Children, and struggles, and a pinch of honesty

The pain of childbirth is over-rated.

A whispered secret passed

to a long line of young ears

until it no longer resembles itself.

It is the easy part of children.

The pushing them out

with the strength of our own muscles,

into the cold open light

of too many voices.

 -  From a poem of mine called "Birthing"

We leave our own childhoods to start raising little ones of our own, with no instructions.  Each one completely different from the one before.  They arrive with their own set of talents and vices.  As parents, we are expected to do the sorting.  To find their strengths, their individual greatness, and somehow help them to turn that into achievements and careers.  It is the kind of task the world's greatest leaders have struggled to do!  Yet, they are OURS.  A part of us, literally.  We love them beyond comprehension.  When they struggle, we do take it personally.

What an accomplishment it is that we, flawed people that we are, manage to give so much to our children.  I am especially talking about mothers here (no disrespect to the Dads).  We provide for them, not only the basic needs of life, but the very best of who we are.  We "save the dessert for them."  Sometimes other people receive our anger and our frustration, but we love and hug our children even when we want to cry. Always attempting, not always succeeding, to keep our best love for them.

As a new mother, in a small hospital in Northern Minnesota, with my newborn first son Dakota in my arms, I did not know, or even partially anticipate, the heartbreaking trail that lay ahead of me.  The years of my life that I would pour everything I had, and more than that, into the care of him and his younger brothers.  I'm glad that I didn't know.  Glad that I was blissfully ignorant.  Because in those same moments were also such happiness and laughter.  These sons of mine teach me and entertain me every single day.  I still struggle, and I am often hard on myself.  Today, however, I am thinking of the absolutely amazing contributions that we, as parents, make to our children's lives.  No one else on this earth will ever love them so unconditionally, or have the same influence on their lives.  I'm thinking that maybe . . . just maybe . . . we should be kinder to ourselves and go eat some cheesecake!

Once, or twice upon a time...

Our spirits are old.  None of us know how old we are in the eternal perspective of things.  But we know we have been around for a long time, trying to perfect ourselves.

I only know the next part because my mother told me. When I was very young, not able to write the letters of the alphabet yet, I would cut out pictures from my parents magazines with my plastic scissors.  They were mostly National Geographic and Time magazines.  The kind with those great photos of people and places. I would then glue (or paste) a photo on a piece of paper.  All alone, I would sit and write underneath the mounted picture, in unreadable up and down, heart rhythm looking lines.  No one could translate my story, but I would read them to my parents, and they were my stories about the life of the person in the photo. Mom said I chose the saddest ones.  Those whose lives appeared to be difficult.  I was drawn to their complication in some way.

Growing up I was always writing when I was alone in my room.  Not because it was an assignment, but because it was just what I did.  I have no memory of not doing that.  I was in Junior high when I was told by friends that not everyone does.  I thought it was something natural to everyone.  I remember when my mom told me the above story.  She said, "Writing has always been a part of you.  You were writing before you knew how to make letters."

I have been thinking of this.  Clearly, I was born with a love for this talent that I have worked to improve. I am sure, in my heart, that I was writing (in some form, or for some reason) long before I came to this earth. I am by no means a prodigy, but what about the real masters of art, science, music, etc?  The names we all know.  The Picassos and Einsteins of this world.  What would their parents tell about them? They must be those souls who remained closest to their God given talents and perfected them for many thousands of years. Like the parable of the talents.  They took their talent and made it grow.  It's a beautiful thing to ponder about, don't you think?

Conflicted mother

Here is the photo from a Stake dance.  My 15 year old son has a serious enough crush on an older woman (one year) that they are "talking about dating when they are old enough."  *Cough, choke*

A part of me wants to get slightly paranoid because. . . well just because.

Another part of me thinks this pic is adorable.  She's wearing his old dirty signature hat with the rattlesnake skin.  She must like him very much to do that!

Another movie

Yesterday, Paul and Dakota worked on a film again.  This time, Dakota was chosen to play a Civil War soldier and Paul was a member of a gang of cowboys.  They came home with lots of make-up and were tired, but they had a good time, and got paid for it

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Back to the old West, movie style

Paul has been an "Extra" in several movies, and enjoys doing that from time to time.  He convinced Dakota to join the Utah Actors group.  They both received call-backs almost immediately.  Yesterday, they worked on a new mini series.  It was Dakota's first experience doing this, and he looked so authentic and handsome.  Here are some pics.

Timpanogos Storytelling Festival

Starting last year, this storytelling event has become a tradition for us.  Because I work at the Orem library, I receive a substantial discount on tickets.  The evening itself is always spectacular.  The storytellers are amazing, and we really enjoy it.  This year was another great evening for us.

An evening on the Provo river

We decided to try out our inflatable raft and go on the river.  It was late afternoon, a little overcast, and so much prettier than I had thought.  There were ducks swimming by us, and it was so peaceful.