Year of Extremes: Challenge 1

Year of Extremes: Challenge 1 The insanity didn’t originate on my drive home after another night shift, but it was likely supported by such a circumstance. It boiled down to this: I don’t know if I can. Could I walk to the next town over if my car stopped working? Could I… whatever… could I do it? I don’t know because I’ve never tried it! So I made a list of things I might consider extreme, highly unlikely and maybe even impossible. This year I am working on completing them. These challenges are completely for myself, developed by myself and for no other reason than to know I can! Challenge 1 was undertaken on February 6. GOAL: walk for 12 hours. This was accomplished, totaled 27.84 miles and 59,800 steps at the end of the day. I stopped for lunch, dinner a few times to use the facilities, get some Tylenol and shoe inserts from a friend (thank you, Ceri!), to look at some ducks and change my shoes. Otherwise, I walked. I thought the toughest part of the experience might be the pre 7am wake time on a Saturday, but it was probably the pain. HA! The walk started at 0718 and 28 degrees F. I tend to walk fast, especially at work, so I had to remind myself that I was going for time not distance or speed. I took notes throughout the day, jotting down ideas and inspirations. They basically all boiled down to a few main ideas. I truly appreciate the fact that I had support from family and friends. This support ranged from the Tylenol to friends checking in on my progress throughout the day and cheering me along. I especially enjoyed the celebratory attitudes after I walked a marathon. Let’s not forget my husband picking me up at the end of 12 hours when I was still an hour from home. I’m old. There’s no getting around it. My feet started hurting 2 hours in, legs 3 hours in, back and thighs after that. But NSAIDs and determination can accomplish much. I have nothing to prove to anyone, not even myself really. I just wanted to see if I could do this. And I did it!

Poem Night Before Halloween

 Twas the night before Halloween when all through my halls the children were bouncing off of the walls. 

The costumes were tossed on the floor with no care in faith they could find them tomorrow to wear. 

Dinner in the oven, husband in a nap, I’d just settled down to take a breather when SPLAT!

I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter saw pumpkin guts spread through the house with a splatter.

The children were huddled with fear and in shock. Who could have known bowling with pumpkins would be bring such poor luck?

Soap, water, bubbles. Cloths and team huddles. soon restored peace and we gathered to cuddle.

Away to their beds the children were led while visions of candy danced in their heads. 

I snuggled down in, reviewed all the facts, and smiled as I thought of the extra parent tax.

poem How Do You Dare Hope

How Do You Dare Hope

I hope in the way that the sea constantly washes upon bloody beaches.

I hope in the way that fire burns through the mother forest of seedlings that emerge from the ash.

I hope because day always follows night.

I hope because bones mend and scar tissue forms.

I hope in the way that the old die and the young are born.

I hope in how laughter follows tears and tears follow a tragedy.

I hope because I've cast aside depression, making way for the genuine light to shine.

I hope because rain always follows drought and sunshine always follows rain.

I hope becaue it is from the ashes that the phoenix rises.

I hope because tragedy gives birth to heros.

I hope because desperation gives birth to kindness.

The Parable of the Butt-Rubbed Tic Tac

Most of my bright ideas come to me in the shower. I read something once about how the thousands of drops of water hitting a person's back is thought to stimulate, well, thought. Who can say. This bright idea came to me while I couldn't sleep. That doesn't happen too often – me not being able to sleep. I pondered over how to convey the concept of what lying does to parents (and others). And a light bulb went off.

I purchased a container of white tic tacs (any color would do). I took them home. I debated on whether I had to do the deed or if I could get by with lying (oh the irony). I debated on how to commit the grossification. They sat on the counter for a couple weeks. One Monday evening I decided to go for it. I donned a glove, removed 1 tic tac, rubbed it on a butt and carefully replaced it into the plastic container. Immediately following glove disposal, I placed a piece of duct tape over the tic tac opening – cause, gross and ewww. I didn't tell Aaron about my evil plan.

We started Family Home Evening (a weekly family meeting with a song and focused topic for discussion). I held up the tic tac container and it this is basically what followed:

Me: Who would like one of these tic tacs

All Kids: Me! Me!

Me: What if I told you that one of these was rubbed on a butt? Would you still want one?

Joel solo: yeah!!!

Me: [hands thrown up in frustration] Well there goes my whole point... Joel, I'm not joking, one of these got rubbed on a butt. And not the soft part, but the gross inside part.

Joel: [after a pause] No!!!

Katie: Did you really do that?

Me: Yes, because I knew you guys would ask. Now, back to the lesson.... There is only ONE butt-rubbed tic tac in here, the rest of them should be fine.

Katie: Not the ones it touched!

Me. Okay, but I put it back in at the top, the bottom ones are probably fine. Does anyone want to risk it? Look how many there are, you are likely to pick a not-gross one.

All: [thought] No.

Me: These tic tacs are like the things you say. Most of what comes out of your mouth is good and the truth but every once and a while you say a lie, which is like a butt-rubbed tic tac. See, the thing is, we don't know which one is the butt-rubbed tic tac and which isn't. Do you see that? We can't tell. It only takes ONE lie to ruin a whole lot of what you say. Do you see why trusting you after a lie is so hard?

Kids: Yeah.

Me: Cause we don't know which is the butt-rubbed tic tac, or lie, and which isn't.

Aaron and I then helped each child (even the 2 year old) to summarize the lesson. Aaron was impressed with the object lesson but upset that I “wasted” a whole container of tic tacs. I think it was a good investment. We saw the lightbulbs going off as understanding crossed their faces and hearing Aurora say “butt-rubbed tic tac” is hilarious!

The time I ate anything and everything I (truly) wanted

Some people will read this and say “duh” but for me, this knowledge was like KaZaam!

I'm 34 (that is important for perspective's sake). I have an unhealthy relationship with food. I have theories as to how this developed but I won't go into them here. Just know that by the time I was 11, I began to engage in an eating disorder that would last for nearly 5 years. Knowing what I know now about electrolytes and remembering what my heart was doing at the time, I wonder how close I came to a heart attack. The eating disorder was simply the apex of a sick foundation. Even after the binge, purge, starve cycle behavior concluded I still maintained some crazy-@$$ relationship with food. 

Here are a few examples: (some of you will relate)

I would make decisions to go or not go places based on what food would or would not be available.

I would still binge to satisfy emotional needs, while leaving out the purging portion. (Hello weight gain.)

At social gatherings I would literally hover around the food. Like a lifeboat.

I felt that I HAD to eat something if it was available.

I firmly believed that if I was thin, life would go well for me and I would be happy.

My ENTIRE day could be ruined by a single slice of pizza. Literally.

I held to an irrational fear that this unique edible opportunity (like a Snickers) would never present itself again and must be taken advantage of NOW or I would miss out on something amazing (like a Snickers).

I set crazy rules about what to eat, when to eat, how to eat. Feeling immense guilt for failing to follow the rules.

I kept a pair of size 4 cut off jeans for years...I had a goal of fitting into them. I would hold them up and feel sad that I wasn't quite there yet. Even at my lowest weight of 98 pounds, I didn't fit into them! (Differing body types.) It was a source of shame and failure until I finally threw them out.

If I try to diet I can go crazy. From obsessing about food to dreaming about it to allowing my moods to be determined by my “success” to starting to rehash the same thoughts that are precursors to the binge and purge cycle.

And most recently, whenever I was out driving by myself I had to get a “treat”. It began as an exciting rarity (wasn't out by myself too much over the past decade) but turned into this MUST-GET-A-TREAT – go-out-of-my-way-show-up-late-because-i-MUST-get-myself-a-treat monster.

Anyhow, you probably get the picture. Then something happened.

Several months ago (Fall 2016) I was making the kids lunch. A little frustrated, a lot of contemplative, I had the idea that maybe I need to go back to the beginning. Kind of like how a type of regression therapy is used for Reactive Attachment Disorders (it is controversial, I am not advocating for or against it).

What is the beginning of food? Milk. Well, drinking only milk wasn't going to happen. What's next? Being a toddler. What do toddlers do with food? They eat what they want, when they want and how much they want. I would become a toddler.

I pondered on this brainstorm for two days, looking for flaws, thinking it through. I set up one rule but only one because food rules is one of my unhealth-food-behavior triggers (see above). I decided to only eat what I wanted.

I don't know if people with health relationships with food can even possibly conceive of how phenomenal and monumental this idea was to me.

The magic of this experiment was that all food was given a level playing field. A taco held no more desirability than a carrot stick because I could have either whenever I wanted. A carrot stick held no more value than a taco because I was not making food decisions based on nutrition. Desire was my only criteria. Want my only yardstick. When I stripped food of its power over me, I saw it as it really is. Raw and naked and powerless in its original form.

I haven't learned so much about myself in a very long time.

I realized that a lot of the time I ate because I was “supposed to”.

I ate breakfast because it was good for me, even if I wasn't hungry. I ate when someone offered me something, to be courteous, even if I didn't want it. I learned that I really don't get hungry until about 10am. So shoot me.

I realized that I don't love sweets.

In our society sweets are a treat. We give them as rewards (toddlers going potty) and gifts (Teacher Appreciation Day), to show affection (Valentine's Day), bring comfort (ice cream for a sad friend). But when I made all the candy around me available, free for the taking and no longer bad or a guilty pleasure...I almost never wanted it.

I don't always know what I want.

Particularly for the first 10 days I often went hungry – I simply did not know what I wanted. I would recognize I was hungry, stand in my kitchen, ask myself “what do I want?” and not know. Here's a funny story about learning to assess want. Around day 3 I thought I wanted a candy. So I opened a KitKat bar. I ate the first, really trying to taste it and ask myself if it was hitting the spot. It wasn't. But somewhere in my head I couldn't believe that. So I ate the second bar. Nope. Didn't taste right. How could a KitKat NOT be the treat solution?! It was unheard of. I was in denial and ate the third. The flavor was all wrong! I couldn't believe it but it was true. So I put the 4^th bar away. An hour later I thought, “Hm, I think a KitKat is what I want now,” I ate the last bar and it was like a symphony on my tongue. No kidding.

Bite 10 can be amazing and bite 11 nearly repulsive.

I was working on some pasta, enjoying my lunch when suddenly I no longer desired it. “But! But! It is a waste to leave the last few bites! I can just finish it off!” So I took another nibble and gained no pleasure from it. As I pondered over this I realized that my body was telling me “I AM FULL! STOP!” I have spent decades ignoring that voice. When I dedicated myself to only eating what I wanted, I learned that my body can and will tell me when I have had enough...and it isn't when my plate is empty.

Sometimes I wasn't hungry, I was thirsty.

I drink a lot of water so I didn't think this phenomenon would apply to me, but since we aren't camels the human body can become dehydrated pretty quickly.

I life fruit.

But good fruit. It must be ripe. Nothing beats a perfect peach.

I like good food.

Quality food. Rich food. Cream and butter are my friends. I can enjoy almost any food if it is well prepared. Boxed food is 'food-like product' to me and did not taste right in my mouth.

In an emotionally stressful state, food was almost never the answer.

I recall one distinct phone conversation that resulted in feelings of stress and distress. I started looking around the kitchen for a fix. I stopped and reviewed all the sugary carby fatty offerings. I imagined myself biting into each option. I processed how I would feel afterward (to determine which one I really wanted) and realized (with somewhat of a shock) that they were not the solution to my problem. Maybe just distractions? Food would not make my problems go away. In all my years I don't think I have ever before really walked myself through this reality. I just ate when stressed.

I see now that my body can live well on far fewer calories than I thought it needed.

And I'll tell you because I'm sure you're wondering...Though I gained much of value from this experiment, I did not gain a single pound over the 6 weeks. That's right. I literally ate anything and everything I wanted, but ONLY what I REALLY wanted, and I gained no weight.

So maybe, maybe. If we listen. Really really listen. Our bodies can tell us what we need, what we desire, what will make us feel good, what it needs to keep functioning. If we really listen. Before you take your next bite give it a try. Stop and ask yourself, “Do I really want this?”

Of bullies and prophets

I am classifying Katherine's experience at school today as her first with bullies. A former best friend communicated to my daughter that they are no longer friends (we knew this was coming, I was kind of hoping Katherine would be the one to make it official) and she does not want Katherine to speak to her any longer. Katherine loves this girl, but anyway... The bullying part comes next. Said girl and girl's new gal pal then proceed to run up and touch my daughter. Repeatedly. Against her wishes. Now they are bullying. (I could just %^#* and %*+£ the *+€^%, but anyway.)

Picture bedtime mania in the bathroom when she shares this information. First, just the two of us. Now add a nosey and procrastinating Joel to the mix. Next comes a fiercely defensive daddy and two happily distracted younger sisters and we have a real party going. The concerned parents gather more details. The party moves to the living room. Discussion ensues. Practical tactics, not being a victim, loving yourself, why bullies bully, and so on. This was some really good stuff! I was rapidly checking off items from my "things-to-teach-your-kids-at-some-point" list. I felt proud of us as parents with our cute little family and then we paused again to check in with the kids. 

Katherine (8 yrs old) got it. She reflected back what we said in her own words. (Don't know that she's ready to implement anything yet, but we're getting there!) and then Aaron addressed Joel (5yrs old). Joel. Joel Joel Joel. He busted out with something like, "If the bad guys come I will just punch dem in the face..." Oh Joel. Forever living for the next battle. The kind-hearted warrior I felt he would be. The spacey, absent-minded child I did not know he would be. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. But oddly enough I then thought of Enos.

The Mormons have a book of scripture they (we, I) believe tells portions of the history from the Americas from about 600BC to about 400AD. One prophet in there is Enos (the son of another prophet). His contribution isn't long but his story goes something like this: one day he is hunting in the forest when "...the words which I had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life, and the joy of the saints, sunk deep into my heart.[The Book of Mormon, Enos 1:3]. Enos then spends the rest of the day and into the night in prayer. He hears the voice of The Lord and converses with Him. 

I'll bet Enos was like Joel and Joel could be like Enos. I think that maybe Enos was a typical boy who grew up running around and being loud. He probably beat up a lot of imaginary bad guys too. Sure he heard the teaching of his prophet-dad but he never really gave them much thought. He grew up into a young man just sort of swaying through life until he was out hunting one day and it hit him like a ton of bricks. He walked out of those woods a changed man. But "changed" is inadequate. Maybe...he came out of the woods an enhanced, stronger, deeper, man. He was still a fighter, possessing a wild heart, but he had an eternal purpose woven into his soul now to direct that fight. He understood love for others. He felt love for others. He knew love for others. He couldn't just sway through life anymore. He had to do something and be something. He has to spread God's love.

Well, of course it is all speculation. But it makes me smile.

The Introverted Mommy

I have been a mother (in the biological since-I actually believe all women are mothers) for nearly 8 years now. My amazing oldest reaches her 8th birthday in November. But it wasn't until THIS WEEK that I finally pieced together a puzzle that reveals why being a mom has some of its challenges for me.

Let's say for arguments sake that you can lump all of humanity into one of two categories: introvert or extrovert. If that were possible, I would join the introverted group (shut up in my own room away from everyone else, reading a good book). I have heard many descriptions over the years of what makes one an introvert or extrovert and what qualities can be ascribed exclusively to each label, but one explanation left all others behind for me. Ready?

An extrovert is someone who is energized by being around people. An introvert is someone recharges away from others. 

This. This hits home for me. In large groups of people for extended periods of time I have to actually remove myself from the buzz and regroup alone. I have been known to use the bathroom just to have some breathing time. I have wandered the halls at youth social functions just to "get out of there!". I have left family functions to take a breather outside. Anyhow, people suck me dry. Or, perhaps, being around people sucks me dry. In general, I have good emotional boundaries but can't seem to keep my energy for moi! 

Anyhow, so then there is this tiny adorable human being who needs me. Like, needs me all the time. Never thought a person could be touched to death until after I got married and had kids. Space people! Personal space! I like my bubble! 

And not only does she need me for basic things like sustenance and cleaning, but I have to socially stimulate her as well. (Let me pause here. I say "have to" but smiling at my babies and snuggling them does come to me natural and I do enjoy it, but it need me some breaks.) And as she ages, this stimulation becomes more demanding and even more [gulp!] engaging!! I must BE present and BE a mom and BE nurturing and BE available. And it is EXHAUSTING! Sucks the life force right out of me. True story. I use phrases like that all the time.

And then! AND THEN she not only needs ME but others as well! And now I have to associate with other people! Gives me anxiety just thinking about it. And the crazy thing is, I love my friends, I depend on them, they are a true blessing to me. But I still find social gatherings tiring and after I get home I just want to take a nap or be alone for a minute. But it's 5 hours until 8pm (bedtime) so my switch must stay in the "on" position.

No wonder I cherish my nights and no matter how tired I am I like to stay up and just be. Just be me. Just read. Just regroup. Just recharge. 

And there it is. I am a mom but I was an introvert first. I live with all these cute energy leeches who suck the pizzazz from my being. And I need my space and my recharge time. Otherwise, watch out world; this drained mommy is not a cheerful one.