*Re-watching a movie from my youth and actually understanding what the people say. "Auntie Shrew! Timmy's sick!" "Cynthia dear, don't fidgit." (Can anyone name the movie? It's animated.)
* Sleeping in.
*A long shower.
* Crispy Waffles.
* a clean living room
* The sound of a lawn mower in the distance.
* The smell of grass.
* Clouds atop Ben Lomond.
*The sound of the dishwasher going as I put my children to bed, the true auditory mark that the day is done.
*My kids sleeping in a tent in Rivulet's room
*Children solving their own differences.
*Beautiful music.
*Playing the piano.
*Brushing my hair.
*Brushing my daughter's hair.
*Arranging roses in a vase.
*Baking cookies.
*Writing a paper.
*A made bed.
*A vacumed floor.
*A cold drink of water.
*A well placed quote: "The future is as bright as your faith." - Thomas S. Monson
*Open windows.
*A bendaroo's Sunflower.
*A hug.
*A fresh diaper.
*A lit candle.
*A fruity popsicle.
*A good movie.
*A pretty dress.
*Seeing a picture of yourself and being surpised to find that you are pretty darn good looking.
*A clean car.
*A letter in the mail.
And I have found something that is NOT a pleasure. Going to be without Muad'Dib. My desert has no shade; my catchtubes hold no water; the Great Worm slumbers, bringing no spice and no rest for my weary self while my Muad'Dib is absent from the Dune of my heart!
Three down, one to go!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Until That Moment, I Had Not Seen Her. Not Really.
Tonight at rehearsal I was grateful for something. Then when I got home I was reading aimlessly through past blogs and re-read a post back in April of 2007 about my mom. And I realized there is a singular experience had with that woman that I have not shared.
My mother and I have spoken to each other with raised voices more often than not. Throughout my life, I saw my mother as an exposed wire, as a broken version of herself, as something less. From the time I was fourteen, I have vivid memories of three things in regard to my mother: Her singing.
Her bearing her testimony.
And yelling at/with her.
To illustrate I offer a story: When I was about sixteen, there was a Saturday when I wanted to go somewhere. The house was a mess. It's possible that I had been asked to clean it, I can't recall. As my mother and I were yelling at each other, she forcefully strode to her room and I called after her, "But we love you mom!" and she answered, "Then SHOW me." and slammed the door in my face.
I felt her to be the biggest jerk of all time. Why couldn't she just take my word for it? Why weren't my words enough . . . and so on.
My triggers were if my mother discussed, or even mentioned,
My father.
Money.
Her voice.
People treating her poorly.
Whenever she would express negative emotions about ANY given situation.
I found that my responses generally were to defend the other party, and tell my mother how to fix her broken self. I was always hoping to say that one thing that would open her eyes and heal her or cause her to change! I felt that she was never looking at everything. Honestly. I said prayers to the effect of, "Help me know what to say to help my mother see . . ." yada yada yada.
My husband, bless his dear sweet soul, often asked my why I would even GO to my parents house or design to spend time with this woman, my mother, when it was obvious that we didn't get along. And I always came home with heavy emotional scarring and baggage. WHY? And the answer, "She's my mom," was wearing thin on us both.
Then. Ah then, this past January it finally happened. I learned the answer.
We were downstairs. We were in my fathers office. Yelling. Yelling as if by doing so we could bring about world peace. The gusto, the lung power the sheer mass of our feelings filled the room and shook the walls. That is the capacity of us two women when got together and riled up.
I believe the conversation (and I use the term loosely) was sparked by a combination of topics like money, my father and her theatrical business endeavor. I had long felt abandoned and brushed aside by this focus of her life.
At the very apex of our spewing, my mother burst forth in magnificent glory by saying, "I got you kids up at 6 am to read the scriptures for three years before your father finally got the picture that it was important! I made orange juice every morning! I made your meals for eighteen years! I washed all your clothes! I went to every damn soccer game and performance! I signed you up for those soccer games and other ****. I DID! And what do you kids remember? You remember the times DAD woke you up for scriptures. You remember when DAD made you breakfast. You remember DAD going to your stuff. You remember DAD talking about Wyoming!"
And it was here that my brain ripped apart. The blinders I had worn my whole life were removed. It was as though Heavenly Father literally opened the set of eyes I had had closed before. And I saw every memory of my childhood differently.
Suddenly, my mother was there. She was present, ever present. All that she had listed, and more, flooded like fire and light into my awareness and I realized with a great pain in my head and my heart that my mother needed no fixing.
I did.
My mother was not broken.
I was.
My mother desired, above all else one thing: RESPECT. and when she had not gotten it as she needed it from her children or her ward she had turned to this Theatrical business. And although she continued to suffer, she was also being vastly rewarded.
And I had not seen any of that.
I began crying and stopped her tyraid with, "You're right."
Her defenses went up immediately, as she heard the words that were so often said to patronize her before.
But then she saw the tears in my eyes and fell into a shocked and wary silence.
As my mind raced through all my memories, trying to make sense of what I had done over my twenty four years of being a crappy daughter, the tears fell from my eyes, sobs racked my body and I found I could only say two things:
"You're right." and "I'm so sorry."
And oh how I meant it.
All the times. All those myriad of times when what my mother did went unnoticed, unappreciated . . . Now I understand that sort of thing is to be expected in motherhood. But what I had done was so much worse. Because I didn't just overlook her contributions, I gave the entirety of my credit, love and loyalty to someone else. Like she never even existed.
I didn't know that's what I was doing. It wasn't on purpose.
And the arrogance! I looked at this woman - without seeing her - and thought, "I know what will make her better."
Judgement. Pride. Betrayal. Conditional love. Truth out of context. I stood guilty of all these.
Because deep down I knew my mother was marvelous. And on the surface I treated her like an untrained mutt. Sure it has potential, but if you don't kick it, how will it learn?
The shame! The bitter taste my past words left in my mouth! I went to her and hugged her, all the while sobbing and repeating my new mantra, "I'm so sorry. I understand now. You are right!"
My mother didn't hug me back. She was in a sort of calm awe. As my mind was reeling, hers finally stood calm. And only one thought, one feeling permeated her: "Someone understands?" And inside, her soul relaxed.
That was six months ago. We have not fought since.
Because now I understand.
My mother had often tried to tell me that I was her daughter, while confiding in me like a friend or sister. I had abused that relationship in the most heinous way. Mostly because I didn't understand respect.
This lesson reflects deeply on my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Over the years I have grown lax. And the major ingredient I lack in regard to them is respect.
It is an uncomfortable awareness to suddenly know that I don't understand the meaning of a few basic words. Hope. Faith. Respect. Peace. Love.
And how wonderful to finally be able to answer the old question, "Why did you spend so much time with a woman you always fought with?" It was so I could one day be prepared to really SEE my mother. To truly be her advocate. To truly be her daughter. And I am sincerely blessed to be her daughter. To be her child has taught me so much. This experience . . . I am grateful she was willing to go through it, too. Because wow.
The experience I had tonight was what we have now. I can be the advocate she always knew I could be. Because I see and understand the woman that she is.
And I love that woman dearly.
My mother and I have spoken to each other with raised voices more often than not. Throughout my life, I saw my mother as an exposed wire, as a broken version of herself, as something less. From the time I was fourteen, I have vivid memories of three things in regard to my mother: Her singing.
Her bearing her testimony.
And yelling at/with her.
To illustrate I offer a story: When I was about sixteen, there was a Saturday when I wanted to go somewhere. The house was a mess. It's possible that I had been asked to clean it, I can't recall. As my mother and I were yelling at each other, she forcefully strode to her room and I called after her, "But we love you mom!" and she answered, "Then SHOW me." and slammed the door in my face.
I felt her to be the biggest jerk of all time. Why couldn't she just take my word for it? Why weren't my words enough . . . and so on.
My triggers were if my mother discussed, or even mentioned,
My father.
Money.
Her voice.
People treating her poorly.
Whenever she would express negative emotions about ANY given situation.
I found that my responses generally were to defend the other party, and tell my mother how to fix her broken self. I was always hoping to say that one thing that would open her eyes and heal her or cause her to change! I felt that she was never looking at everything. Honestly. I said prayers to the effect of, "Help me know what to say to help my mother see . . ." yada yada yada.
My husband, bless his dear sweet soul, often asked my why I would even GO to my parents house or design to spend time with this woman, my mother, when it was obvious that we didn't get along. And I always came home with heavy emotional scarring and baggage. WHY? And the answer, "She's my mom," was wearing thin on us both.
Then. Ah then, this past January it finally happened. I learned the answer.
We were downstairs. We were in my fathers office. Yelling. Yelling as if by doing so we could bring about world peace. The gusto, the lung power the sheer mass of our feelings filled the room and shook the walls. That is the capacity of us two women when got together and riled up.
I believe the conversation (and I use the term loosely) was sparked by a combination of topics like money, my father and her theatrical business endeavor. I had long felt abandoned and brushed aside by this focus of her life.
At the very apex of our spewing, my mother burst forth in magnificent glory by saying, "I got you kids up at 6 am to read the scriptures for three years before your father finally got the picture that it was important! I made orange juice every morning! I made your meals for eighteen years! I washed all your clothes! I went to every damn soccer game and performance! I signed you up for those soccer games and other ****. I DID! And what do you kids remember? You remember the times DAD woke you up for scriptures. You remember when DAD made you breakfast. You remember DAD going to your stuff. You remember DAD talking about Wyoming!"
And it was here that my brain ripped apart. The blinders I had worn my whole life were removed. It was as though Heavenly Father literally opened the set of eyes I had had closed before. And I saw every memory of my childhood differently.
Suddenly, my mother was there. She was present, ever present. All that she had listed, and more, flooded like fire and light into my awareness and I realized with a great pain in my head and my heart that my mother needed no fixing.
I did.
My mother was not broken.
I was.
My mother desired, above all else one thing: RESPECT. and when she had not gotten it as she needed it from her children or her ward she had turned to this Theatrical business. And although she continued to suffer, she was also being vastly rewarded.
And I had not seen any of that.
I began crying and stopped her tyraid with, "You're right."
Her defenses went up immediately, as she heard the words that were so often said to patronize her before.
But then she saw the tears in my eyes and fell into a shocked and wary silence.
As my mind raced through all my memories, trying to make sense of what I had done over my twenty four years of being a crappy daughter, the tears fell from my eyes, sobs racked my body and I found I could only say two things:
"You're right." and "I'm so sorry."
And oh how I meant it.
All the times. All those myriad of times when what my mother did went unnoticed, unappreciated . . . Now I understand that sort of thing is to be expected in motherhood. But what I had done was so much worse. Because I didn't just overlook her contributions, I gave the entirety of my credit, love and loyalty to someone else. Like she never even existed.
I didn't know that's what I was doing. It wasn't on purpose.
And the arrogance! I looked at this woman - without seeing her - and thought, "I know what will make her better."
Judgement. Pride. Betrayal. Conditional love. Truth out of context. I stood guilty of all these.
Because deep down I knew my mother was marvelous. And on the surface I treated her like an untrained mutt. Sure it has potential, but if you don't kick it, how will it learn?
The shame! The bitter taste my past words left in my mouth! I went to her and hugged her, all the while sobbing and repeating my new mantra, "I'm so sorry. I understand now. You are right!"
My mother didn't hug me back. She was in a sort of calm awe. As my mind was reeling, hers finally stood calm. And only one thought, one feeling permeated her: "Someone understands?" And inside, her soul relaxed.
That was six months ago. We have not fought since.
Because now I understand.
My mother had often tried to tell me that I was her daughter, while confiding in me like a friend or sister. I had abused that relationship in the most heinous way. Mostly because I didn't understand respect.
This lesson reflects deeply on my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Over the years I have grown lax. And the major ingredient I lack in regard to them is respect.
It is an uncomfortable awareness to suddenly know that I don't understand the meaning of a few basic words. Hope. Faith. Respect. Peace. Love.
And how wonderful to finally be able to answer the old question, "Why did you spend so much time with a woman you always fought with?" It was so I could one day be prepared to really SEE my mother. To truly be her advocate. To truly be her daughter. And I am sincerely blessed to be her daughter. To be her child has taught me so much. This experience . . . I am grateful she was willing to go through it, too. Because wow.
The experience I had tonight was what we have now. I can be the advocate she always knew I could be. Because I see and understand the woman that she is.
And I love that woman dearly.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Marvel-full
*Rehearsal is AWESOME!!! I was originally cast as Helena . . . but then found out that Hermia has to be shorter . . and I am pretty short. So now I am Hermia. I am finding only JOY in this process so far. And what an opportunity to release! I feel downright good.
*Muad'Dib will step in for two nights to play my "lover," Lysander, as the guy originally cast cannot be there for the last two shows. We are both excited!
*Leemur enjoyed his last week of school, and is super pleased to have summer start! He keeps asking if we can sleep outside.
* Muad'Dib, after months and MONTHS of peparation, left this morning on his Venture Scouting trip to Moab. It will be the longest we have been apart since November 14th of 2001!!
*I had been complaining a little bit the past month about how things (especially singing time) was being run in my Primary. Then I woke up and realized that talking to OTHER people wasn't going to fix anything. (crazy, right?) So I talked to the Primary president and first counselor last week. We came to a new agreement and then yesterday had a GREAT singing time. They liked it, I liked it, the pianist liked it. . . ahhhh. Communication saves the day again!
*Rivulet and Lemur took their first ride on a horse up at MRR last week. For pictures please see Dreampacker's blog. It was priceless!
*My roses are blooming and smell incredible. I'm not just saying that, either. Muad'Dib smelled the two blossoms I had brought inside and asked if I had perfumed them! My kitchen lingered with the scent for an entire day, filled to the brim with rosey-ness!
*I spent four and a half hours yesterday baking for Muad'Dib's trip. Chocolate Chip cookies. S'mores cookies (I just made that up!) and Cheesecake Tarts. Holy I am a good baker!
*Muad'Dib bought me the new Xbox 360 Scene It! So if anyone dares challenge me to a movie trivia showdown, bring your A-game and some ginger ale. Because it is SO ON!
*I am going to attempt, in absence of my lover and my car, to make a baby quilt and finish crocheting a baby blanket. I'll keep my many readers posted on these projects.
*What other news . . . Oh, the play will open July 10th and close July 18th, with a show every night but monday. More info to follow.
*I want to have a campout in my backyard this week. Anyone want to join the fun? I have cookies . . .
*Muad'Dib will audition for Beauty and the Beast at Terrace Plaza Playhouse in June. If anyone else in the family is interested in these auditions, let me know and I will give you further information (Emily, Parker, Kira, Amberle etc)
*Our Ward Choir is taking the summer off. Again, my dreams of a patriotic choral program are dashed. Will no one stand up with me on July fifth and sing "The Star Spangled Banner" or in some other way pay homage to the creation of our country, recognizing God's hand in it?!
*My backyard and front yard and flowers are so BEAUTIFUL! I could just sit outside all day long . . . and perhaps today I will.
I'm pretty sure that's all the news I have. It may not be ground breaking or ten o'clock news worthy, and still it's all I've got. And I think it's great!
May you all have marvelous days!
*Muad'Dib will step in for two nights to play my "lover," Lysander, as the guy originally cast cannot be there for the last two shows. We are both excited!
*Leemur enjoyed his last week of school, and is super pleased to have summer start! He keeps asking if we can sleep outside.
* Muad'Dib, after months and MONTHS of peparation, left this morning on his Venture Scouting trip to Moab. It will be the longest we have been apart since November 14th of 2001!!
*I had been complaining a little bit the past month about how things (especially singing time) was being run in my Primary. Then I woke up and realized that talking to OTHER people wasn't going to fix anything. (crazy, right?) So I talked to the Primary president and first counselor last week. We came to a new agreement and then yesterday had a GREAT singing time. They liked it, I liked it, the pianist liked it. . . ahhhh. Communication saves the day again!
*Rivulet and Lemur took their first ride on a horse up at MRR last week. For pictures please see Dreampacker's blog. It was priceless!
*My roses are blooming and smell incredible. I'm not just saying that, either. Muad'Dib smelled the two blossoms I had brought inside and asked if I had perfumed them! My kitchen lingered with the scent for an entire day, filled to the brim with rosey-ness!
*I spent four and a half hours yesterday baking for Muad'Dib's trip. Chocolate Chip cookies. S'mores cookies (I just made that up!) and Cheesecake Tarts. Holy I am a good baker!
*Muad'Dib bought me the new Xbox 360 Scene It! So if anyone dares challenge me to a movie trivia showdown, bring your A-game and some ginger ale. Because it is SO ON!
*I am going to attempt, in absence of my lover and my car, to make a baby quilt and finish crocheting a baby blanket. I'll keep my many readers posted on these projects.
*What other news . . . Oh, the play will open July 10th and close July 18th, with a show every night but monday. More info to follow.
*I want to have a campout in my backyard this week. Anyone want to join the fun? I have cookies . . .
*Muad'Dib will audition for Beauty and the Beast at Terrace Plaza Playhouse in June. If anyone else in the family is interested in these auditions, let me know and I will give you further information (Emily, Parker, Kira, Amberle etc)
*Our Ward Choir is taking the summer off. Again, my dreams of a patriotic choral program are dashed. Will no one stand up with me on July fifth and sing "The Star Spangled Banner" or in some other way pay homage to the creation of our country, recognizing God's hand in it?!
*My backyard and front yard and flowers are so BEAUTIFUL! I could just sit outside all day long . . . and perhaps today I will.
I'm pretty sure that's all the news I have. It may not be ground breaking or ten o'clock news worthy, and still it's all I've got. And I think it's great!
May you all have marvelous days!
Saturday, May 16, 2009
TheaterGeek employed again
For anyone who doesn't already know:
I will be playing Hermia in a summer production of Shakespeares A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Now, I imagine there are those out in blogland who are rolling their eyes at my decision. Tsk Tsking under their breath at my attempt at theater while a two year old and a six year old remain at home with my husband completely lacking my mother-presence.
I have not blogged much recently. I could say "Wow, I've been so busy." Or "This month just got away from me!" or something chipper that says "Don't worry what I've been up to the past couple of months. Everything is fine now and was fine that whole time . . ."
I'm not that kind of person. If that were true, then sure. But it's not. Instead these past few months have been . . . um . . . emotionally void while also being emotionally hell. I know, how can you have no feeling and too much feeling? Weirder things have happened.
So. My mother asked me to be in it almost four months ago. I said no. She brought it up three months ago and I said no. Then again two months ago and I snapped at her, asking why my "no's" weren't good enough for her. So she stopped asking. And between the time she asked and auditions rolled around, I felt and not felt enough that I knew I needed the Bard's Salve.
It is my sincere belief that if a Theatre-geek of any level needs a measure of healing, the answer is found in a Shakespeare. In no other play - even plays WRITTEN for the purpose - is a more open canvas for individual creativity. So many right answers. So many avenues to travel. And you can travel them all in the safety of creating. Then at the end you can stand back and heave a sigh of relief! Because all that stuff that was inside, all that stuff that had no where to go was just drawn out of you like poison. You are free inside. Your blood will run clean and oxidized again!
I gave up on theater because I had forgotten what it was good for. Muad'Dib is behind me 100%. And not in the "I just want you to remember how much you hate this" way, but in the " I know you need this" way.
I'm grateful for the experiences that led me to realize that I was not defined by my activity in theater. I still feel that is true. I am no longer TheaterGeek.
But I can call upon TheaterGeek to heal Sayyadina. Because she desperately needs some healing. I'm not asking an EVENT to heal me. I will. I will fix it. And this will be the medicine I need to clean out and repair whatever I have done to hurt myself over the past what-ever-measure-of-time. See? I don't even know when the bogging began!
I believe that my mother was inspired to produce a Shakespeare right now, at this time. This belief is the first flash in a long night of darkness that reminds me that God is aware of me and my struggles.
I'm not asking anyone to watch our children while I go off and do this. I'm not asking my kids to come to 10pm rehearsals. I'm not even asking anyone to go out of their way to watch the play come July. All I'm saying here is that I'm doing this. And for those of you who are wondering why, here it is. Here is why.
Dreampacker has pointed out that I am sensitive to feeling. I remember back in High School when I figured out that I could walk into a room and literally FEEL the emotions coming off of other people. And although I figured that out, I didn't know I could stop it. I couldn't separate their emotions from mine. I was all "If I feel it, it must be mine." I spent a lot of time crying in bathroom stalls not knowing why.
A little while ago, I was able with full presence of mind to separate and keep myself safe from the emotions of others. And now . . . that control has gone.
I am awash in emotions. And have the added *pthbbt* of sensitivity beyond the veil to contend with!
I know that life coaching teaches me to tap it out. I know that the Gospel teaches me to pray it out. I know that fear teaches me to sleep it out. I know that reason teaches me to ride it out. But my SOUL, the inner conjunction between emotion, spirit, reason and peace drives me to spill it out. It must be got out. And can you name me a safe venue?
Well I can. Shakespeare. Theater. I will exhaust myself with emotional sharing in a setting where it is not only accepted but downright encouraged! Then I will be left with what is mine, unhampered by what is not.
I will be playing Hermia in a summer production of Shakespeares A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Now, I imagine there are those out in blogland who are rolling their eyes at my decision. Tsk Tsking under their breath at my attempt at theater while a two year old and a six year old remain at home with my husband completely lacking my mother-presence.
I have not blogged much recently. I could say "Wow, I've been so busy." Or "This month just got away from me!" or something chipper that says "Don't worry what I've been up to the past couple of months. Everything is fine now and was fine that whole time . . ."
I'm not that kind of person. If that were true, then sure. But it's not. Instead these past few months have been . . . um . . . emotionally void while also being emotionally hell. I know, how can you have no feeling and too much feeling? Weirder things have happened.
So. My mother asked me to be in it almost four months ago. I said no. She brought it up three months ago and I said no. Then again two months ago and I snapped at her, asking why my "no's" weren't good enough for her. So she stopped asking. And between the time she asked and auditions rolled around, I felt and not felt enough that I knew I needed the Bard's Salve.
It is my sincere belief that if a Theatre-geek of any level needs a measure of healing, the answer is found in a Shakespeare. In no other play - even plays WRITTEN for the purpose - is a more open canvas for individual creativity. So many right answers. So many avenues to travel. And you can travel them all in the safety of creating. Then at the end you can stand back and heave a sigh of relief! Because all that stuff that was inside, all that stuff that had no where to go was just drawn out of you like poison. You are free inside. Your blood will run clean and oxidized again!
I gave up on theater because I had forgotten what it was good for. Muad'Dib is behind me 100%. And not in the "I just want you to remember how much you hate this" way, but in the " I know you need this" way.
I'm grateful for the experiences that led me to realize that I was not defined by my activity in theater. I still feel that is true. I am no longer TheaterGeek.
But I can call upon TheaterGeek to heal Sayyadina. Because she desperately needs some healing. I'm not asking an EVENT to heal me. I will. I will fix it. And this will be the medicine I need to clean out and repair whatever I have done to hurt myself over the past what-ever-measure-of-time. See? I don't even know when the bogging began!
I believe that my mother was inspired to produce a Shakespeare right now, at this time. This belief is the first flash in a long night of darkness that reminds me that God is aware of me and my struggles.
I'm not asking anyone to watch our children while I go off and do this. I'm not asking my kids to come to 10pm rehearsals. I'm not even asking anyone to go out of their way to watch the play come July. All I'm saying here is that I'm doing this. And for those of you who are wondering why, here it is. Here is why.
Dreampacker has pointed out that I am sensitive to feeling. I remember back in High School when I figured out that I could walk into a room and literally FEEL the emotions coming off of other people. And although I figured that out, I didn't know I could stop it. I couldn't separate their emotions from mine. I was all "If I feel it, it must be mine." I spent a lot of time crying in bathroom stalls not knowing why.
A little while ago, I was able with full presence of mind to separate and keep myself safe from the emotions of others. And now . . . that control has gone.
I am awash in emotions. And have the added *pthbbt* of sensitivity beyond the veil to contend with!
I know that life coaching teaches me to tap it out. I know that the Gospel teaches me to pray it out. I know that fear teaches me to sleep it out. I know that reason teaches me to ride it out. But my SOUL, the inner conjunction between emotion, spirit, reason and peace drives me to spill it out. It must be got out. And can you name me a safe venue?
Well I can. Shakespeare. Theater. I will exhaust myself with emotional sharing in a setting where it is not only accepted but downright encouraged! Then I will be left with what is mine, unhampered by what is not.
Friday, May 15, 2009
A common theme
There has been a common underlying theme all through T.V. this past season. Almost any show you watch, you hear a main character say:
*We don't have a choice.
*We have to.
*There is no other choice.
*You don't really have a choice here.
*There isn't a choice.
*We don't have a lot of options here.
Basically, all of it is saying the same thing. And they are all wrong.
There wasn't a single instance when someone said this and they were completely correct. The idea that there wasn't a choice had more to do with manipulating a certain person into a specific course of action than it was doing right or wrong.
It's just been bugging me.
*We don't have a choice.
*We have to.
*There is no other choice.
*You don't really have a choice here.
*There isn't a choice.
*We don't have a lot of options here.
Basically, all of it is saying the same thing. And they are all wrong.
There wasn't a single instance when someone said this and they were completely correct. The idea that there wasn't a choice had more to do with manipulating a certain person into a specific course of action than it was doing right or wrong.
It's just been bugging me.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
A Certain Strain of Funny
I have tried to keep my children clean of "potty humor." But I am up against the Stevens's on one side and a few "Ghost Poopie" afficianado's on the other, as well as the public school system and all the "jokes" my son brings home.
So when Lemur tells a joke, it goes a little something like this:
"How did the cow learn to fly?"
"How?"
"Because a squirrel pooped on a diaper on his head and fell!"
Or
"Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Diaper."
"Diaper who?"
"Diaper full of poop that came from a donkey and fell on your underwear face!"
I have tried to discourage this strain of humor. I have even tried to teach him the proper forms of higher joke telling, putting emphasis on wit and pun rather than a disgusting and improbable punch line. My example was,
"Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Banana"
"Banana who?"
Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Banana"
"Banana who?"
Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Banana"
"Banana who?"
Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Orange."
"Orange who?"
"Orange you glad I didn't say Banana?"
The humor was lost on my poor son. And apparently it was also lost on my daughter who joined the fun by saying: "Knock Knock."
Leemur answers, "Who's there?"
"Banana."
"Banana who?"
"Banana Poop!"
They'll grow out of this, right?
So when Lemur tells a joke, it goes a little something like this:
"How did the cow learn to fly?"
"How?"
"Because a squirrel pooped on a diaper on his head and fell!"
Or
"Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Diaper."
"Diaper who?"
"Diaper full of poop that came from a donkey and fell on your underwear face!"
I have tried to discourage this strain of humor. I have even tried to teach him the proper forms of higher joke telling, putting emphasis on wit and pun rather than a disgusting and improbable punch line. My example was,
"Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Banana"
"Banana who?"
Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Banana"
"Banana who?"
Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Banana"
"Banana who?"
Knock Knock."
"Who's there?"
"Orange."
"Orange who?"
"Orange you glad I didn't say Banana?"
The humor was lost on my poor son. And apparently it was also lost on my daughter who joined the fun by saying: "Knock Knock."
Leemur answers, "Who's there?"
"Banana."
"Banana who?"
"Banana Poop!"
They'll grow out of this, right?
"The Seven Year Itch" or "I always knew eight-legged creatures were out to get me and mine!"
For anyone who has been following the blog, you know that Muad'Dib, Rivulet and I have been "itchy" for a couple months. The common diagnoses were as follows:
3 of 5 Doctors said it was Eczema
2 of 5 Doctors said it was dry skin.
100% of Doctors said it would go away if we used enough lotion.
100% of family members said it was a toxin or food allergy.
One Chiropractor/Allergist treated us for a yeast allergy. And a milk allergy. And a sugar allergy.
Finally one Dermatologist actually looked at us and discovered this: Scabies.
I know. Could they think of a worse name for something that was already uncomfortable and disgusting?! But wait, there's more: Scabies mites are not insects but arachnids, related to spiders and scorpions."
It was difficult not to scream in the Doc's office! And it turns out that although the family and their energy testing was right, it was a toxin, truth out of context did little good. It's a good example of how truth out of context does no one any good. We were looking for a food toxin, or a deeply internal toxin. Not a toxin excreted by a female mite laying her eggs in tunnels under our skin. *shivers with revulsion*
Our obvious next question was: "How did we get these little demons?!"
Most common cases are on dirty people, hobos, etc. The doc told us that anyone can catch scabies if they are in crowded dirty conditions for even for a short period of time. Say, four days to a week.
Muad'Dib and I thought about that and came up with two possible scenarios. Either we got them on the houseboat in Lake Powell (considering I was nearly the only one who slept night and day indoors on the mattresses), or in the hotel we stayed at in Star Valley during the reunion.
Either way, it happened and "Ewww."
Here are 10 things I learned while afflicted with Scabies:
1. Don't just take a drug because a doctor "thinks" it will treat the symptoms.
2. Bring a sleeping bag.
3. WorldMark is worth EVERY PENNY. Because I know those beds are clean and Scabies-free! ya know how I know? Because I don't just pay for the room, I pay for the room to be CLEANED!
4. I'm grateful for Capitalism, because it makes places like WorldMark possible and affordable to us.
5. Muad'Dib (and many others) are right, "Scratching makes it worse."
6. Do the research so you can ask the right questions.
7. I respect people with enough guts to say, "I don't know, but you know who might . . ."
8. Most Dermatologists recommend NOT using a loofa sponge in the shower or bath.
9. Irritability is a byproduct of not sleeping because you are up scratching all night long. Evidence: Rivulet over the past three months; and
10. Yay for Health Savings accounts. Beacuse the lotion to fix us wasn't covered by insurance and would have cost us over $200.00!
Luckily, no one can catch it from us, and we have been given the two step cure. And in four weeks we should not be itching or scratching anymore.
One of the first things I said to Muad'Dib upon discovery was, "I told you. Spiders are evil."
He replied, "These aren't spiders."
Say what you will, but if it has eight legs and attacks me, I'm going to call a demon a demon.
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