The Testosterone Triangle

A modern comic tells of his family situation by describing the environment in which he  lives. he says, "In my house there's my two daughters and my wife and I. Next door there's my sister-in-law and my three nieces. Between My girls, my wife's family and frequent visits from my mother-in-law...I live knee deep in the estrogen ocean."
He talks about the hair care products, the multiple lotions, perfumes and polishes. He rants and raves about the clothing, accessories, and hormones that fly around him constantly. I laugh every time I hear him tell about it because I remember growing up with my sisters, friends and cousins ;all of us knee deep in the estrogen ocean. The difference was we were acclimated.
Now, as the only female in a house full of men, I find myself lost in the testosterone triangle.
It is a group of highly dangerous, complicated and nonsensical islands that bring down sane, rational, normal women from every walk of life.
The major islands in this destructive chain are named: socially inappropriate body noises, the 'nothing box', short term thinking, and short circuited brain function.
Between my husband's 'white board' mentality. In his words his brain is a white board. Everything is written down on it, considered for quantity of importance and then wiped clean of everything that doesn't matter. This boils down to what things cost. How much effort is involved. What temperature the environment is and whether or not it will cause confusion for females traveling in the triangle.
Take this mind-set and combine it with boys who #1 know everything. #2 are never wrong and #3 will do it again, stir in a little hormonal imbalance, a touch of immortality and a dash of inflated self importance, and you live in the Testosterone triangle as well.
Its fraught with backward logic...i.e. "Well if I told you i wrecked the car you'd kill me. If you found out about it from someone else, the only person who gets hurt is you.
Its a tangled obstacle course of silence, 'read my mind' don't ask me questions, and What do you mean I can't choose my consequences?
As the only woman, deep in the testosterone triangle, I also get the benefit of awkward attempts at charm, flirtation and sweetness before they go out into the world and try them on 'real girls'. I take my little boys, feed them, clothe them, potty-train them , bandage their scraped knees, wipe away their tears only to have them shut me out, roll their eyes and reduce their vocabulary to 'whatever', while I try to navigate   their world during their ascension  to becoming men.
When they're gone and the shipwrecks of dirty laundry, dirty mouths and dirty bathrooms along with the plane crashes  of broken hearts, totaled friendships and shattered confidence, lie as a pile in the wreckage of my memory, I'll look back with fondness as they become a safe harbor for their little ones and the port of call for the lucky girl they marry.
Then I'll go back to 'the triangle', cry in their rooms and thank my Father-In-Heaven He gave me the chance to crash into their world for a little while.
I Love you boys!

Keep Up!

In the years before we moved to the little town where we now live, my family lived in downtown St. George, Utah. At the time, St. George was about 60,000 people. There was a bus system, taxi cabs, and of course plenty of sidewalks. Good news for a blind person.
When my kids were younger, we explored and entertained ourselves by riding the bus, walking and riding bikes and scooters all over town. I had limited sight then and used my ears to keep track of the boys vs the traffic. We had great fun and adventures together, traveling miles and miles all over town. We picnicked, played in parks, swam and fed the ducks. My kidneys were failing and my diabetes had to be controlled so I was exhausted, but it was a blast.
A few years ago when I shattered my kneecap, those days ended. I could no longer run, scooter or walk very far without horrible pain. The form of exercise I'd always used to stay healthy, in shape and active was gone. The physical therapist told me the best way to keep from becoming unable to walk at all was to keep my knee strong. The knee cap was gone but the muscles in my legs would support my weight and I could keep going as long as my legs held out. I went from walking miles every single day to steps, streets, blocks and eventually working my way back to a few miles. Downhill was a struggle, as my knee couldn't hold my weight. Uphill was also tough, but I figured out how to lift with my good leg and just support my weight for a second with the other.
The pain was the hardest part. Every step felt like someone had driven a knife into my leg and eventually I couldn't walk on it.
This new part of my life brought on new challenges I'd never faced before. I didn't know if I could keep up with my kids, keep up with all I had to do when walking was my only form of transportation, or just keep up my strength.
One day as I struggled down the sidewalk with my youngest, half limping, half walking to get him to his soccer game on time, I started to cry. How was I supposed to function as a mom, a wife, a daughter of God when I couldn't even walk anymore? As I struggled onward, each step painful and slow,  I cried away my frustration with every step until I collapsed on the sidelines of the soccer field. The pain eased, the tears stopped and the soccer game went forward.
Yes, we were a minute or so late. My son cheered with the rest of the team and got on the field a few minutes later. I stretched my leg, rested, and gulped water like I was dying, but it eased until I could walk to the bleachers.
It was at that point, I realized. I'm never again going to ride scooters, run, or walk miles and miles with my boys. I'll never play co-ed softball with my husband or dance like I did when I was in New York.
I will however, keep up. God gave me the strength, the tenacity and the sheer stubbornness to do what ever had to be done. Isn't that what every one of us hopes for? The strength, and tenacity to keep going?
For some people its to keep up with their kids. For others its just to keep themselves out of jail, off the ground, or close to The Lord.
It doesn't matter what bone, or muscle, or body part is missing. It only matters that you have everything you need.
Everything to love, laugh,  and go one more moment further.
I still ride the bus, walk, limp often, and skip some activities. I don't however let what doesn't work determine how happy, loved, or lucky I am. It could be a whole lot worse.
When keeping up with the neighbors, or the other moms, or with anyone else, becomes more important than doing what you can and being happy about it, then you're not keeping up.
God loves you. He has given you all the strength, wisdom and comfort any of us will ever need. More than we can handle if we look around and see how blessed we are. So , the truth is...What else is there to try to keep up with?

The Edge Of The Light

I've learned the lessons of light and darkness over the last 20 years. As I went from sighted, to visually impaired and finally, totally blind, my faith in God and the people around me has grown. A few small steps at first, but by leaps and bounds as I trusted, walked, fell and found my self in His loving arms. I first learned this lesson though, when I was 20 years old.
As  a college sophomore, spring break, held the promise of parties, guys and fun for a week. For the college it was not during the school's break, it was during the high school's. My roommates and I still had to go to class, our on-campus jobs and labs. At night though, the pull of the music and the crowds couldn't be ignored.
In the parking lot of a grocery store a block away from our apartment, there was a crane set up for bungee jumping. It was at least fifty feet in the air and held a spot light on the platform from where kids would jump.
I'd seen it before, I'd watched other  people screaming from the top, plunging into the darkness, only to come up laughing.
One night my roommates and I decided we'd jump. A friend of ours was working the crane and he told us he'd give us one jump for free.
Climbing up the the light at the top of the platform wasn't nerve wracking at all. Our friend was at the top. He was charming, funny, and totally confident. He rigged us all into harnesses, explained what would happen, and warned us to relax and not stiffen during the fall.
We huddled around him and the light as the people in front of us took their turns. One girl was hysterical and had to be lowered down. Most looked either a little impaired or just plain crazy. When it was my turn, I left the circle of light where my friends stood and walked forward on the platform. Chris hooked up my harness, tested the connections and stepped back with a grin.
"Okay, trace, walk to the edge and then just step off."
Easy enough, I remember thinking. Just walk to the edge of the light and then take a few steps into the darkness.This didn't sound deep and profound to me in that moment. I was psyching my self up to jump. Taking those first few steps was terrifying. It was pitch black below. I could hear the people on the ground laughing and talking. I could hear Chris and my roommates behind me. All I could think...Take a step into the darkness.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and walked off the edge.
The drop was a thrill, a terror, and the most fun I had that spring break. I flew for about 3 seconds, got my shoulders wrenched on the landing and never felt more free than during that three second fall.
It was years later when I'd lost my eyesight that the memory of that night came back to me. The feeling of absolute terror before I took the step into the darkness and the adrenaline soaked moments of the fall following.
As more falling moments approached me, I always pulled up the memory of the bungee jump and reminded myself. No matter how frightened I was, I wouldn't give up the ride to stay safe back on the ground. My harness in life, is my Savior. I expect to fall, its part of the ride. I also expect Him to catch me at the bottom, and He always does. Sometimes I wrench my shoulder as He stops me from crashing. Sometimes I end up with broken bones, surgeries and minor injuries, but He always catches me. I never worry about hitting the ground at the bottom, sometimes I never even fall. No matter what happens when I step out though, He is always with me. In His arms I'm always safe and I love the ride.

Reflections

This past weekend, I had a good friend, who took care of me. Perhaps she got tired of looking at my plain, unadorned face. Maybe my mop of brown hair made her want to pull it all out. For whatever reason, she straightened the rebellious curl out and taught me what make-up was for and how to apply it.
It was a lot of fun. I haven't had someone do that for me since I first lost my sight and my sisters tried to help by doing my makeup every day. 20 years without seeing your own face has definite benefits.
The last picture I have in my head of myself was from when I was in my early twenties. Imagine if your mirror worked that way and every time you looked in the mirror, all you saw was the twenty-year-old you used to be. Awesome! Its one of my favorite things about being blind. Everyone, including myself, look like they're in their twenties. They also look like movie stars and supermodels. What a beautiful place the world is!
Logically and sensibly, I know this isn't true. I know I don't have beautiful green eyes, long dark, pretty hair and high cheek bones. Without the mirror's reflection to tell me I'm wrong though...its easy to pretend.
So here's the down fall. If you ever see me, you get just me. No glamour, no style, no hiding of my flaws. Without a reflection to tell me what needs to be different, the flaws and scars and marks are written all over my face.
Worse than the absence of a mirror to look in, is the absence of self reflection.
In our own eyes...we're super models and movie stars, internally though, we feel like bag ladies and street bums. Our spiritual 'make-up' is a physical mask of denial. We're so afraid of the truth beneath the mask, that in all reality we're covering up a road map leading to purity and success.
If the reflection you see haunts you even when your physical appearance is gorgeous. Take off the make-up and uncover the parts of you that would be perfect if you allow The Savior to fill them in.
The cover-up is an illusion of beauty. True glamour is in the loving of others, your self and Him. If you do that, than who ever sees you without your mask doesn't matter. In His reflection you're perfect.

Going Down.

It happened again.I'm walking along at about 2 miles an hour and the sidewalk shifts beneath my feet and I fall. This time I just skin my knee/elbow/hand, curse the sidewalk architects, and keep walking. Later I discover a bit of blood or skin hanging from my wound. Its annoying, even irritating, but not life changing. I avoid those kind's of falls I'm tired of being hurt. I'm tired of scars and I'm tired of looking like i'm too uncoordinated to walk like a human. So I brace myself for the uneven sidewalk. I step around the spot in the road where I know there is a metal grate and I cross the street before I have to maneuver through construction. I expect the downfalls in the road and I go around as many of them as possible.
As I walked to the bus stop with my kids, I tripped, once again, on the steep drive a block before the stop. I caught myself and made a mental note to avoid the sidewalk on the block, instead walking in the gutter because its easier. As I grumbled under my breath about it, my son took my hand and said, "Its okay mom, I'll hold onto you and then when you trip you won't fall."
My boys spent the day with me, holding my hand, leading me through obstacles and tugging me in the direction they wanted me to go. By the time our travels were over...6 hours later I told them I felt like a piece of taffy.
"Salt water, or the strawberry kind with the jokes on the wrapper," my son replied. "Because I like Strawberry."
I was tempted to make some remark about his snarky, teenager, sense of humor just as I heard the smile in his voice. I laughed instead. He laughed too. All was right in the world in that moment because I let go long enough to understand. My boys were protecting me. Holding me up when I was going down. Steadying me when my feet couldn't find solid ground. Guiding me toward safety and my destination. I was frustrated that I had to trip, fall, and deal with the aftermath and they were telling me jokes and laughing.
What I wanted was to stop going down. They were doing the job both physically and in spirit. Reminding me that I can laugh, hold my kids hands, and walk. Blessings not everyone enjoys. The little things all of us take for granted are often the ones that make the biggest difference. Imagine the heartache of a mother who will never hold her child's hand again. Picture the turmoil of someone who will never take another step. Cry for the individual who lives in darkness so complete that they'll never laugh...with anyone.
If you can imagine these scenarios, heartaches, and struggles then you can also find gratitude for the fact that you have a hand to hold, a tear to cry and laughter to lift you when you're going down. Life will always be filled with scattered obstacles and pitfalls. The little things will give you a lift if you look for them and smile when you have the chance.

Surgical Steel

Not long ago I spent a day or so in the hospital following another surgical procedure. Putting the broken pieces of my body back together again is a lot like Humptey Dumpty, its a process. The procedure was no big deal and fairly non-invasive so I didn't worry too much about it, until I talked to my youngest son a few days later.
"You're like a bionic person, Mom." he told me, when I explained the surgery. I shook my head and told him there were no borrowed organs, removed bones, arteries and veins sewed together or tubes implanted this time. It was no big deal. He laughed at me.
"You've got Uncle Rob's kidney, someone Else's pancreas, a glass eye, a missing knee cap and scaffolding holding up  your heart. How many surgeries have you had?"
Well, that got me thinking. I had my first surgical procedure done when I was 14 years old and one of my toes quit growing and fused into the joint.As I worked my way through the years, I realized that between kidney problems, diabetes, heart disease, blindness and the side effects of their treatments, I've had surgery 13 times.
When I told my10-year-old, he gasped. "Is that normal?"
We laughed about it, and I wondered. "Normal" is never a distinction I worried about. After all, what is 'normal' except that which we all think we are and everyone else isn't.
"The truth though; its not normal,. Is it Okay?
When bones are broken beyond repair or body parts need to be replaced, doctors don't use Aluminum foil, or lead, or iron. They use surgical steel. A special mixture of alloys and chemicals that will be stronger, just as flexible, sometimes more, and can withstand the abuse from what a human body will place it under. Its not normal. Its forged, fired and fabricated especially for work nothing else can do. Its sold through special distributors., Its handled by special doctors and it enhances in a way nothing else can.
God didn't create us to be 'normal'. He didn't put us here to decorate the planet in pretty colors.,. He created us to be steel, different than any other creation stronger, faster, better spiritually, for the difficult journey back to Him. Its not supposed to be easy, that's for aluminum creations. Easy, comfortable, and spoiled, is for lead-based individuals who can't stand the pressure of being great.
If you find yourselves in the fiery forge wondering why you're not living an easier life; its because you're steel. You're special, uncommon...Great! You don't want to be 'normal', on the junk pile or crumpled like an empty aluminum can. Not when your mind, heart and soul were meant to be surgical steel.

Beat The Heat

There's an old joke told by a pioneer from the late 1800's about my little corner of the Mojave desert. It goes..."If you owned a house in St. George and a house in Hell, you'd sell your house in St. George and move to Hell. Its cooler."
The record breaking heat in this part of the country is the reason some people in the desert have a summer and a winter home. In the dead of winter, the 60 and 70 degree temperatures are heaven. In the summer however, well...you heard the one about it being cooler in Hell.
Around here we find every opportunity we can to escape the blistering temperatures. We head north for cooler weather.We hide out in our air conditioned houses.  We swim everywhere and anywhere there is water. Pools, rivers, ditches and even puddles if we can find them. Water, in the desert is an invaluable commodity and priceless at this time of year.
When we are literally being baptized by fire around here, the water is our most beloved asset. Before the mormon pioneers arrived in this corner of the desert, the growth rings in the trees were thin and showed the devastation of living in dry, hot climates. Since the late 1800's the growth rings in the trees have tripled. Because the population has brought more moisture to the desert? Because human ingenuity has channeled run-off, guided water sources and unearthed hidden wells?
Actually its because..."the desert blooms like a garden unto the Lord..."
It's a promise God gave to the native American people who inhabited these lands thousands of years ago. "See2 Nephi 8:3)
There's a ton of stories from the people of this area about promises made to the residents if we were righteous, fasted, prayed and trusted The Lord.
Promises of rain, a break in the heat and sufficient water. According to The Washington County Water Conservancy District. Washington county saves 28 % of its water resources compared to the rest of the state which saves 18%. How do we do it? How do we beat the intense heat of the Mojave and still protect our precious water?
We believe in God. We trust Him and We wait upon Him for the living water He freely offers.
If Hell is cooler than St. George than the lesson we learn is that in The Lord's hands, even the fires of Hell have no hold on His children who believe, work and obey.
Maybe our little corner of the desert isn't really hell, but in the flooding of 2005 Death Valley, the hottest part of the Mojave, had plants, flowers and greenery cover its land. Plants that hadn't been seen in 100 years. Flowers that were rumored to bloom, but never had, and rocky, barren ground sprouting moss, vines and roots otherwise never before seen. How could you not beat the heat in a garden like that?

Independence Is A Fight

One of the very first things you learn when you lose your eyesight, if you find people like The National Federation of The Blind, is the importance of independence. I tell people all the time..."I appreciate your help, but unless you're going to follow me around for the rest of my life, teach me. Don't do it for me."
Often it is easier and makes the sighted person feel better, if a blind person just takes their arm and is led around. I must admit, if I'm not learning a new place or working on my independence skills, I'll gladly meet someone new, or hang out with a friend instead of doing it myself. Not because I can't, or don't want to be independant, solely because people have always been more important to me than anything else. I am, however, an extremely independent person. If I can do it alone, I will. Try telling me I can't.
I've spent nearly two decades of my life earning the right to be independant though. I fell down, broke bones, dodged on-coming traffic, crashed my bicycle, and walked a thousand miles to earn the courage and confidence it takes to do the things regular people take for granted everyday.
We live in an affluent society with blessings and benefits people in other parts of the world can only imagine. We didn't get them from the government or from a president. We didn't even earn most of them ourselves. We stand on the shoulders of men and women who suffer seperation from their families, physical and psychological wounds, and the loss of innocence. They see the horrors so we don't have to. They take the chances so none of us do. They sacrifice so we live in peace and comfort.
Independence is a fight. It's earned through hard times, blood, sweat and tears. When our lives get harder than we want we cry, allright, but not over lost loved ones or the ravages of war. We cry for the price of gas, for the broken air conditioner or the annual percentage rate  causing our bank accounts to bleed. What are we fighting for?
For the government to 'fix' the economy so we work less? For politicians to give us more tax breaks so we can go on more vacations? For the price of fuel to be lower so we can stay in our air conditioned cars longer?
A time will come...very soon, when we must fight for our right to worship God, to raise our children in safe neighborhoods and for the right to feed our kids.
Pretending the toughest thing we'll fight for is a greener lawn or better gas mileage is foolish. Independence will come when we fight for families, peace and freedom from evil. Don't give up the fight!

Forever Family Parties

Yesterday would have been my Dad's 70 th birthday. I picture him with his grand children gathered around him. Eating birthday cake, giving him Birthday hugs and wishes while teasing him about getting old. We'd find a crazy birthday card that makes fun of how old he is and how he is the best Dad and Grandpa EVER! Then we'd all go home until our next family get together.
My cousin Julie mentioned on facebook today that when her mother passed to God's presence this past year, she was met on the other side by people like my Dad, our grandmother, who we all adored, my Grandfather, two uncles and a whole host of family. I picture it much like the a fore mentioned party, but without the wrinkles and the funny cards.
I believe that God intended families to be together, forever. Not just for birthday parties and holidays her on earth, but for every warm, happy, fun occasion we can think of. These times I picture the party my deceased family is having and the one each of us wishes we could have as well. A little piece of me crumbles and dies when I realize what an enormous blockade death makes to all of us being together.
Truthfully, though, Death is only a blockade for the living. Those of us who cling to this life with fervor and faith live avoiding or denying death. On the other side though, they wait with bated breath for us to come to the forever family party.
I've spent my entire life fighting the inevitability of death only to realize it comes for each of us until we are all together again. Those who die before us celebrate the day when they are joined with those who were left behind. Those left behind mourn our loneliness until we can join our loved ones. The time between is painful, lonely and dark without those we love.
The good news is...its but a moment in a dark tunnel until we join the party as well. I live my life in complete darkness except for the light I find in my children, my husband, my family, friends and my Savior. When the party lights come on I hope to see my father's face. Feel the embrace of my Grandmother's arms and see the lovely smile of my Aunt Caroline. to kiss Colby Bird and thank him for sharing his organs and his beautiful family with me. I can't wait to meet my Savior and wash his feet with my tears. I'll wait to become strong enough and smart enough to have finished my course, but I look forward to the Forever Family Party. Just imagine what a party it will be.Save me some cake, Daddy!

Tiny, Tender Treasures

My ten-year-old promised me this weekend, he'd never be a 'snotty teenager'. I know its just because he's only ten, but a part of me wishes he was right. My mind drifts back to when my 15-year-old was less than five pounds and barely breathing.
When my son was born it was after 12 weeks of bed rest and 72 hours of labor. As difficult as those weeks leading up to his birth were, it was nothing compared to what would come next. His tiny little body was black and blue from the delivery and the forceps they used to deliver him. His body was so fragile , I was terrified I'd hurt him if I touched him. The nurses warned me rubbing his little arms and legs felt to him like I rubbed his sunburn. The nerves were so sensitive. He had tubes leading from his feet, his belly, where his umbilical cord had been, his nose and his chest. Every breath he took was an effort and he didn't make a sound. I was in pain from the delivery and the bed rest but I sat for hours beside his bed and listened to the sound of his monitors recording his heart beat as he slept.
By the time my youngest was born, I was prepared for the long hours and slow progress of a newborn, premature baby. Little did I know. It was torture not being able to hold him, touch him, or rock him to sleep at night. He couldn't nurse, he was too small, he couldn't breathe, he'd popped his lung the night he was born. My only solace came from the nurses who told me his heart rate and breathing were labored and too fast until I'd come into NICU. As soon as he heard my voice, he'd settle down and rest. His respiratory and heart rate slowing to a normal pace. I sat on a stool beside his bed for hours to keep his little body working. I cried, missed him terribly and wanted nothing more than to bring him home.
In the years between his birth and now, the hard times at the beginning of his life are distant memories with the ache of past pain and a smile for how precious a blessing he's been in my life.
In those moments with my tiny, tender treasures, I knew how blessed and fortunate I was to have moments to treasure my child. When he talks back to me, argues to hear his own brilliance and wants nothing to do with me, I remember why I loved him enough to go through those difficult hours where he was all that mattered. When his tiny hand wrapped around my finger and it brought tears to my eyes. When his blue eyes opened to look at me. When his laughter filled our home and when he kisses me goodbye before he leaves for work.
The moments that are painful make the moments of triumph more precious and valuable. Moments that seem eternal in their darkness, but are brilliant in their treasures. I wish I'd known to enjoy the long, precious moments I had with my premature babies. I'd have lived a little more in those moments. I'd have soaked up their love, warmth and need for nothing more than food and a caring hand. The time drags in the hospital where progress doesn't happen in hours or days, but in weeks or months. Treasure the time. Fill it with words of love, tender touches and laughter. The moments will melt away until the memories are all that remain.