Not about me

I just read a blog by my sister-in-law where she was pursuaded to write about herself rather than her children. Seeing as I am the opposite and rarely write about my children, I will take a moment to do so. Hoping that their cousins (who they love desperately) will read and feel closer to my little monsters of love.

Lemur is rounding out his first year of Public School. He was having trouble listening and obeying the teacher at first, but apparently has gotten the hang of things. He loves science experiments and has made at least one very good friend named Jace. He turned six last Saturday, and we had a big - HUGE - party. I'll post pictures some other time. Lemur burst the pinata, though it had been primed with the help of his super-slugging cousins. It made me miss Mitchell, truth be told.
Lemur has come to love Sonic the Hedgehog, and was so happy when he recieved a 15inch stuffed Sonic for his birthday, he exclaimed, "I think I have enough toys now. You can tell people to buy me other things. I don't need anything else." Basically he found the one thing that will make him happy. So far he and Sonic are inseperable, and he has never taken better care of a toy!
Lemur enjoys writing letters, especially to his cousins. He loves getting letters in the mail. So if you are ever bored of an afternoon, spend ten minutes and 44 cents to tell Lemur a joke: he'll love you forever. And he'll hang it on his wall. And he'll write you back. He reads a LOT better than he lets on, and is finally showing interest in hearing scripture stories. I love teaching him the music in Primary, because it is so rewarding to hear him sing the words, and in tune! He is a bit of a class clown though. I wonder where he gets that?
He and his sister are good friends, and often mortal enemies. Rarely does the day go buy that I don't here the battle cry of "Attack" or the contentious use of the business voice saying "Get out of my room!" And yet, if his sister is crying, he is the first to apologize, or sacrifice to help her be happy again. He hugs her and tries to set up good experiences for her. He's a good big brother, and an excellent communicator. He's also very good a video games.

Rivulet will be three in August and just today decided to show me that she was still in the Terrible Two's. She screamed bloody murder for over fourty minutes because I wouldn't buy her a churro at Costco. I was awful proud of myself, though, because I didn't raise my voice once. I just sang Primary Songs and Hymns to calm myself. It worked. I remember that the last time I did that was over ten years ago. It's too long ago.
Anyway, Rivulet is NORMALLY a wonderful little girl. She recently recieved twin babies and a whole nursery set-up to care for them. She named the babies "LuLu" and "Sammy" and takes very good care of them. She doesn't care for a clean room, and speaks a little Spanish, a little Chinese and very good English. I'm glad to report that she already knows the word "pilfer," just as her brother did. I'm a good mom.
Rivulet has been sick recently which might lead to unpleasentness, but actually has been pretty great for she and I. The other night she was sick to her stomach and we ended up having to take baths. Afterwards (and this was between the hours of two and five in the morning), I braided her hair. I braided my hair. We watched Tinkerbell . . . and then we read Entertainment Weekly together until she fell asleep in my lap. It was actually beautiful. Can't plan a moment like that.
Rivulet loves to be a princess. She loves to be a mommy. She wants a baby sister and a baby brother alternately. Just today Lemur asked when we would be having a baby. They are really growing into their roles as siblings, personalities and all. Both of my kids love bubbles, working and/or playing in the dirt, playing with water, drawing with sidewalk chalk, dogs, birds, swimming, family trips, movies, coloring, and most of all FAMILY. They love everything FAMILY.

I am so greatly enjoying my children!

I'm going through weirdness, so I don't trust myself to share feelings, not wishing to slosh and spew unrestrainedly.

Regardless, there is an update on my wonderful children. Hope it was good stuff, I think it is. Love love love.

"Absence of Desire" or "My Brain is a Bog of Thoughts UnThunk"

Do you know what I miss?
Flow.
I miss being a river of thought and feeling.

Rather, I have been hedged up my some dam thing that keeps me from rushing on in my loudly musical, dangerously beautiful flow.

Stagnation does not suit me.

I do not desire to be a sitting mass of unexpressed potential that after time becomes a death bog, stinking of despair and regret. I squirm listlessly in the bonds of that dam thing which for months has held my ability to share captive.

And it is not enough.

I have wondered over the past months, wondered what caused me to feel that increasingly heavy apathy. I didn't even realize it was apathy. I didn't know what apathy was. All I knew was that I increasingly felt the painless void of nothing. Sure, there were bursts of feeling, like death lights hanging over the bog giving a false glimmer of hope to onlookers. But I was boggy.

There were those who looked for a scapegoat for my behavior, whether it be here or beyond the veil. I don't know that I know the answer. I can't offer written consolidation for my greatly altered personality over the last few months. I have an event where it seemed to begin, and an event where it seemed to end . . . but they are not connected. Much like my thought.s

There has been no flow. No liquid rushing from point A to point B merely for the joy of feeling the movement.

The largest difference in myself was that I had no desire. The goals I had been working toward slowly meant nothing to me. The hobbies I loved . . . meh. I became little more than a stranger - a detatched onlooker who actually looked past me and not on me.

Gratefuly, the people I loved were so ingrained in my system that not even this downward spin on my cycle could have knocked them completely loose. I still loved them. I still worked at maintaining my relationships with them . . . because although I didn't feel a desire to do those things I knew they would appreciate, I knew that "This too shall pass" and I mustn't cause damage I could not repair.

My housekeeping suffered. I cooked a few good meals, but they were often by accident and I didn't really care. I gave my children over to the care of cartoons and Spanish-speaking explorers with their pet monkeys.

The good news is that I sense my bonds being loosened. They are not gone. I still feel numbingly separated from desire.

And yet: I have written today. I have written today as I have not written in months: yielding almost entirely to the creative flow I feel within.

I cried yesterday as I have not cried in months: under the gentle duress of the Holy Spirit, moved with compassion and understanding.

If I were ill, I am not completely healed. If I were a reservoir of creativity and ability and wonder, I am still hedged in by some dam thing. The worst part is that although I know something is not quite right within me, I don't have enough desire to discover it, let alone destroy it. Even if it meant being "back to my old self." I find it incredibly difficult to care.

So instead of using up my energy on worrying that I don't care enough to worry (try wrapping your brain around THAT conundrum), I will marvel in this little babble that made it's way past the dam somehow, and managed to flow a short distance.

My Desert Creature

A few weeks ago I took my kids on a roadtrip to St. George for my Grandmother's birthday.
The second day there, we drove up Snow Canyon to play in the sand dunes. We played there for over an hour. It was warm and soothing and the sand was perfect . . .

When I finally told the kids it was time to go, they did not fight me. But when Rivulet was about to leave the soft sand for the prickly sand on route to the car, she asked for me to pick her up and began to whine:
"I want my desert. I want my desert!" with her little hands grasping behind me.
"Oh, are you a desert creature?" I asked
"Nyeah."

No I didn't spell it wrong. She has this way of saying "Yeah" that starts with an N and sounds both whiney and adorable.

And at that moment, I could only think of Heather. "I want my desert. I want my desert!"


(btw, this is my 200th post!!!)

Seven Year Itch

As few know, Muad'Dib, Rivulet and I have been over-run by "itchies," which basically means we itch all the time.

We don't know why, we have been to all sorts of doctors - even the family shaman - and still, we are covered and itchy without a cure or relief in sight.

So the other night, the children were in bed and Muad'Dib and I were enjoying a movie on our new loveseat. He leaned over and I began scratching his itchy back.

"Ah, sweet nectar! That's the ticket!" he moans relaxed-ly, giving over to the wonderful sensation.

There is silence between us for a moment, then I say, "You know, we've been married for seven years . . ."

"And?" he asks, my fingernails still working magic all over his back.

"I know it's not what the saying implies, but we have our very own Seven Year Itch!!"

Ha, Ha, Ha.

We celebrated our anniversary by . . . I think I made us a special salmon dinner. Muad'Dib had to work, so we really just relied on the still-beautiful Valentines flowers and the impending delivery of a new couch and loveseat to mark the occasion.

Seven years. And I still absolutely love my Muad'Dib.

And although the itchies we have aren't any measure of fun, I will say that I'd rather have this brand of "seven year itch" over the other kind HANDS DOWN!!