DANGER, parental failure imminent!

The Portneuf River runs through Lava Hot Springs, ID. It is a popular destination for summer fun-seekers, who rent huge tubes and float down its snow-melt swollen zigs and zags. Several years ago, when my older daughters were little, my family engaged in the above mentioned fun. With life-vest securely in place on my little Melissa (who was five, at the time,) I climbed on a tube, clasped her firmly on my lap, and followed several of my siblings in a splishy-splashy parade. It was great fun! We laughed and splashed and soaked in the sun. After a little ways, we came to a place where the river rushed, quickly, over several large boulders. We had been warned that this area was a tipping hazard, and I tried to maneuver our tube away from the greatest danger. Unfortunately, I failed in the attempt, and we were tipped into the cold water. Despite my efforts, I lost my grip on my child and she floated away from me, down the river. The look in her eyes as the distance between her and the safe arms of her mother steadily increased will always haunt me. I lunged after her, my feet seeming to move in slow motion over the slipery rock bottom, falling frequently and scraping my knees and elbows in my attempt to catch up to her. But it was evident that I couldn't succeed. I feared that she would be lost, carried down the cruel river to certain doom. Suddenly, down stream, my sister (who had been floating a distance ahead of us) reached out and plucked Melissa out of the water and onto her tube. I don't know if I had called out for help, all I know is that when it was needed, the help was there. Melissa was safe.

Last week, because of failure on my part to provide adequate protection, one of my children was badly harmed. I cried and cried and lamented and wished I had done things differently and berated myself for ignoring spiritual promptings that may have prevented the harm. My heart has been heavy with regret and remorse. My child will, at best, experience pain in the healing process, and at worst, face future pain and forever bear scars from the experience. How I wish I could go back in time! But I can't. My sweet, innocent child floated out of my safe arms and into dangerous water.

I am filled with the fearful knowledge that I failed. I know that I'll fail again. I tried, but failed. How can my beloved children possibly make it through this life unscathed with someone so incapable and insufficient mothering them?? On the edges of despair, the realization crept, softly and sweetly, into my heart that there was someone waiting, able and anxious, to pull my child to safety. Though the process of healing hurts, my sweet child won't be forever lost to the effects of harm. They WILL make it through this life, perhaps not unscathed, but still whole and safe.

My child will be okay. My child smiles and laughs and exercises faith. I worry, fret, and try not to doubt. I still regret, but I don't despair. I know, today, that the Atoning Power of my Savior isn't just for my sins. It is also for my pain and sorrow, and, more importantly, for the pain and sorrow of those I love. I know that He will reach out and pull my children, safely, into his arms.

Please share your thoughts about your worry of failing as a parent, your ways of coping, and your victories in the parenting journey in the comments. And if you like what you've read at "The Brainy Broad" please become a follower and share this blog with your friends.

Hugs,
BB





*Note: Please don't ask for details about this experience. I'm not ready to talk about it, yet, and my child desires some privacy regarding it. Maybe in time...

Bloodlines

I come from a big family. My grandparents on my mom’s side had 5 daughters who gave them forty grandchildren (I can name them all, in case you’re wondering. Impressive, I know.) Those grandchildren have produced six bajillion great and great-great-grandchildren (I can only name the ones who live in Utah, Idaho, Wisconsin, Missouri, D.C. or were born prior to 1992.) Nine of the forty grandchildren were born to my mom and dad. Four brothers and four sisters are what I got. To date, my sibs have given me fourteen nieces and twelve nephews, who have given me three nephews-in-law, a niece-in-law and four gorgeous great-nephews (are you keeping up with this?) Let’s do the math…that’s roughly six bajillion seventy-eight people who I’m related to at least as closely as a first cousin twice removed…I think. And I only counted the cousins on my mom’s side! Oh, and I forgot to count my dad…and my uncles…and my brothers and sisters-in-law…Okay, the point is, I come from a big family. I like it a lot.

I used to be of the mindset that a big family was great because there were all these people who were obligated to love me no matter what. They were compelled to love me even if I was a jerk. That was kind of comforting because who doesn’t like to be loved? As I’ve matured, my thinking has changed somewhat. I’ve begun viewing familial love not so much as an obligation, but rather as a privilege. Here’s why: Those six bajillion seventy-eight plus people are really cool people! I haven’t met one of them that I thought was a total waste of space. Of course, I haven’t actually met ALL of them. I have a one week old great nephew that I have yet to lay eyes on, but I’m pretty certain that I’ll be quite impressed with him.

ALL my relations are wonderful. We have really good genes. Our grandparents were something else! I mean that in a good way. And our parents… wow! Mine were the best, but my aunts and uncles weren’t far behind! We’ve been brought up well. Not perfectly, but lovingly, as far as I know. So, since these people are so very cool, I feel privileged to have the opportunity to know them. If we didn’t share common grandparents, there’s really no way that I would know my Riddle and Beachley and McBride and Myers cousins. They would just be some random people living far away. What a tragic loss that would be!

These cousins are AMAZING! Each of them is different and unique and impressive in their fabulousness. If I could be in the same room with all of them at the same time, my head would explode with the sheer force of their awesomeness. I love my cousins. Some of them I know better than others. Some of them are my age, and I treasure the memories of summer visits with them as we grew up living states away, but still close in spirit. Others are older…much, much, much…just kidding…a little bit older. I’ve grown to love and respect them as contemporaries as I’ve grown up. Some are younger, but they’ve all caught up to me in the grown up boat and have proven themselves equal to their elders.

The feelings of love and respect and appreciation I feel for my cousins is dwarfed in comparison to the feelings of love and respect and admiration I feel for my siblings. My sisters and brothers hold a special place in my heart. I sometimes feel like our souls are linked a little bit, across the miles that separate us. Is that weird? I don’t think so.

Like my cousins, my siblings are diverse in many ways. We share parents (or in my cousins’ case, grandparents), but we are very different. Some of us are the same gender. Some of us have the same eye color. Some of us share religious beliefs. Some of us live within a day’s drive of Mom. Some of us voted for Obama. Some of us like tomatoes. Some of us are outgoing. Some of us are financially independent. Some of us have musical talent. Some of us have hidden struggles. And to each of these statements, some of us aren’t, don’t and didn’t. But it doesn’t matter at all. Not one little bit. No matter what the statement is or which side of the aren’ts, don’ts and didn’ts we’re on, my siblings and cousins (and parents, husband, children, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, inlaws…) will always have my unconditional love. Not because I have to love them, but because I choose to love them. I know, TODAY, that I am incredibly blessed to have the family I have. It was no accident. I’ll never take it for granted. I’ll never let our differences compel me to lose sight of what’s the same about us. We are in the same family. Family is important to me. My very, VERY big family.


Please share your thoughts about your family in the comments. And if you like what you've read at "The Brainy Broad" please become a follower and share this blog with your friends.

Hugs,
BB

My New Stylist

I love long hair. I recognize the fact that my hair grows rather slowly, so having long hair is a rare treat for me. I have been bald, not by choice, and learned to even more greatly appreciate my hair when it grew back. Seven years after completing chemo, my hair was the longest it's ever been. I love long hair. I love being able to toss it in a ponytail, or straiten it, or curl it up tight, or wear it in loose waves, or braid it or...you get the point. Well, I started getting vain about my hair. It was my best feature, I decided. I would probably never wear it short again, I thought. That's when I met my new stylist. I actually knew the guy previous to my haircut appointment, only I didn't know he cut hair. I only knew him as that energetic three-year-old whose diapers I had changed...earlier that day. You see, I didn't even know I had an appointment to get my hair cut. And I learned, too late, that even if you think your sewing shears are safely under your watchful eye, you are vulnerable to the wily whims of a creative young child, if you let your attention wander for even a moment. In less time then it would take to say "where did I set those scissors?" half my ponytail had been shortened by roughly six inches. Yes, six inches. My son had snuck up behind me and gently cut my hair. This was a tragedy!! I saw red and I actually cried. I give myself credit for not killing my child. I took out the ponytail and assessed the damage. There was no way to salvage the length. I found a (real, licensed) stylist to attempt a fix of my scary crop, certain that I would hate whatever the result was. And, wouldn't you know it, she worked wonders! Not only did she skillfully rework my do, she piled on compliments about how thick and healthy and wonderful my hair was going to look. She encouraged me, and insisted that it was the best thing that could have happened. I actually started to believe her. She was right. My hair is now short (to me, above the shoulder=SHORT). But, I have never received more compliments! And, I'm actually finding that I really like the new look. I feel chic and trendy, for the first time in a long time. My natural curl is at last being utilized. It takes 5-10 minutes to accomplish a stylish do, as opposed to the hour it used to take. I would never have taken the plunge and chopped my hair if I hadn't been compelled to. I've learned a valuable lesson from this experience that I think I need to really make a part of my normal thinking. It is this: things in life are ever-changing, even if I think they are things I can control. Good things that we have will disappear. We will lose, sometimes. And that's okay. I can't stop things from happening to me, and why would I even want to? When things happen that are unexpected and sometimes painful, I'm going to take a moment to reflect before I freak out. I'm going to try (emphasis on TRY) to reserve judgement until I can see clearly enough to judge wisely. TODAY, I know that tragedies, both big and small, often aren't tragedies at all. I trust that if I have the love and support of good people in my life, the right attitude and some faith, all things can work together for my good. And it doesn't hurt to have a good back-up stylist!

I want a Red Tent!

We read "The Red Tent" in book club this month. When it was first suggested, I was intrigued with the idea of the Biblical tale of Jacob and his wives being brought to life in a work of historical fiction. The story is narrated by Dinah, Jacob and Leah's daughter. I'm a fan of "...the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" and "King of Dreams", and I kind of expected more of the same feel. Well, without the singing.

Anita Diamant disappointed me. Sorry, Anita, if you're reading this. If they made "The Red Tent" into a musical, I would definitely not be taking my kids to see it!

Aside from sexual innuendo and graphic violence, what I mainly didn't like was the picture that was painted of women I already felt I knew. I felt like I did when I went to see the Percy Jackson movie. It vaguely resembled a story I loved, but was told completely WRONG! I do not believe that Jacob's wives indulged in idol worship or superstition. I think that Jacob taught them the Gospel and that they embraced and practiced it. I know they weren't a perfect family. There's no such thing. But I believe, at the very least, they were parents who tried to follow the Lord the best they could. Just like me. My opinion.

What I DID like about the book was the idea of a red tent, and the recognition of the amazing and profound power that we, as women, have. I liked that "that time of the month" wasn't seen as icky and annoying, but rather it was celebrated as a cleansing process and a time of rejuvenation. I especially liked the idea of women coming together to support each other (despite grudges, conflict, rivalry, jealousy, misunderstanding, etc) to help another woman bring a life into the world.

Overall, though I do not give the book my endorsement, it did inspire me to want to start celebrating my womanhood more fully by doing the following:

1-I'm going to try to cherish the women in my life. I want to have deeper and stronger friendships. This means I'm going to have to put more effort into being a better friend. I want to deliberately attend to the needs of my friends, not just enjoy there company and wave them on there way.
2-I'm going to try to rejoice in being a woman, even when I'm having my period. I mean, come on, it's not like I have to sit on rags or anything! I am very grateful to be a woman in the 21st century. I love being feminine. I love being a wife. I love being a mommy. I'm not going to add any "except for such-and-such part of it".
3-I'm going to make a concerted effort to teach my girls how wonderful it is to be women. I want them to know that they are the crown jewel of the Creator. I want them to know that "women's work" is the BEST work.
4-I'm going to read about other women. There's a great website I came across called The Mormon Women Project (Google it). LDS women from varying walks of life are interviewed and their stories told. I love that it shows that there is no cookie-cutter way to be a Mormon woman. The only thing we need in common is our love for the Savior and His Gospel. I'm going to read every post on the MWP site.

Doing these things will build me my own virtual red tent. You can come visit me here, whenever you like. Well, unless you're a guy. Sorry, no boys allowed.

I know TODAY that being a woman is a wonderful honor. I have never begrudged it. I love being a girl!

Happy to see Whitey

Whitey is the name of a squirrel who lives at the park where I run. He has a white tail. Clever name, yeah, I know.

I was happy to see Whitey, this morning, when I arrived at the park. I was happy because his presence was a distraction from the daunting work I was about to do. I'm not a runner. I never have been. But I soon will be. For the last several weeks, I have been training to run a 5K. It's hard. Having Whitey there makes it easier. His squirrely antics are all the more amusing because his appearance is so unique, and he's easy to discern from the other squirrels. I can pick him out from quite a distance and observe him for extended periods of time, without him blending into the trees, like the other squirrels do. He's stinkin' cute!

Life is full of hard things that we have to (or choose to) do. I didn't want to get out of bed this morning to go running, but I did it anyway. When I saw Whitey, chasing another squirrel out of his territory, it made me smile, and I was glad that I hadn't given up and stayed in bed. Several times during my run, when it was getting hard to catch my breath, and my legs felt like rubber, I thought of Whitey and found enough strength to keep going. Thanks to Whitey, I didn't quit.

There have been many "Whiteys" in my life. People who have been there to support me and help me keep going. I know TODAY that I'm not a quitter, because I am surrounded by "Whiteys". Thank you, Whitey.

Why "The Brainy Broad"?

I'm worried about losing my mind. Not just the "I'm an LDS mother of 5 kids, trying to live the Gospel to the fullest and change the world, all while keeping an immaculate house and preparing delicious and nutritious meals 3 times a day," kind of losing my mind. I mean "literal decline of brain function" losing my mind. Last year, in the sixth month of a pregnancy, I had a stroke. Three months later, at 37 weeks into the pregnancy, I had another, more severe stroke. Scary.

Years earlier, the same week that I learned I was pregnant with my first child, my father was diagnosed with a brain tumor. He declined swiftly, and died just over a month before my daughter was born. I watched the man I adored become someone else. My sweet grandmother experienced the full wrath of Alzheimer's disease, becoming a stranger in her final years of life. The loss of beloved minds through damage to the brain is something familiar to me, and all too common among mankind.

I've never been a genius, by any stretch of the imagination, but I have always fancied myself an intelligent, insightful, free-thinking, well-educated woman. Recent reflection on the above mentioned situations has led to the realization of how very fragile all that thinkin' and book learnin' is. I think I will likely lose my mental faculties before I die. I'm not planning on dying any time, soon, but I feel a great weight of responsibility to document, right now, what I know. To preserve not just the "what's on my mind", but also the "what's in my soul". To make it clear to any who may wonder that at some point in my life, I embraced deeply felt beliefs, entertained multi-faceted ideas, rejected highly popular opinions, formed tender and empowering relationships, chose hope over despair, and both failed and triumphed. I want the contents of my soul to continue to exist for a long, long time, beyond the capacity of this broad's brain.

Let me be clear. I know very surely that when I die, my eternal spirit will remain healthy and intact, and that all my memories will be perfectly preserved. It is only in this mortal world that my concern exists, so it is only for this mortal world that my written thoughts remain. And for those who may glean some bit of wisdom or humor or insight from them. And I, myself, will likely be the largest beneficiary of this endeavor. As long as my mind functions at some level, I will be able to review these words. It will be my "Notebook", wherein my adoring husband and precious children can find words of encouragement and comfort when I am no longer Me. Maybe this noble cause won't find a purpose, beyond serving as the rambling journal of another Mormon mommy. But, that would be cause enough :) So, reader, here begins the spewing forth of as much of Me as can be practically accessed with my limited resources. I will use what time and words I can to paint you a picture of Me, for as long as I am Me; one of many Brainy Broads.