Keeping it Real

So I've had a lot of thoughts running around in my head lately.  One of which was that I should blog about something... but what?  I haven't done anything grand lately, I haven't even had any earth-shakingly inspiring thoughts lately, and for some reason I had it in my mind that I shouldn't post unless I had something cool to show or to say. Then I realized how ridiculous that is, and that got me thinking.

A few Sundays ago in our R.S. meeting, the teacher started out her lesson with a discussion about perfectionism vs. striving for perfection.  I am somewhat acquainted with perfectionism, and have seen first-hand how it can negatively affect a person as well as those around them.  The Merriam Webster Dictionary defines perfectionism as "a disposition to regard anything short of perfection as unacceptable; especially :the setting of unrealistically demanding goals accompanied by a disposition to regard failure to achieve them as unacceptable and a sign of personal worthlessness." On the other hand, in his talk to the women of the Church (of course it was to the women, because we all need this so badly) President Uchtdorf stated, "Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. It’s wonderful that you have strengths. And it is part of your mortal experience that you do have weaknesses. God wants to help us to eventually turn all of our weaknesses into strengths, but He knows that this is a long-term goal. He wants us to become perfect, and if we stay on the path of discipleship, one day we will. It’s OK that you’re not quite there yet. Keep working on it, and stop punishing yourself."

Wise words.

When you contrast the definition of perfectionism with President Uchtdorf's words --which is pretty much what the Church is really all about: striving for perfection-- it is obvious how the adversary has twisted an originally good thing, and the erroneous and irrational thinking of perfectionism couldn't be more plain. I also believe that feeling that anything or anyone is worthless is not very Christlike.

A while ago, as I was doing some self-evaluation and wondering if a mid-course correction was in order (which it was, but that's a subject for another day) I came across this little jewel.  It's an interview with a person whom I greatly admire, and who also happens to be the former President of the Relief Society.  She talks about what she does with her free time, and answers a few questions about leisure activities in general ...including blogging.  Coming from a church leader in a religion that encourages constantly being "anxiously engaged in a good cause"(D&C 58:27) I was very interested in what she had to say.  If you have a half hour, listen to the whole thing, if you only have a few minutes, click here and here to hear what she says about blogging specifically.
Basically, it made me start thinking more seriously about what I put on my blog, along with how much time I take to write posts as well as browse the internet and other blogs I like to follow.

I've decided that blogging for me, is a two edged sword.  I do like reading uplifting blogs that give me great ideas and encourage me as a mother.  I like writing and getting things out of my head, feeling a little more connected to the outside world and possibly having something to contribute.  However, sometimes I can tell its not good for me, especially when I go overboard and use it as an escape from unpleasant tasks at hand (like dishes and laundry).  Despite my tendency to avoid housework, I find that it's not just the time it takes, but the toll it takes on my self-esteem and my own sense of well being --because when it comes to blogging and reading other people's blogs (or pinterest --which I'm actually not subscribed to but I check out once in a while, and if I were on facebook, which I'm not, it would also be on this list) I often find myself consumed with both the desire to be everything, and do everything I see, as well feeling very discouraged about who I am and how little I am usually able to actually accomplish along with everything I have to do on a day-to-day basis (basically comparing my worsts to their bests).  When I feel this happening I have to stop and remind myself to be realistic. (Personally, I like to think horrid things about what's not shown in those oh-so-perfect pictures to make myself feel better. I'm not condoning that of course... *ahem*)

Anyway, it got me to thinking about how my blog might come across to others, and if I in any way could possibly be making anyone else out there feel bad about themselves. Now, I flatter myself here by assuming that anyone would be impressed by anything on my little blog --but perhaps I could set a precedent for all bloggers and pinterest-ers out there anyway.

I confess that my childhood, while teaching me many things about the value of hard work and doing things right, also left me with a need to keep up appearances.  I'm sure that wasn't what my parents were trying to teach me when we'd run around frantically cleaning the house if word came that guests were to arrive soon, but you can see how I might have got that impression.  When I do that, my husband may roll his eyes, but kindly humors me, probably thankful for whatever motivation can get me to finally clean the house.  So it's no surprise that sometimes when I take a picture for my blog, I discreetly shove things out of the way first so that my house appears to have some semblance of order.  I don't mean to be dishonest, but who wants to see my dirty laundry?  Besides, if I'm really striving for the ideal can't I pretend I've reached it once in a while?  There's nothing wrong with that, right?  Of course my ideal is a home free of clutter and where my kids pick up after themselves, the dishes are always done immediately after meals, and my counters and floors are spotless, etc. etc. etc...  yeah, okay so I realize it's a bit unrealistic. However I still cling to the hopes that it could be possible. When company comes --through nothing less than super-heroic efforts-- I can usually make the impossible happen (for at least a day or two), thus reinforcing that belief that the ideal can actually exist.  Even my mother (no offense mom) believed it was possible, and yet in 30 years I have never seen it realized for an extended period of time. I know there are people out there who really do know how to make it happen, but so far I haven't learned the secret.

Is it hopeless then?  Well, I don't know that letting go of my hopes and giving up would help anything, (well maybe a bit less anxiety perhaps), and I still think that my (however irrational) need to clean the house before company comes is a good, hospitable, thing to do... And honestly if I can't muster the intrinsic motivation to reach my goals I might as well make the most of whatever bit of pride gives me some extrinsic motivation to get things done.

Although I never thought that it could do any good to see the mess behind the scenes, I've decided I need to be more honest so that nobody else out there is trying to hold themselves up to a fake standard and feeling bad that they can't achieve it day in and day out.

The proverbial straw that broke the camel's back was a blog post I read recently about this very issue. Of course, she has put it much more eloquently than I ever could, and on top of that she is a great example of keeping it real herself, but in hopeful and inspiring ways.

Anyway, all of this put together has inspired me to do something about it.  So here goes.  In case you ever thought I "had it all together" this is the view from where I ate lunch the other day.

Yikes.

Wouldn't this make a great still life? No, it wouldn't, and that's the point.  You see, whoever came up with that oxymoron had a great sense of humor.  Life. is. never. still.  But this is what happens if mom sits still for too long.

I don't think it gets much worse than this.

I'd like to say I just had a bad week (which I did, and that's not uncommon),  but honestly, I think those prints have been there for a month or two.

It's comforting to know that if I died, the baby could probably survive for a few days from what's on the floor. Maybe that's why he puts it there.

Now don't think that just because the cat's out of the bag I'm not going to shove stuff out of the pictures from here on out, but I give you this brief glimpse in an effort to make you all feel better about yourselves, and to help me be more humble.

It's all about context. Right now, at this stage of my life with small children underfoot making every surface sticky, bringing in pocket-loads of sand and dirt, losing toys and hiding "treasures" in the weirdest places, I cannot expect to have an immaculate house. If I tried, I would be a terrible mother and wife.  I do believe that a clean home invites the Spirit, but I also know that when I let a clean home come become more important than my kids the spirit of our home is not a good one.  It's an everyday balancing act. An exhausting one at that.  All I can do is do my best.

Actually, scratch that last sentence.

I am personally not a fan of the phrase, "just do your best."  I never promise to "do my best" because for me, that invites perfectionism.  If I always did my "best" I would literally go crazy. I know what I am capable of and if I held myself to that standard in even one or two things in my life, everything would slip out of balance and I would fail miserably. So, as a personal safeguard, I'll only ever commit to "do what I can." And on those days when what I can do isn't as much as what someone else can appear to do, or even what I was able to do yesterday or last week, or when I was 20, I won't hate myself for it, but I'll keep working to improve just a little bit in every area of my own life and keep moving forward toward that "long-term goal" of perfection. That is really all that is required of us.

Also a word about guilt.  Do I feel guilty for having a house like that (or for how much time I've spent writing this post)?  You bet I do.  I'm not throwing guilt out the window and embracing my messiness or bad habits or anything like that. There is a purpose and a place for guilt --to prod us to action and change.  But if it makes us feel like less of a person, makes us too ashamed to interact positively with other people, discourages us beyond being able to function, makes us think we are unworthy to blog or even worse, unworthy to pray, etc., then it is a tool of the Devil.

So while perusing the internet, and especially during the holiday season, where there is so much around us telling us to do this or that, or even to do less of this or less of that, don't feel guilty about what you do or don't do. Don't compare yourself to others at all (easier said than done, I know). Let's just give it our all, leaving perfection for the long term, and focus on what's truly important for us at whatever point we are in our lives.

And finally, let's give each other a break by keeping it real.

(Although I am adding this much later, here is another great post I found about this very same thing. Everyone should read it.)

Mottled Chameleon

So, I'm having a bit of a blog-identity crisis.

I don't feel that I've kept with the original purpose of this blog, and so when I sit down to write I start feeling all sorts of anxieties and things that try influencing what I post or how it will come out.  Some of it has to do with other blogs I read and how they rub off on me, some of it has to do with what I think other people expect of me, some of it has to do what I expect of myself, and some of it has to do with how I'm feeling in general.

Maybe it's my own identity crisis.

I remember a saying on the wall of a high school English class, right next to the plaque that read "Eschew Obfuscation," but that's beside the point. This other wall hanging read:

I AM

WHAT I THINK

OTHERS THINK

I AM

I don't know who first said this, but it has plagued me for years because I often feel that I fit this description perfectly.  I say plagued, because whenever I fall victim to other people's opinions of me (good or bad), whenever I feel like I am just playing a part to fit in or to keep up appearances, or whenever I listen to the voices inside my head that tell me I have no personality of my own, no original ideas, and that I am just a sad imitation of those whom I admire... this saying comes to mind.

I mean, have you ever had someone ask you if you're feeling sick, or if you've been crying, and suddenly you really do feel sick, or your eyes start welling up even though you're not sad in the least?  It's like being a victim of the force. Please tell me I'm not the only one this happens to.   

To explain this phenomena, aside from the inference that I'm a mindless twit that can be easily swayed by the merest suggestion, when someone asks me if I've been crying --which I rarely do, (okay, rarely did before I had three pregnancies) I suddenly start wracking my brain to think of reasons they would think this and feel sorry for myself, or else I start think of reasons I might have to cry (whether real or imagined) and that inevitably makes get teary-eyed, or sometimes I'm simply touched that someone would go out of their way to ask me something personal, so I start crying. Makes sense right?  

Don't answer that.

So on my mission, soon after arriving in the country and meeting my Mission
President for the first time, he interviewed me to get to know me a bit and assigned me a companion (probably not on the spot, I'm sure he had decided previously and was just seeking confirmation). I don't know what my MTC teachers had told him about me, and I do believe he was working on inspiration for the most part, but in the course of our conversation he labeled me as "bold" and told me that he was putting me with a sister who was meek and timid and could use someone to help her be more bold.

Me?  Bold?!

Now, I may have been outspoken and tactless at times, and perhaps even a little stubborn, but that does not equal bold.  I was anything but bold, especially when it came to sharing the Gospel --which honestly terrified me --especially in a foreign language!
But, bold he thought I was, and so bold I became.  Not always in the best ways mind you --I think I bowled her over and nearly drove her insane.  Poor sweet sister.  She didn't know what to do with me.  I told the elders off, I repeated offensive phrases I had learned to old men who hit on me, and I flatly refused to make phone calls until I could understand what the person was saying on the other end.  Yeah, I was that kind of trainee.
On the other hand, when paired with a companion who the President mentioned was "another red-head" (in the stereotypical sense of the word) and that he thought it might prove interesting (although I didn't consider myself a red-head --maybe auburn or chestnut, but not red), I found that my brand of "boldness" to be useful in not letting her push me around, keeping her out of trouble with the elders (yeah, she was that kind of sister), plus it motivated me to learn the language better so she couldn't do all the talking ...er, I mean, so I could explain what she was really trying to say.   I was paired with her three separate times on my mission, and I truly believe that if I hadn't been my "bold" self, she wouldn't have finished out her mission.
Despite my inner conviction that I wasn't bold, just stubborn, I did however come to recognize how the Mission President's view of me hadn't been so far off after all. Less than half way into my mission, a new companion and I met with a girl we had only taught once before (actually another companion taught her while I took care of a drunk guy in the lobby but that's a whole other story). She had come to see a baptism of another investigator, and afterwards we had our second discussion. Things were going so well, and as I bore my testimony I felt inspired to invite her to be baptized.  She said "yes" and we set a date and she was baptized four weeks later. She was what we call "golden." I didn't think much of it, since it happened so naturally, but later after my mission I learned that an elder who was present at that meeting had written to my parents to say how impressed he was with my boldness.  And it hit me.  Either my mission president had been right all along, or I became that way because that's what was expected of me.  Either way, that's who I was.

Sorry, where was I going with this?  Oh yeah.

I remember writing in my mission journal how much I felt I changed with each companion.  Some were meek, so I was loud, some were pushy, so I was stubborn, some were cool, so I was nerdy, others were nerdy, and well, I was still nerdy. Some were shy so I took charge, some were beautiful and I the ugly duckling, some were troubled and I was calm, some were old and well... okay so I couldn't blame being young on my personality fluctuations, but perhaps my own immaturity was more apparent, I don't know.  I wondered to myself if choosing an eternal companion would be essentially choosing my eternal identity.  There was hardly any consistency to the roles I played, although looking at this list, it may seem that mostly I was just contrary, and perhaps I was but not in the negative sense of the word.  Still, I felt a little lost as to who I really was.  I couldn't so easily label myself one particular thing as others could.  Was I being insincere or dishonest?  Was I not being real or authentic?  I don't believe so.
Then I realized, that that is who I am.  I am the person people need me to be!  I am the friendly one when someone needs a friend, I am the creative one when others are out of ideas, I am the calm one when others are worried, I am the bold one when others are timid.
It's true that I wasn't always my best self, and my fluctuations included times of low self-esteem, but doesn't that happen to everyone?
I'm not always just the opposite of others either (--although I try to avoid the awkwardness or competition associated with being too similar or taking on the same roles).  In high school I fit in with many different people.  I was on the soccer team, and hung out with the sporty types, I was in band and choir and drama, I was a photographer on the yearbook staff, participated in the Russian club and loved AP Chemistry. My best friends were sterling scholars, art royalty, and and student body officers. Overall, my friends were intelligent, kind, hard working and fun.  I hung out with them because I admired them, I appreciated them, I hoped I was like them.  And to some extent I was.  However, at graduation the truth came out.  So many of my friends were surprised to discover that I didn't graduate with honors or high honors.  I even had one well meaning friend comment, "you forgot your cords," and although I was flattered, it kinda stung as I had to explain.  I believe that I was just as intelligent as them, but intelligence doesn't matter much if you're secretly lazy.  It made me resent my diploma in the end. Still, I was grateful for my ability to connect with many different kinds of people, and although I never stood out in any way, no one ever felt threatened by me and I was never the target of any unkindness. It suited me well.

When I got to college, I did well, but I was indecisive about majors.  The voices in my head said it was because I didn't know who I was, or because I wasn't good enough at any one thing to succeed.  It made me feel inferior to people who seemed to have direction and purpose and knew exactly what they wanted to do.  It made me feel like I had no "personality" when I had to explain that I was just a General Education major (...and we all know that girls majoring in General Ed at any Church school are just planning on getting their MRS degree right?).  I felt like if I could at least say I majored in Liberal Arts, it would sound better, but they didn't technically have that major at BYU-I by name.  The real problem was that I had too many interests, and I felt if I chose one, that meant leaving all the others behind.  I went from major to major; Music, English, Psychology, Biology, Education, with minors in P.E., Art, Photography, Child Development, etc.  I even considered transferring to BYU-Provo and majoring in Geneology... but then I met my husband, got married, and soon my credit limit was up (for those of you who don't know, Church schools are too in demand to let you stay around very long, so once you reach a certain number of credits you have to petition to stay, graduate, or move on), so I graduated in "University Studies."  Could that be any more ambiguous?

Over the years though, I've come to realize that however directionless my academic record may seem, however little qualified it makes me for any specific career, I feel that nothing could have prepared me better for my present occupation as a mother and homemaker.

So I guess my point is this.  That who you are is who you are. Whether outside influences affect how you act, and regardless of what people think of you or expect from you, you're still you.  Is a chameleon not a chameleon just because it changes its color?  No.  And it doesn't mean that a mottled one is confused or being dishonest or unauthentic either.  It's just doing it's thing.

Okay so that was a long tangent to get to where I was going.  Hope I didn't obfuscate too much :).

I was talking about the identity of my blog.

So what if my blog is sometimes a travelogue? So what if it sometimes resembles a craft or cooking blog but isn't really?  Who cares if sometimes I am poignant, and other times sarcastic? What does it matter if sometimes I have beautiful pictures I took myself and sometimes pirated images from google?  Will people be bored if I write about myself, my life, my kids?  Will they stop reading if I quote scripture or share my opinions about controversial topics? Do I care if I am shunned from blogging groups because my blog can't fit neatly into any specific category? Is it a problem that I love comments but write it more for myself than anyone else?  Does it mean my blog is lame if I never have any more than 4 followers?

I think not.

It may not be what anyone expects, but this blog is mine, and it is what it is.

I guess I've overcome my blog identity-crisis.

I really should start blogging more, and think less about what others think.

Work of Art?

The balance and simple aesthetics of this particular piece astounds me.  The strong straight lines, paired with the whimsical spattering of the dark color adds multiple dimensions of contrast. The carefully placed human element and the temporary nature of this medium suggests the impermanence of our own existence, and embodies the fleeting moment that is childhood.

Medium:  Mud on White Door

He couldn't have signed it better than if he could actually write.

I  wish I could always see his "masterpieces" as works of art, but generally I just see them as work for me.  Someday I'll miss it, I know, so I'll cherish these moments while I can (after giving a good [loud] lecture and taking away a few privileges).

Honestly though, the look of pure delight on his face and the jubilation in his voice as he announced "I have muddy hands!" almost makes me want to let him play in the mud everyday of his childhood.  However, thinking of all the cat poop that was buried in that particular mud reminds me why I freaked out so bad in the first place.

Sigh. Motherhood...

(I didn't see it at first, but my husband pointed out to me that our  3 yr. old's handprint resembles a smiley face with it's tongue sticking out. Genius!)

Maiden Voyage

Adrift in a makeshift sailboat.

So now that I've made this blog, I'm not sure where to start.


 I admit, in that last post, I actually kinda intimidated myself with big plans to write something profound or meaningful, and yet, right now I don't feel very profound.  I guess I'm really just out of practice.


Thinking profoundly doesn't happen that often when my life seems like an unending sea of diapers and dishes.  I'm concentrating too much on what needs to happen next, and how I'm going to do it, and then putting out the small fires such as pee on the carpet, or a toddler who's escaped the house, or a stain that needs to be soaked, or  figuring out what I am going to feed my family for dinner (actually, in all honesty I hardly ever remember to soak stains). Yet when things do calm down for a moment, I'm usually trying to get a nap (or wasting that precious naptime by escaping on the blogosphere).  Anyway, you get my point.  I hardly ever get time to myself to think.  Even if I do come up with a particularly insightful thought, it usually gets interrupted and forgotten before I can try it out on someone who might actually understand what I'm saying, so I think I gave up a long time ago.


I recently realized something about myself --and it's really quite sad-- that when I am in social situations it seems that all that comes out of my mouth is, "my baby did this," or "my kid did that." I get so embarrassed of myself by only talking about me that I get more nervous and I begin to really jabber about even more mundane things such as potty training or how I organize my tupperware or something.  Maybe, subconsciously, I'm afraid that the other person will come up with some highly intellectual topic of discussion and that I will have nothing to say, so I hog the conversation instead.  Wow. Has my life really sunk so low?  Please tell me I'm not the only one that does this.

Looking for sharks

 I'm hoping that this blog will give me the motivation to start thinking more so I actually have something worthwhile to say, and a place to write it down before I forget it.  It'll take some practice I think. For now, I'll just have to go wherever the winds of thought take me.