERYONE'S comments about my weight.  I will preface by saying that the village we lived in is on the water, the children and adults work very hard fishing and farming.  There is no electricity so although they sit around and talk story some of the time they are very active and when they weren't working they were playing volleyball or doing something.  They also eat fish for breakfast (although you also get babakau- a sort of fried bread delight for breakfast a lot of mornings), lunch, dinner, and a snack.  Fish and a starchy vegetable at every.single.meal. Combine these 2 things and you get very healthy people. Tutu, our grandpa who is in his early 50's, still had a 12 pack.  Even the little boys are ripped.  There are very few people in the village carrying any extra weight.

I will also say I have been overweight much of my life.  I have struggled with this part of myself  and have went through many years of not liking me to a place where I had really come to love me, irregardless of the imperfections that I still am working on.  I was truly good with who I was and where I was headed in my personal health before I left.

Then, I got to Fiji. And someone told me I was fat at least once a day.   And they don't sugarcoat it like we do here in the states.  There are no words like overweight, chubby, thick, big, etc.  They would simply state "Madame, you fat".  At first I was shocked, embarrassed, hurt. How dare they say that to me.  That's so rude.  But I was too shocked to respond so I would just laugh and look away.  Not only would they tell me I was fat regularly but anytime I would put on my shorts for sports or expose my calves they would---- massage them? Meaning grab! pinch! squeeze! rub! They were amazed at their size.  Most days I would laugh, some days I would threaten them to stop. touching. me.

Luckily, I was very comfortable with the other two interns and we were able to laugh and talk about it.  The intern who is 25 in response to being told she was fat said, "And you're black, but what are we going to do about it?".  I really liked this approach so when they would tell me I was fat I would respond "You have big eyes.  Your hair is a fro. etc. Are we just making observations about each other?" It was also funny because men were consistently flirting with me, date invitations were common, and proposals were not uncommon.  In my mind these two thing did not seem equal- being told I was fat all the time and a lot of men wanting to be with me but that's a post for another day.

I had days of dealing with it very well and days of tears and hurt feelings.  My high self-esteem and self-confidence slipped. It was painful to feel myself losing something so precious that I had earned and fought for.

Then, return to the states and everyone is telling me "wow, you look skinny. woah, you look so good.".  Say what? I just spent 5 weeks hearing I was fat and now I'm being bombarded with compliments on my shrinking figure (fish and taro for days + sweating always + lots of walking = skinnier me).   I was dumbfounded and grateful for their comments but "Madame, you fat" was still the melody in the back of my mind.

*** This is where I had stopped writing and am picking back up***

I am still having hard time forming words because I don't want to be too vague that it loses meaning but too specific that the moral I learned is lost in the details.

Those words, "Madame, you fat", continued to haunt me.  So much so, I began thinking about very unhealthy ways to not be fat.  I had thought of these ways before but had never really gone through with them. However, at this point in my journey I was at the point where I was ready to act and I did.  And it scared me.  I could see a very dark road before me and I had decided to step onto it.  I wanted back off immediately.  So I talked to my sister, Relief Society President who also does the local LDS addiction classes, and my Bishop.

In the beginning of October, my sister sent me the Latter-day Saint Addiction recovery book and I began reading and studying it from the view point of an addiction to food. I realized that this is a true addiction for me and to try and overcome an addiction without God is futile.  So I took this trial I have struggled with for so long to Him and asked for help.  Why I had thought for so long that I must overcome this one by myself I don't know.  So I looked for help in the recovery book, Book of Mormon, and through daily pray and pondering with God.  I also made a realistic plan for healthy eating and exercising.

Fast-forward 2 months to today and I was just thinking this morning- I love me!  Really, I do. I'm not perfect but I love who I have/am becoming.  I have found such a healthy balance for me.  Balance between eating healthy and indulging, exercising and letting my body rest, eating for fuel and eating for feelings.  Does this mean I will never have days again of over eating my feelings and regret? No, but I am so much more emotionally, mentally, and physically equipped to handle it.

I love that I can see the changes in my body. And although I enjoy when the number on the scale drops the real rewards are in the feeling post-workout when I feel strong and accomplished, the decreasing ideas to feed my feelings, the new muscles, the confidence in taking pictures or getting ready.  Because I can see where I've been, where I am, and where I am headed and

I LOVE ME!

Can you tell my confidence is coming back? :)

sweet or tart-
round like a peach and I'm ok with that

Life lessons at the haircut store.

Oh yesterday.

I went to get a hair trim.  I walked in and there was a college girl doing three women's hair at the same time, 2 people waiting,  and one almost bald man looking bored.  He immediately asked if I'd like a cut. Still trying to process the scene- why is she doing all those ladies hair at the same time? I've never seen this man before and this is a small town, who is he? Why are those women waiting and not getting their hair done?- I hesitantly agreed. He reminded me of Robert Duvall..... Yeah, that means he was balding on the top with a little hair around the edges and he had curls in the back. And I was going to let him cut my hair.

I sat down.  Told him all I wanted was a trim, taking off as little length as possible and he began.  And while he cut he talked and talked. Oh what a life this man has had.  Wives- many of them.  Years in Mexico.  Children who won't be in contact with him.  Crass jokes that I wished Gran-Gran was still around to call up and tell them to. And then he said something that I keep thinking about-

"Life is like a door- You put hinges on it and anybody can walk through."

Deep right? But really, my mind keeps coming back to it.  What does that mean? Life is a door with hinges so anybody gets to try it or when you put 'hinges' on your own life you'll get all sorts of people in it?

I might have to go back and ask him what he meant by it.

What I learned? Take a chance on the bald barber- he did a great job, taught me a new style for my hair, gave me a discount, taught me a few new jokes, and gave me something to ponder.



Sweet or tart-
His mulletish curls were pretty sweeeeeeeet.

No cute title cuz I wrote about death

I couldn't think of a cute title for this post because really how do you talk about death in a cute way?

But today I read a quote from another blog (aninchofgray.blogspot.com- A mother who lost her son at a young age) and I really wanted to share it.

Death really is such a big part of my life and something I think of everyday.  Not in a morbid way, but just because oh how much it has shaped my life and who I am.  

"To love is to lose. It's just that simple. Maybe not today but someday. It is the inevitable condition of humanity. Some sadness has no remedy. Some sadness you can't make better."

"But then why isn't everyone walking around miserable all the time?"

"Because ice cream still tastes good. And sunny and seventy-five is still a lovely day. And funny movies make you laugh, and work is sometimes fulfilling, and a beer with a friend is nice. And other people love you, too.  [Death] has been around since time immemorial. You've run up against it. And there's no getting around or over it. You stop and build your life right there at the base of that wall. But it's okay. That's where everyone else is too. Everyone else is either there or on their way. There is no other side, but there's plenty of space there to build a life and plenty of company. Welcome to the wall."

-Goodbye for Now by Laurie Frankel

I like the imagery that an intimate death builds a wall on your "old" life and you are faced with building a new one. 

When my mama passed away I would often tell people it wasn't just her that died.  It was our family unit as it stood then.  It was that world that we had lived in with her around.  It was "that" life, with her around.  I learned you not only grieve the loss of someone you love so much but also the loss of the way things were with them, because things will never be the same again.  Yet, somehow you figure out how to be happy again and it seems strange and even wrong sometimes but you build a new life. 

Well, we do have eternity but that's a topic for another day. (click for a great talk about my beliefs, and Latter-day Saint belief, of eternal families!  http://www.lds.org/ensign/1996/11/the-eternal-family)

sweet or tart? 

How is it that death can be sweet? Because it's so damn tart sometimes. 

Happiness vs. Anger

Funny story: Today I did an object lesson with a stick, discussed below.  While the kids were thinking, I was holding the stick and hitting my hand.  I then thought about hitting them with the stick.  A scary evil laughter erupted from my gut that startled even me.  Then I started laughing at myself for scaring myself and for finding so much joy in thinking of giving some of those kids a little wack. I totally told the kids what I was laughing at and they definitely gave a sympathy-I'm kinda scared of you cus your nuts- but I'm laughing so you won't hit me  laugh.


In the seventh grade class I am teaching right now we are reading a great book called "Touching Spirit Bear".  It's about a boy, Cole, who has extreme anger issues, has been abused his whole life, beats up another kid, and instead of getting sent to jail is banished to an island to heal.  On his first chance he burns down his shelter, tries to escape, and attacks a "Spirit Bear"- which obviously rips him apart.  Spirit Bears are completely white black bears, 1 in every 10 is born this way. The Tlinget (pronounced Klinket) Indians have spiritual stories on why they are white, they are also the ones who have the idea of sending him to banishment to heal instead of jail to fester.  Anyways, in the end he has a change in heart and gets to go back to the island to try again.  While there a Tlinget elder teaches him a great life lesson with a stick.

                                           
He labels the left side as anger and the right as happiness.  He asks Cole to break the stick to get rid of the anger but keep happiness.  As Cole tries, he realizes with each break there is always a left end of the stick.  At first he is mad and then he realizes there will always be anger and happiness and each are necessary but we have to choose which side of the stick we focus on. He also realizes he can keep "breaking his own sticks" in anger but he'll just keep being angry.

Before we had read the whole scenario in the book, I had the students try to break some sticks from outside to get rid of the anger.  They quickly realized they couldn't.  But some of the options they came up with were so profound for 12-yr-olds.  One said to mold it into a circle so it's a continual progression of good and bad as life happens.  Another suggested we break the stick into tiny pieces so we could each help each other carry the good and the bad.  I was pretty impressed.
                                                  
 We then discussed the idea of both being in out lives forever but having to learn how to honor the bad that happens to us with maybe moments of anger or sadness but focus on happiness.  I then told them for the next 24 hours they had to try to focus on the good and we would discuss how it changed their days the next class. As we discussed those 24 hours today, I had one of those moments where teaching fills you head to foot.

They got it.  They were all able to tell me how focusing on happiness had made their day better.  They all wanted to do it for another 24 hours.

Success.

My two favorite quotes about anger from the book:

"Anger is a memory never forgotten."

“He turned to Edwin. "You know, the stuff you just told me makes more sense than all the weird things the counselors and psychologist have told me in school and at the detention center."
Edwin tapped Cole's shoulder with the broken stick. "That's because those people still think you can get rid of the left end of the stick.” 
(Edwin is the Tlinget elder)


sweet or tart-
When I reread this post I could tell by my overally academic writing I had just finished my last 15 page research paper!!!! Sweet!