Category Archives: Optimism

Discipline to Never Quit

1 Reply

I was the only girl dressed as a knight.

You can blame it on the fact that I had two older brothers. They’d also participated in the sixth grade medieval banquet: my mother had already made a knight’s costume. Of course that’s what I wore.

The costume was made of felt: two bright orange and two bright red squares. On the orange squares were red lions. On my head I wore a red felt helmet. I had an aluminum foil-covered cardboard sword and shield. Never mind that if someone actually attacked me the felt wouldn’t protect me at all.

I didn’t care that I was a knight until I saw that I was the only girl dressed as one: every other girl in sixth grade showed up to the medieval banquet as a princess.

The medieval banquet was the end of our lengthy unit on chivalry and medieval times, the culmination of six weeks of learning. Fifteen years later, I can only recall two things about the medieval unit:

1. The banquet at which I was the only girl with a cardboard sword

2. The motto I created for my carefully designed family coat of arms

I don’t recall to what purpose we designed a coat of arms. I suppose illustrating a coat of arms has something to do with medieval times. I remember that mine had four small illustrations and a motto. I don’t remember what I drew; all I remember is the motto.

Never Quit.

I had asked my mother to help me with my coat of arms. She was the one that encouraged me to write “Never Quit” at the top of it as the motto.

“Isn’t that what we do in our family?” she asked me. “We hang in there?”

I nodded and wrote it down. Now, in retrospect, I realize that “never quit” is a perfect motto for me. Having insane discipline to persevere has been my life curse and blessing.

Some of the Curses

  • When I got a term paper assignment on the first day of a term, I began research. This means I spent four months agonizing about it, instead of two weeks or two days like everyone else.
  • When I had two weeks to read every page of Moby-Dick, I did it, not even skipping the whale blubber passages. I didn’t lie on the test, either, when I checked the box that said “Yes, I read the entire book.”
  • When I had a chance to go to the Philippines for a weekend with my husband for free, I declined because I had told my church group I’d be there to help the children prepare their musical presentation. I couldn’t let them down.

Some of the Blessings

  • When I was on the summer swim team, I swam a very slow butterfly. In the 50 meter race at one Saturday meet, I was definitely the last one to finish in my heat. But I did it correctly. When the five other girls in the heat were disqualified for incorrect strokes, I ended up with the first place ribbon.
  • When I don’t like my cooking, I try again. Sometimes it tastes better, sometimes not. But I can tell that I’m improving. My husband says I’m the best cook he knows (although he may be biased).
  • When I faced horrible depression in college, I got up each morning and went on with my day, smiling as best I could. I took one step in front of the other to get where I needed to be. Ultimately, I made it through. One day I found I got up without having to tell myself to get up.
  • When I thought I would die from pain and discomfort during labor, I didn’t give up and instead I gave birth to my son.

I’m becoming less rigid when it comes to discipline in some things. For example, I have no problem putting off cleaning the house! Also, after one class of graduate school, I quit, wholly and completely. I wasn’t going to like it, so I decided I wouldn’t continue it for $2,000 a class. I’ve determined the same thing attitude with books: if I don’t like it, I won’t finish it. It is so refreshing to quit something insignificant every now and then.

Ultimately, though, I’m glad I’m disciplined; I’m glad I hold myself to the standard “never quit” (albeit with some caveats). Even the curses listed above have blessings attached to them: I didn’t procrastinate some things, I could answer honestly and not sacrifice my integrity, I could be trusted to follow through on what I said I’d do.

While it was my sixth grade teachers that encouraged me to declare a motto, it was my mother that instilled it in me.

I look at my mother now, persevering to the end of one of her life goals: a PhD, earned one class at a time, one year at a time, first while being a full-time mom and then while being a full-time teacher. I am so proud of my mother, PhD. She practices what she taught me: Never quit.

That is why “never quit” has stayed with me all these years: my mother. I remember a felt knight’s costume, carefully made by my mother.

To my mother.

(True but loose response to Write Anything Bright Stuff #482: Discipline.)

When Will I Stop Worrying that My Son Will Die?

3 Replies

A few months ago, when Paul started to sleep through the night, I’d wake up in the morning terrified that I’d find him dead in his crib from SIDS.

At his eight-month checkup, I was told to stop feeding him pureed food: mix chunky/mashed foods so he learns how to chew. Now I feed him his meal, terrified that he’s going to choke on his food and die, right before my eyes.

He’s becoming mobile now, and I’m realizing that the next step will be terror that in the two minutes I turn around, he’ll put his finger in an outlet and die from electrocution (even with outlet covers…). Or fall down the stairs and die. Or grab at something that I didn’t mean to leave out and choke on it and die. Or cut himself on something sharp I thought I’d put away and bleed to death. Or…

I could go on. All these terrors keep recurring in my mind.

Someone responded back in December that these fears aren’t from the spirit and I shouldn’t worry. But really, they are all very possible. And if he dies because of something I did or didn’t do, I could not live with myself.

When will I stop worrying that my son will die? Or will I always worry?

Happy Thoughts

1 Reply

Today, I found a list on a sticky note inside my pocket hymnal. Because of the items on the list, I believe I wrote it when I was traveling in the Middle East with my BYU semester abroad eight years ago. It’s amazing that the note is still sticky after all these years.

Happy Thoughts

  • laughing
  • the Ah Ha moment
  • blowing in the wind at the front of the boat [on the Sea of Galilee]
  • sunshine
  • blue skies
  • talking with friends
  • hope
  • clear, starry night
  • humming along with songs
  • a dance beat
  • finishing something
  • holding a sleeping baby
  • testimony

I wish I remembered what “the Ah Ha moment” is. It sounds so nice.

What is on your Happy Thoughts list? Was your list different eight years ago?

Sunday Scribblings #112: Quitting

8 Replies

If he wasn’t born by 3 p.m., I would die. I would quit, that’s all.

“I can’t do this!” I said again.

“You are doing it!” the midwife repeated.

At 3 p.m., I decided not to die. Thirteen minutes later, with one long push, my son appeared, blue and squirmy and tiny.

That night, alone and exhausted, I held my fussy newborn in my arms, willing him to sleep: “I can’t stay awake much longer!”

And I realized I will never quit on him: after birthing him without medication, I can and will handle anything in the challenge called motherhood.

Two Years

6 Replies

I meant to post this yesterday, but didn’t get the chance. It’s written as if it still were May 20. Since it’s still May 20 in the USA, I guess I can still count it.

Two years ago, my 100-day engagement drew to a close. May 20, 2006 was such a perfect day for me: I had a pleasant breakfast with friends and family, a lovely wedding, and a perfect reception. It was the perfect beginning to our perfect marriage.

Don’t get me wrong: we’re not perfect. And life has its regular ups and downs. But I very happy now, two years later. I am looking forward to the next 48 years! I’ve decided we’re going to live to celebrate 50 years together. My husband tells me that it isn’t very long and I’m going to be very surprised when we actually are celebrating 50 years. We’ll see.

We celebrated by getting our temple recommends renewed. How wonderful that we can be worthy to enter that glorious building!

I am so grateful for my husband, who already believes I’m the woman I some day hope to be.

I Love General Conference

1 Reply

I haven’t been reading many books or posting on my blog much this week. I’ve been distracted.

It began Sunday morning at 4:30 a.m.

As all of you were sitting down for 10 a.m. General Conference Saturday morning, I was asleep. It was 2 a.m. Sunday morning. My son awoke at 4:30 a.m., and after attending to his needs and putting him back in bed, I decided I couldn’t wait until next Saturday: I wanted to know who the newest Apostle was. I went online and found out.

D. Todd Christopherson, I read. How exciting! I thought.

I decided I wanted to hear how it was announced. Then I remembered that it was not even 5 a.m. I had to leave for church at 7:45 a.m., and I needed to stay awake during Sacrament meeting. So I went back to bed.

We went to church and came home. When we got home, I started to watch the first session. I am so grateful for the Internet! I could watch the solemn assembly Sunday afternoon in my living room. It was so special. I loved watching it, but I didn’t watch the whole session: there were other things to do.

Monday afternoon, what should appear in my feed reader but all of the mp3 files for the audio of four sessions of General Conference. I subscribed to the feed in December and promptly forgot about it, since, of course, it is only updated twice a year.

I couldn’t wait until Saturday. I listened to President Monson’s talks, then President Eyring’s and President Uchdorf’s talks. They were so excellent, and I was so inspired, so I listened to the rest of it, reverse alphabetically as it appeared in my feed reader. (I listened in reverse because President Thomas S. Monson was the last alphabetically and I wanted to start with him.) I did a lot as I listened’care for my son, work on photographs, etc. So I wasn’t just sitting around.

It has been great. I feel so uplifted and ready to be better. But I guess that’s the key: listening isn’t making me any better. I need to do what I’m learning! Listening doesn’t do any good for the world.

My favorites the first time around:

  • President Uchdorf’s talk (the faith of our Father, our Heavenly Father)
  • Elder Child’s talk on tithing
  • Elder Ballard’s talk to the young mothers
  • Elder Bednar’s talk on prayer
  • Elder Oaks’s talk on testimony
  • Elder Zwick’s talk on fortifying yourself

Which were your favorites?

I get to listen and watch all of them again Saturday and Sunday. (We need to be there this weekend.) What do I do for eight hours Saturday and Sunday as I watch them? I’m going to be sitting on an uncomfortable bench in the chapel.

Ah well; I’ll be inspired all over again. I love general conference!

The Great Big Vegetable Challenge and What’s Your Vegetable?

Leave a reply

I have never liked vegetables. I don’t know why. Maybe I relied too much on bagged iceberg lettuce and ranch dressing in my college days and I got tired of it. I like fruit, however, and always enjoy fresh fruit. I have a sweet tooth, and the natural sweetness of fruit is my favorite.

My husband, on the other hand, prefers vegetables. If I set dinner on the table and I have forgotten the vegetable (which happens more often than I should admit), my husband will ask “Where are the vegetables?” and he’ll prepare something.

I could go a long time and not eat green.

But last night, the meal I was making just wouldn’t work. When my husband got home, the kitchen was still dinnerless. (He got home after eight so it’s kind of sad I hadn’t worked something out by then. I was starved.) He said, “Why don’t we just eat these greens?” I had a bag of rocket (known in the USA as arugula) in the fridge. Surprisingly, none of it was wilted (they usually don’t have very good greens here). I consented. But when my husband put the greens on our two plates, there were two huge piles. I tasted some. It wasn’t very good. (And then I had rocket breath — ha ha.)

“I can’t eat that much!” I protested. There’s nothing like a salad for someone who doesn’t like vegetables to begin with.

My husband wasn’t convinced. He pulled things out the fridge for our salads.

“Cut up the leftover steaks,” he began.

I cut up the steak and added it to the salad. Then, at his suggestion, I added olives, sun-dried tomatoes, and shaved Parmesan cheese.

In the meantime, he sliced some red onions, cooked them in balsamic vinegar, and piled them on our salads. He added mustard and olive oil to the remaining balsamic, whisked it into an emulsified sauce, and heated it with some black currant jam. (He’s so good!) He poured that over the salads.

He says that the dressing was too sweet, too much. I don’t know what to say, other than I ate every last piece of green on my plate: it was delicious!

I admit: I left some of the olives. I’ve never like olives. I ate most of them because I’ve been inspired by some food bloggers at The Great Big Vegetable Challenge in London. Here’s their story: Freddie, age seven, did not like vegetables. To cure him of his vegetable-phobia, his family is eating their way through an alphabet of vegetables, getting recipes from around the world and rating each vegetable recipe 1 to 10 (10 is best) on their blog. I think that if Freddie doesn’t like a vegetable in the end, he doesn’t have to eat it, but here’s the catch: he has to try it prepared in at least two different ways. Sometimes it’s the recipe that isn’t good. It seems to me that he’s always rating things from 6 to 10. That’s inspiring.

I can see how different preparations can make a difference: I don’t think I would have liked our rocket salad last night if I’d tried to eat it with Italian dressing and tomatoes, which is what I would have done. I would have eaten a few forkfuls before being disgusted and bored with the greens and going for desert. But the combination of the black currant balsamic dressing, the steak, and the other “goodies” made it very tasty. I was too full to eat ice cream.

I’m going to take the Great Big Vegetable Challenge in my approach to food: if I don’t like a food, that’s OK, but I have to try it a few different ways before I claim I don’t like it.

I’ve eaten mushrooms a number of ways (both raw and cooked), and I still don’t like them. Find me a “good” mushroom or a good mushroom recipe and I’ll try again.

So far, olives are OK, but not my favorite. My husband says we need to find “good” olives and then maybe I’ll like them more. I love a good olive oil — I’d even eat it by the spoonful — so if I could find an olive that tastes that fruity, maybe I could say I love them too.

On the average night, I simply prepare frozen vegetables for dinner. My default vegetable is broccoli: salt, pepper, butter, broccoli … mmm. My husband will always default to peas: “They are like little explosions of taste in your mouth!”

Note that I don’t consider potatoes a vegetable: I consider them a starch. (We have potatoes in some form every night.)

What’s your favorite vegetable?

Reflections on “A Spoon Full of Sugar” and “Just 30 Minutes”

4 Replies

For every job that must be done
There is an element of fun
You find the fun and snap!
The job’s a game.

I’ve been listening to Disney music lately. One thing I bought in the States is a five-disc Disney song Classics collection. I’ve enjoyed the retreat to childhood as I revisit favorite songs and introduce my infant son to “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” and “When You Wish upon a Star” and dozens of others.

Another thing we brought back from the States is a Swiffer and a hundred dry Swiffer rags. This was a gift from my mother-in-law, who believed me when I said that a Swiffer was all I wanted (I couldn’t find them here!). Despite Swiffer’s claim otherwise, you really can’t throw away the broom and the mop — the dry Swiffer doesn’t catch three-dimensional things and the wet Swiffer doesn’t do a great job at kitchen messes — but overall, the Swiffer is a great floor-cleaning tool: it catches the dust and hairs and dirt that just don’t get caught without it. I feel efficient when I’m Swiffering (yes, I believe that is a verb now), and I don’t have to try to catch the mess in a dustpan as I use it.

As I was Swiffering our huge hardwood floor the other morning, I started humming “A Spoon Full of Sugar.” I realized that something as simple as a tool I liked made the task less annoying. Cleaning the floor wasn’t as much of a bother because I felt like I was being efficient. The Swiffer was my “spoonful of sugar” that helped the medicine of cleaning “go down.”

Later, I was telling my husband about a silly website I visited.

“I know I have better things to do,” I said.”But it was fun. Besides, it was just a half-hour, if that.”

He looked at me. “Just a half-hour? How many half-hours do you get every day?”

He wasn’t accusatory at all — I imagine he really doesn’t care what I do. It’s my time. But I realized that this question was coming from a man who had a limited number of “free” half-hours every day. Many of his half-hours are filled with work responsibilities.

How many half-hours do I get every day? And what do I do with all of them?

Yesterday I began a testing process. Here was the test: what can I do in a half an hour? Here’s a list of the chores I can do in half an hour:

  • Shower, dress, and do my hair and makeup (unless I iron my clothes)
  • Clean three bathrooms (at 10 minutes each)
  • Starch and iron 1½ shirts (at 20 minutes each — I’m really slow. My husband usually irons his own shirts, but I really should iron for him, given how many more “free” half-hours I get each day. Maybe I’ll get faster as I do this more often.)
  • Swiffer and sweep, thoroughly, the hardwood floors (lots downstairs, some upstairs)
  • Vacuum the carpeting (three rooms and two large rugs)
  • Dust the bookcases, shelves, and ceiling corners of the house using a Swiffer duster
  • Wash the dishes in the sink (by hand) and wipe down the counters and the microwave
  • Make a quick dinner

Some things take half that time:

  • Feed my son
  • Eat breakfast
  • Eat lunch
  • Fold and put away a load of laundry and start the next load
  • Unload the dishwasher and load it again
  • Wipe the kitchen counters and table and set the table for dinner
  • Tidy the living room (by actually putting things away, not just hiding them)
  • Swiffer, quickly, the hardwood floors

Some things take twice as long:

  • Make a longer dinner (you can’t rush risotto)
  • Get groceries at the supermarket and unload them and put them away

Obviously, some things can’t be done when my son is demanding my attention. (When he wants attention, then I can do some of the fun half-hours: cuddle him close to me, read Winnie-the-Pooh to him, sing a few primary songs, get on the floor and play with his toys.) And how do I vacuum when he’s napping without waking him? But when I put these things in half-hour increments, I don’t feel wrong asking him to entertain himself here and there through the day. Letting him play by himself for 30 minutes while I shower and get ready every morning can’t kill him. Also, he was happy to watch me wash dishes and wipe down kitchen counters because I was talking with him and singing to him as I did it.

As I tested how much of each chore I could get done in a half hour, I felt an urgency to hurry and get it done. It was almost like a game.

The end results were the biggest bonuses. I felt so much better about myself when my hair was done and my makeup was on. I felt a sense of glee when I found that folding and putting away an entire load of laundry took half as long as I thought it would. I felt a sense of satisfaction when I looked at the living room, free of unnecessary clutter, and knew that everything was put away where it was “supposed” to be. I felt very good as I set a well-balanced meal in front of my husband at the end of his long work day.

Those 30 minutes I spent visiting a “who does your son look like?” webpage seemed like “just a half-hour.” It went fast. I think I’ll try to think of chores as “just a half-hour” and maybe that will make them go faster.

Even with the challenge of “how long does it take?”, I don’t think these chores are fun, and it isn’t really a “game” to do them. But I think the satisfaction of having a clean, put-together home is a great reward.

Healing

2 Replies

The surgeon cut me open four times. Three cuts were half an inch. The last was one inch. He removed one of my organs (my gallbladder) through one of them.

For one week, I left the waterproof bandages on. I had bled, and the bandages were weary. My muscles were sore, like someone had punched me in the gut. I rested. But then I stood up. I swept the floor. I picked up my baby, and I went to the grocery store. I lived.

After one week, a nurse removed the bandages and the stitches.

Now, four bright red lines mark the spots. The skin has come together. There is no more blood oozing, there is no more pain. My body has healed itself.

As I look at my week-old wounds, I think one word: Miracle. My body is a miracle.

Your body, whatever its natural gifts, is a magnificent creation of God. It is a tabernacle of flesh–a temple for your spirit. A study of your body attests to its divine design.

Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend.

Mosiah 4:9

Watching my body heal has strengthened my testimony of God’s majesty.

The Need to be an Optimist

3 Replies

I have recently observed that I am very pessimistic. I worry about my son dying of SIDS (chance: 50 of 100,000). I worry about the car falling off the edge of the mountain as we drive around sharp corners. I worry about a rock piercing the car tire and leaving us stranded in the middle of nowhere. (Can a rock even do that?)

And yet, as Boyd K. Packer said (Ensign, November 1977),

Somewhere there is a message in the protest of a man who said: “You can’t tell me worry doesn’t help. The things I worry about never happen.”

By extension, then, the things I do not worry about do happen.

This is our garage ceiling the day before we left town for our Christmas vacation:

IMG_6265LR[1]

Apparently, three days of spring rain flowed through a leak in our roof. The buildup of water subsequently leaked through the ceiling and collapsed through the dry wall in a big gush of water.

There has been another Disaster recently, this one involving a litre of vegetable oil in the trunk of the car. I don’t want to talk about it.

Whatever is going to happen will happen, whether or not I agonize about it first. I really ought to let go. Life will be more pleasant. And then I wont be afraid to live and take chances. (My “chances” will be within reason, of course. I am still me, after all; I am conservative in the risks I take.) I need to be realistic in the things I think about and concern myself with what is important.

Therefore, my first New Years goal is to not worry. I promise I won’t post pessimistic things on this webpage. And I’m going to let go of my worries. It’s time I embrace optimism or, at the very least, realism.