Conquering Contradiction

Humans are complex creatures. We crave vacations, but quickly itch for routine. We want to be healthy, happy, and strong. . . . and sometimes weak, weepy, and alone. At times we have several identities battling it out inside us, each one scratching for the top position. Am I a wife first? What about a mother? And sometimes I need to be a sister, a daughter, a teacher, a comforter, or a drill sergeant. When am I just I? Identities are tricky things. I find myself caught in a tug of war with two contradictory identities. On one hand, there is the Morgen that decided to be valedictorian when she was in the 8th grade, and did it. She ran a marathon, finished grad school and had a baby in two years, teaches early morning seminary, homeschools, and finds time to scratch out a story here and there. That is an accomplished, ambitious Morgen. Then there is the other side of the coin. This is the Morgen that would eat a pan of brownies if left alone with it in the wrong mood. This is the Morgen that resolves over and over to stop biting her nails but nibbles at the first stressful moment. This is the Morgen that looks at every other woman in the room and counts the way they are better than her. I hate it when that Morgen wins.
So, I am at an impasse. I am determined to slowly, but completely align myself with the ambitious Morgen. Sometimes I get very afraid of really being healthy, really being disciplined, or truly meeting my goals. Why do we let fear stop us? Maybe the other identity is more comfortable. The "two roads" diverge and the one well traveled is so much easier to wander down. But, I want the difference. I don't like where the well-traveled path leads, and whenever I choose the other path, no matter how briefly I wander down before getting nervous, I am always always happier. So, today I take a step down the road less travelled and trust that I will enjoy "all the difference."

Love Is. . Liking an Ugly Stocking

Ah, the first born child. Everything is important. The future is ripe with ambitions of homemade clothes, cuddling memories, and absolutely perfect holidays. You read three stories a night at bedtime. You make a birthday plate with an original poem on the back. Every parenting tip you have ever read is about to implemented perfectly with that little soul. Baby food. . . blended at home. Diapers. . .changed every hour. And the Christmas stocking. . . lovingly made at home in a creative and beautiful manner.

Am I the only one who dreamed this dream? I sat down to make Isaac's first stocking and it came together perfectly. . in the beginning. How hard is it anyway to sew red felt in the shape of a large sock. And then I cut and stitched a cute little snowman on the front. But then, the name section ruined me. An abbreviated crafting tip: Felt and Puff Paint do not a good mix make:
I was totally distraught. My first maternal Christmas was a mess. I was a failure as a mother and a homemaker. But, with a sigh, I hang Isaac's stocking up every year. Lucy's is storebought with a charming homemade touch. Emma's was homemade. . . by my husband. Isaac's is a bit of a sore thumb when they are all in a row. So, this year I said, "Isaac, I think I better make you a new stocking." Gasp! "What Mom! I love my stocking! I love it! I don't want a new one!" He hugged it to his chest with an impressive look of terror. I was completely surprised and thought perhaps a trip to the eye doctor was in order. Could he see his stocking? Couldn't he see the smudged letters, the tattered snowman and the lopsided sewing job? Then I got it. All he saw was love. All he saw was the first stocking he ever had, one his mom had made just for him. I see smudges of paint, he sees his name. I see flaws, he sees creation. Unlike his mother, Isaac can look past flaws when there is love involved. My life is filled with countless flaws and shortcomings. But, it is also filled with love. I shout and lose my temper. I also cuddle and summon the energy to vacuum because I know it makes the house look so nice when Daman comes home. My sewing is crooked, and my bread sometimes burns. But apparently, a frumpy stocking made (imperfectly) with love is exactly what Isaac wants. So a life lived (imperfectly) with love is good enough for me too. Thanks, Isaac, I love you too.

I Choose To Believe

Last week I had the talk with my 6 ½ year old. No, not that talk. It went something like this:

Isaac (eyes full of trust and hope): “Mom, is Santa real?”

Before you hear what I answered, let us cut back to the time when I was a perfect mother. . . that time before I had children. At this all-knowing stage my husband and I heartily decided that we would play along with the Santa illusion, put out some cookies, orchestrate a mail delivery system, and give the jolly elf credit for a few presents. But, we asserted, should one of our impressionable children get down to brass tacks and ask the inevitable, we would simply tell them the truth. This was a very good plan.

But I just couldn’t do it. The question was too full of a sad fear that made me think he knew what was coming and needed me to prove him wrong, giving him permission to believe. He needed the lie. Well, I couldn’t do that either.

So, I made my therapist husband proud:

Me: “Well, what do you think?”

Isaac: “I think he is.”

Me: “Great!”

Phew. Tragedy averted. Or, maybe not:

Isaac: “Do you believe in Santa?”

Now my mind was really racing, carefully weighing honesty with magic.

Me: “I think. . . that it is fun to believe.” (Holding my breath)

Isaac: “Me too. I am going to believe.”

And that was it. No tears or crushed dreams. No healthy dose of reality. I’m not sure where we stand now. I think that Isaac has, against all odds, decided it is more fun to believe than to not. And I’ve decided the same. I remember a Christmas many years ago where somehow my parents orchestrated a flawless Santa drop-off that seemed downright magical. I was old enough where I had begun to doubt, and at that moment I remember being completely amazed, thinking, “It is real! He is real! How does he do that?” I was totally suckered, and I loved it.

Truth exists whether we like it or not. I can doubt, disdain, or dismiss, but it will not alter truth. I do not define truth by how I cast my vote. I define my life. I can choose to believe, choose to hope, choose to trust. I can choose, knowing that it is a whole lot more fun if I believe in magic, light, faith, hope, and love. Isaac, I think, has figured out that no one is really getting those letters he tears up and puts in the oven for Santa. But, he has decided that life will be more interesting if he believes. I’m with him. I choose to believe. I choose to believe in God. I choose to believe that these prayers I am sending up are received, acknowledged, and answered. I choose to believe that Jesus Christ was born in a stable, suffered in a Garden, died on a cross, and rose on the third day. My choice doesn’t make those things true. My choice makes me better. It makes me believe and it certainly makes me happy. So, Isaac, thanks for the talk. Let’s keep believing together.

Direction Without Disdain

My scale tells me that between yesterday and this morning I somehow lost five pounds. This is very unlikely (especially considering the four cookies I ate yesterday). There is only one explanation: There is a cruel little pixie living in my scale intent on driving me to insanity. What a jerk. Well little pixie, I’m not taking the bait. The day before, when I’d thought I’d gained five pounds, I cut loose and lost it a bit. I let the scale tell me what to do, and I’ve learned that I’ve got to stop doing that. I’ve always had this natural, wholesome, healthy, long-haired, enlightened vision of myself that I want to become. I feel like it is just one layer down inside of me. I have used this vision as one of two things:

Option A: A 2X4 which I use to beat myself into “healthy” submission (temporarily)

Option B: A change too dramatic, too different, and too scary. This keeps me from breaking through to that level of health and wholeness. (an option which made me turn back in self sabotage lately and undo a ten pound weight loss from the Summer)

Are these my only options? I think I’ve finally realized that they are not. I can want that vision and be okay with where I am right now. . and tomorrow. . and in two days when probably not much will have changed. Goals are good. Direction is necessary. The other day on NPR I listened to this wonderful report about scientists who set people to walking in a straight line across a huge field. They blindfolded them and turned them loose. Across the board, everyone’s first 10-20 steps were straight, but then they began to veer in one direction or another. Then they veered some more. And then something incredibly curious happened with all of them: they began walking in circles. Still, the people were convinced they were walking in a straight line. The scientists created countless variables to understand why, but couldn’t figure it out. Their only deduction is that unless there is a point in the distance they are marching for, everyone just winds up going in circles. What a peek into humanity in general. If I don’t have a goal, I will just wander in circles without progression or growth.
I need goals. I need that vision of a more wholesome me. But, I can have that vision without spitting the present out of my mouth in disgust. I can have direction without disdain. So, I’ve gained a few pounds in the last few months. Wah wah wah. Life goes on. The common denominator between the Morgen that is now and the Morgen that will be when I am living a more wholesome life is me. I will still be here. I am the one taking on this challenge. If I try to run away from that to catch this other vision, I won’t be complete, and I certainly won’t be happy.
So today, I let go. Today I don’t think so much about food. Today I eat a few meals and make the best decision I can at each of them. And between those meals. . . I live.

Mo Time

Like the new look? I've done some tagging and sorting and remodeling around here. I'm hoping to share my stories with more foks and get more feedback. Then, if one story seems to stand out, I might focus on it more and see if I can do anything with it submission-wise. So, if you follow--invite your friends!!! I also organized the essays I wrote so you can see the different topics and what I've written. I'm excited to have it a little more formalized and look forward to writing more. Thanks! (Also, for those of you interested, I've also done lots of updates on the family blog www.damanandmo.blogspot.com)

For Caroline. . .

Isaac helped me come up with this one and was perched by my shoulder the entire time, offering ideas for plots, etc. This does not make writing very easy. Still, I think it turned out to be a fun little story. (And it made me want some wacky fruit bubble gum)Happy Birthday Caroline!!
Caroline, The Bubble-Gum Pirate

Good Enough

I was probably eleven or twelve when I first cried about being fat. We’d gone to see a doctor and he spoke to mother about my weight, gruffly warning her that I was going to be obese. I don’t remember saying anything on the way home, I only clearly remember sitting on the deck when we got home, sobbing, and asking my mother “why God made me fat.” She didn’t have an answer for me. Probably because there wasn’t one.

I’ve since come to believe that God didn’t make me fat. . . food did. And I also have realized that I wasn’t really all that fat. I wasn’t slight by any means, but the middle school taunts created an image in my head of myself as a bloated, disgusting, ugly, fat thing. I always wanted to be skinny and pretty, I just couldn’t do it. I was the fat girl. Smart, funny, blessed with great skin and a killer set of cheekbones, but fat. Every once in awhile, I’d get to a point of total self disgust and vow to give up this or that, and exercise this much. Guess how well that went. I tried countless plans, ambitiously taking hideous “before” pictures and gearing up to finally be pretty if I could just learn to like running.

And then one day, through a process I couldn’t really outline, I woke up and looked in the mirror and realized that I was just fine, thank you very much. I decided I was pretty darn good looking, hips and all. And it was at that moment that I began to lose weight. I stumbled across a plan that looked promising. I signed up and began. And I succeeded. I lost sixty pounds, having three babies in the process and losing baby weight plus a little more each round. The difference was that it came from a place of acceptance, not disdain.

I began to see food as fuel, instead of entertainment. I wrote down what I ate and became aware of my body and how it felt when it ate what. Then, I began to move. I had always dreamed of running a marathon, but then would remember that I hated running. Most people would see that as an impediment. So, I decided to go out and run until I didn’t like it, and then I’d stop and walk. I put zero pressure on myself. That’s the place of acceptance talking. I wasn’t in a race to become a different person, just a journey to be a better one. So, the first time I went out I probably ran 30 seconds, then walked the rest of the way. Bit by bit, I began to enjoy the running portions more. I ran/walked my first 10K in 2002 and ran my first marathon in 2005. Running has become a sort of meditation for me, a place I never dreamed I’d reach on that first “jog.”

In the years since I began to change my body and my lifestyle, I’ve had several peaks and valleys. I reached the jean size that I had once thought would be the pinnacle of success and beauty. But I rarely feel successful or beautiful; I still somehow always yearn to be a little skinnier, a little stronger, a little more beautiful. When I hit low points, when food suddenly takes over my life again, I feel terrible about myself and wonder how I can get back to that good place again, that place where I relish the good feeling of healthy eating and steady exercise. I have learned though, that those feelings don’t create self worth, they follow it.

I am realizing that the idea that I’ll be good enough when I lose ten more pounds, or finally give up sugar, or can run a 5K in under 29 minutes is going to destroy me. I am good right now. I was good 60 pounds ago. I am happier now and grateful to have lost that weight. I don’t know where my life would be if I hadn’t turned that healthy corner. The fact that I did turn that corner when I did proves I was good then. And I am good now. That I consistently yearn to be better proves that I am good. And I’ll keep getting better.

Lots-o-funness

Not sure if that is a word, but thought I'd post here that I just did fun updates on the family blog: www.damanandmo.blogspot.com It includes two hilarious, adorable videos of Lucy singing that you just don't want to miss. I will watch them anytime any grumpiness arises.

For Anabelle. . . .

This story is for my nearly four year old niece, Anabelle. She is a wildly unique kid, with a flair and imagination that makes life very interesting for her family. But, maybe even really funny, really interesting kids need a break. . isn't that okay? I love you Anabelle!!

Funny Anabelle

Lots of Updates

For anyone interested in our family goings on, I've just spent some serious chunks of time (before Seminary zaps it up) updating our family blog. We've gone private, so if you want to see it, you can send me an email, or leave your email in a comment here. It is www.damanandmo.blogspot.com Hopefully more stories coming soon too!!!

For Tagg. . . .

Tagg is three and has a frog named Frosty. I'm not sure why, but when I heard about that, I figured I'd create my own backstory. Love you Tagg!
Frosty the Frog

For Lila. . .

She just turned two and she dances and sings all day long. And she got a baby sister instead of a puppy. . so this one is for you Lila.
Princess Lila's Puppy

A Photo Shoot, a Princess, and a Whopper.

Now doesn't that sound like a full day? The super cool idea came where most super cool ideas come. . . at Target. I had this gift card burning a hole in my wallet, and rather than spend it all on luna bars (tempting) I decided to get a frame and then fill it with an adorable picture of me and the kids for Daddy D. After circling the frames aisle at least fifteen times looking for something masculine, cool, hip, and unique, I finally found something perfectish. Then came the photo shoot.
Picture People is a wonderful place. A wonderful, crowded place that really should invest in a dvd player or some kind of brain-numbing device for everyone under the age of 17. Especially those that have been jammed into an outfit they hate to smile at a camera being held by someone they don't know. Doesn't it seem obvious that movies should be involved in this process? Honestly. Well, I at least was wise enough not to attempt a solo photo shoot with the kids in any serious kind of fashion. I let them wear what they wanted (except for Emma, I still control her) and brought a bag of books and toys for them to use as props, distractions, or tools of destruction. The photographer really enjoyed what came next, which was me getting crawled on by all three children at varying levels of intensity while at times looking at the camera and yelling "CHEESE!!" Honestly, it was exactly what I wanted. I wanted a picture for Daddy D that would capture the laughter and energy that make our family so fantastic. Of course, another reason it was successful was that, being an evil mother, I put a cookie out there for all cheerful photo participants. Worked like a charm. . .until we found out that the Mrs. Field's cookie shop had been shut down. What kind of soul-less mall czar would close a Mrs. Field's? So, we walked a few laps in search of appropriate sugar laden bribery and as I walked around with Princess Belle a.k.a Lucy, I got to bask in all the smiles she brought. I really think she brightened people's days flitting about in that gown, and I decided she needed to wear it more often just to spread some joy. As one person said, "you only have so many years in your life where you can pull that off, I think she should milk it." I agree.
Well, we found some cookies, and then had another waiting period where I became an even more evil mother and then promised Burger King to whoever could sit on the bench until I said go. And that is why the day ended with a whopper and a very deep breath. Unfortunately I couldn't tell Daddy D anything about why the day was chaotic and I made the kids hide their kid's meal toys so as not to risk discovery of either the bribery or its purpose. But on Father's Day morning when he opened the fan family photo, it was the perfect reaction, and it made it all worth it. It was even better than a cookie. . . almost.

A Belated Birthday Story

So, my nephew turned 12 in December and I am just now getting him his birthday story. In my defense, he is a very demanding audience and I think I froze up a little bit trying to create a story for a twelve year old that also really loves Moby Dick and Lord of the Rings. But, finally I plowed through and finished it. It isn't perfect, but I think it has some good bones to it. I think it is too much for most young readers, but I think the core story and characters have some promise and with some serious editing could make a nice picture book. What do you think blogosphere??
The Trumpet

Zumba Revelations

This last weekend was a gal's weekend with my mom and sisters down at the beach. It was Latin Fest at Virginia Beach and our hips were groovin' to Latin tunes pretty much the whole weekend. On Saturday morning I went on my standard long Saturday jog then hit the waves. It was June and it was beautiful and the water was. . frigid. But, I'd come to the beach and I was going to play in some waves,darnit. Everyone was kind of doing their own thing so I was all on my own, no kids to lather or buckets to lug. So after wading in a bit I took the plunge and quickly hollered out to anyone who would listen, "I AM ALIVE!" Whoo. It was quite a rush. Then I frolicked and dove and swam and really felt the joy of a strong, whole body. Then came Zumba. An hour of shimmying, kicking, hip-popping joy. If I'd been in a dance club as opposed to a big open field full of women in workout clothes, it might have bordered on inappropriate. But, as it was, all I felt was joy and movement and the thrill of having a body that in one morning had ran, swam, and danced. The final zumba instructor that took it home was a pistol. She grooved and shook pretty much everything God gave her and gave us all permission to have a wonderful time doing the same. And the best thing? She was so far from perfect. She jiggled and wobbled, and there wasn't a firm six-pack in sight. But who cared? Noone there, that's for sure. . and apparently she didn't either. It was liberating to watch her and to feel some of my own insecurities shake out as well. Who cares if I don't look like the girl on the cover of Runner's World? I have hips that groove and legs that run and the gumption to jump into very cold water. Who needs a six pack to "glorify God in your body"? Not me. Bring on the music.

Chapters

I once read a book that suggested we mothers take life in chapters. Just like we have to read a book one page at a time and let the story unfold as it will, we have to be aware that every stage of motherhood (and life) has its cans and cannots. Right now I cannot read a novel a week. Right now I cannot set up a quilting frame in my living room. But right now I can get fifteen hugs a day from a toddler that adores me. And I can snuggle on the couch with a three year old who knows without a doubt that Jesus loves her and tells me that He loves me too. Someday those other chapters will come. Chapters with more rest, less sweeping, and maybe,just maybe, some appreciation. But, my head would be pretty sore if I banged it up against the wall wanting all that now. Life is in chapters, and I think we enjoy the book more if we don't rush it.
So, if life comes at us in chapters, is a day a page? Is an hour a paragraph? Are there things in the morning I need to seize because they simply won't come again later in the day? I think so. These kids are growing up and time is passing. Sitting around this afternoon doing nothing but ordering carrot soup and hot chocolate from the stuffed animal restaurant staffed by Isaac and Lucy was a wonderfully unproductive chapter in my life. I think I need more of those. Do you?

The End. . . for now

Today was my last day of teaching Early Morning Seminary. Until September. I am exhausted and waffle between this overwhelming gratitude for the fact that I get to sleep in until 6:30 on Monday morning, and dread for how I'm going to make it through an entire year of exhaustion next go round. And then I'm wondering if God's blessings are prorated. Many blessings have been showered on my family as we've all placed something on the Seminary altar over the last six months. I can't pinpoint what blessing is attached to what leap of faith, but I do know that we are happier than we've been in awhile and I hope that doesn't expire over my 3 month sabbatical. I have learned so much about myself over these last six months. I've learned that when we are weary, the Lord is not. I've learned that when I am weak, He is strong. I've learned that saying no is okay and naps are sometimes necessary. I've been amazed by the support of a husband that handles breakfast every morning and deals with mediocre housework when Fridays roll around and it takes most of my energy to will my heart to keep beating. He is okay with sandwiches for dinner and that is quite the boon. I've prayed for these youth, ached for them to feel the love of God, the power of the Word, and the importance of this time in life. I've cried that I can't go on, fully aware that both God and I know that I will do just that. I will go on. "Let the weak say, I am strong." (Joel 3:10) Let the tired say, I'll get up anyway. Let the teenager say, God actually loves me. And let this mom say, I've never loved a Friday so much in my life.

The Wind Blows. . . Ether 1-6

The wind blows and the storms rage, but if we build our boats the right way, all that force pushes us to a happy, promised place. The Lord will not suffer us to stop until we reach that promised land (2:7) because He knows that there is a peace there that we can only enjoy after we've braved the storms. He promised the Jaredites that he would "prepare (them) against these things." (2:25)What are "these things"? Wind and rain, floods and waves, bumps and bruises, discouragement and despair. Our boats aren't in the ocean, but they are in life and that gets awfully bumpy sometimes. But "who knoweth but the Lord will carry us foth into a land which is choice above all the earth?" (1:38) I can't imagine the places where God will take me. The map I drew for myself 10 years ago was way off. . thank goodness. I know that God has blessings reserved for us we cannot imagine and every wind that He sends is aimed at getting us to a place where we can receive them. Blow winds blow.

Who Will I Be?

Today I watched this

It made me think alot of things. It made me get up and jump one more time on the trampoline with my daughter. . just because I could. It made me ponder how quickly life can change so completely. And it made me think alot about the woman I am, the woman I want to be, and if I am busy bridging that gap. I thought about talents I have and how I can use them to build up the Kingdom of God. First and foremost my stewardship is my children. My job, above all, I believe is to bring them to Jesus Christ. But I have to know the way before I can show the way. And along that path to bringing my children to Christ, I can reach out my hand and invite others to come and see. Come and see what makes me happy. Come and see and read and think.
So, out of all this pondering came an idea. This site has been used (sporadically) to post stories I am writing. And there will be those. But, I've decided that this will also be a place to share what I learn from the scriptures and the Spirit. Most will be brief. Some will be long. All, I hope, will be helpful. I know God lives and I know He speaks to us through His scriptures. And we can become more like Him as we read His words, then stop and think about what He wants us to do with them.
. . . so today. . . I read in Mormon 9. As a recap, this is Moroni speaking. Everyone he loves has been killed. It is near the end of The Book of Mormon. The Lamanites have destroyed every Nephite and now Moroni is left to wander for 20 years, writing, wondering, and observing. I can't imagine this is a happy time of life. And yet, he writes: "I will show unto you a God of miracles. . . Behold are not the things that God hath wrought marvelous in our eyes? Yea, and who can comprehend the marvelous works of God?" Does that sound like someone who has seen hundreds and thousands of his people hewn down? Does that sound like someone totally, utterly alone? It sounds to me like someone who looks around and sees the Hand of God when most people would look around and assume God was taking some time off. Miracles have not ceased. If they hadn't ceased for Mormon, they certainly haven't ceased for me. Maybe I can make it through Seminary after all. What miracles do you need??

The Red Wagon. . . Revisited

So, I got an encouraging rejection letter from Barefoot Books. I sent them a story (my first one, so a bit rough) and though it wasn't a good fit, they liked my voice and style and asked to see other things I've done. I think this story is a better fit for them, so I'd like to submit it. But, I'd also like as many eyes on it as possible before that. Please read and read it to your kids and let me know your thoughts--and especially theirs! It is a longish picture book, meant for kids probably between ages 4-7 or so. I think the ending is a bit abrupt, but I don't want to stretch it out too long, and I like the kind of open-ended nature of the story in general. Please let me know what you think!!

The Red Wagon Revised

For Caroline. . .

This is a very belated birthday story for my niece who just turned five. I had started a princess/fairy/musketeer story, but decided to write something that spoke to the beautiful relationship between my niece and her mother. They've been through alot together and are really wonderful friends. Again--thoughts welcome!

The Red Wagon

For Mia. . .

I wrote this for my 9 year old niece, Mia. I wrote it in August and have reworked a bit since then. I'm not sure what I want to do with it, but I love Midgie and Fiona and could see them so clearly in my mind as I wrote it. I would have to seriously chop it to be a picture book, and it is a little short to be a chapter book or short novel, but I could definitely expand it. Thoughts welcome. Enjoy!

The Fairy Teller

I'm Baack!!

New computer. New year. Heck, a new friggin' decade. So why not a new post on this blog I've maintained in a love/hate sort of way. How many epiphanies can one woman have? Who knows, but I don't think I've met my quota. But, this year I'm planning on writing a lot more. I've recently started writing stories for my nieces and nephews and suddenly remembered that I love writing. I read this interview the other day with a "Movie Mom," some mom who midnights as a movie critic. When asked how she landed the job, she said that she thought the key to securing your dream job is to just start acting like you have it. So she decided to start reviewing movies as if people were going to read it, and eventually people did. Shrugging, I said, "I can do that." I've dreamed of becoming a writer, but every time I sit down to write it comes out awkward and forced and so I walk away and leave my dream on the computer screen. Noone is going to get better at writing without writing, so I used my birthday story plan as an impetus to write again. And now I'm harnessing the power of free online publishing to do the same. I'll post my stories on here and welcome lots of constructive criticism. If you just think they are horrible, keep that to yourself, these are my dreams you're messing with pal. Anyway, this blog was formerly dedicated to food and running and sugar and weight loss, but that journey is a bit too prickly and private for the electronic world. But, stories and thoughts and general word sculpture I'm game to share. We'll see how it flies. Happy New Year.

By the way--isn't that header picture cool? Totally accidental, but I think it a lovely accident.