Muddling

#2
There is a policy theorist named Lindblom cataloged somewhere in my grad school brain who pointed out that muddling through was a method of change--policy change to be exact. This muddling theory is more of an "evolutionary" approach to change, but it is change nonetheless. He also claims that we’re mostly all just muddling. This means that if I’m mostly muddling, I merely relying on external forces to change me (not the most inspiring theory for personal change). I would just have to take whatever comes in life and react to it—if I can. Today, I couldn’t. And, I got hit in the face by a trampoline.

Of course it’s funny now—whose face gets sliced open by a spring-loaded trampoline? I guess mine does. I read something the other night that said if you decide to have a great day before 10:00 am, you don’t need to worry about it (or something ridiculous like that). I guess that guy’s never been walloped by a trampoline at 1:45pm.

A-train’s AVT therapist was over and he was SO excited to show her his new train set. So, I started clearing space, which meant that the mini-trampoline had to be folded in half and shoved in its appropriate apartment-storage-worthy size. Just before I put pressure on the opposing ends of the spring-loaded hinge I told the therapist to watch out because it shuts quickly. Then…THWACK! And, it took me a few moments to figure out what had just happened, and if I still had teeth, and why my face was aching in the strangest place, and why she just said, “Wow-you’re bleeding a lot. Do you want me to watch Atrain for you while you go to the ER?”

I smiled stupidly. What else do you do when you’re not sure if you’re really hurt and you don’t want your boy to panic when you have blood all over your face? Then I saw the deep gash just below my eye. That’s also about when Atrain grabbed his plastic sword and began repeating, “I will high-ya the doctor! They do not hurt my momma. I will poke them in the eye!” My hero.

After a few phone calls and a quick decision based on ability to drive with a bleeding face to the nearest, nimblest medical hands I was headed to the closest ER. With both kids napping I carried one while pushing the other in the stroller, hoping my wound wouldn’t scar because I didn’t have an extra hand to keep it closed in the mean time. Thankfully the med student hubby is rotating with a very kind (very rare) chief resident who let him leave to see his wife in the ER. It felt so nice not to pretend I was tough when he showed up. Even though I hated admitting to my inner wimp that maybe I didn’t need to be in the ER—especially after checking out my company in the waiting room.

But, that feeling quickly fled when the doc told me that there could be a fracture on my facial bone which would cause my cheek to sink into my face if left unchecked. One unremarkable CT scan later, I was a room with my cheeto-faced toddler, breast feeding baby and scrub-wearing hubby waiting for someone to glue my cheek back together. The hubby suggested that I request that the Doctor do it—not the PA. I thought it was a wise call. So, I told/asked the PA in a discrete, stupid way if the doctor would apply the derma-glue to my gash. I think she thought I thought she was the nurse, and thus dually offended at my request.

That’s when I realized that I’m a snob, a medical snob to be precise. Why did I listen to the hubby? I just hurt her feelings and made myself look stupid and ignorant (as if the trampoline story weren’t enough). I’m sure she could apply skin glue with the best of them. As I sat there regretting my snobbish behavior she sent the EMT in to clean the wound, and before I knew it, something was burning. The EMT was gluing my face back together again. I guess that’s what I get for being a snob.

I left the hospital today feeling stupid and snooty. My man was the angel on one shoulder, helping me feel better, and the devil on the other telling me to make people feel worse. My son was my cheeto faced high-ya-ing hero. And my baby was my sweet, sleeping, plumping saint. I guess my day wasn’t so bad after all. It could have been worse. Maybe that 10am guy knows what he’s talking about. And, if tomorrow I find myself agreeing with Lindblom, I’ll try to muddle through my day a little faster next time I’m putting away a spring-loaded trampoline.

The Puddle Project

#1

Something happened today that could change my life. And that something had nothing to do with the trampoline that hit me in the face. I'll explain that later. That something has more to do with the question that my dear husband asks me every day: "So, Dar--what were your thoughts today?" Then, I stand there and wonder what exactly I should say about my puddle of a mind.

Some days there are significant thoughts or non thoughts that stand out--like the moment you realize that your hands and cheek are covered in blood and you can't quite pinpoint why. But most days aren't like that. Especially lately, it's quite easy for my thoughts to get lost in their puddle jumps. Quite frankly, lately "which side did I feed him on last" is often the most pressing question on my mind. Maybe that's because I'm making my way through my second case of mastitis. I’m just being honest, but when I reflect on the most poignant or patronized thought puddles of the day, I don’t want my breasts and antibiotic doses I forgot to take at the top of the list.

I want the sum of my thoughts to amount to something more. That sum doesn’t necessarily have to be more glamorous, gross, inspirational, sad, professional, personal, familial, political, or spiritual, etc. I think that most often the most life changing moments are embedded in the mundane. I just want help to make something more of them than the muddled puddles they presently are. Help, in the form of a project—a potentially life changing project: The Puddle Project.

For every day of 2011 I will write about at least one of the puddles my mind jumped into that day. There are no length requirements, just sincerity requirements. A new space has been created to pool my puddles. This family blog has no room for whatever I may find lurking in the mud. The goal of this project is to examine, define, describe and change. My mind can still muddle in the mundane; most often, it must. But it must mean something. I can’t wait to see what. I already have some catching up to do. At least the next time hubby asks me, “What were your thoughts today,” hopefully I’ll have something more definite to say. Not that he minds…he likes my muddling.

I Will Not Stop

Every Christmas season I tally on a new "most" to my embarrassing moments list. This year it happened as we were shopping at REI. We went there because the hubby was picking up a present for me for Christmas. Hubby let Atrain ride one of their bikes while they were shopping in the store. I came in a little later with Jdog in the stroller and hubby went to pay for his items while I took Atrain to put back his bike. Well, he headed in the opposite direction with his bike and started going really fast. I kept telling him to "slow down, slow down," then finally, "stop Atrain, listen to me, Stop!!" I was running after him while pushing baby J in the stroller! He was riding that little bike as fast as he could through the store, dodging customers and clothing racks. "Can you hear me?" I asked him, and he answered, "I WILL NOT STOP!" over and over again. I laughed out loud, but was also rather angry and embarrassed. I got a lot of laughs and dirty looks and, "I've never seen that before," comments. Finally I cornered him and grabbed him. It was my initiation moment as a mother of two. If I hadn't had Jdog in the stroller I could have caught him long before I did, but all is well that ends well. Atrain got a good lecture about listening and obeying.

Atrain's "I WILL NOT STOP" words are still ringing in my head. I've decided to use them as inspiration--I want to be as determined and headstrong as my little boy when I face adversity. I want to look my challenges in the eye and fearlessly proclaim, "I will not stop! You can't make me give up--I will not listen to your voices telling me to feel inadequate or unprepared or doubtful! I will not stop believing in what I know to be true and trying to be the woman and mother that God knows I can be! I will not stop!" It's my new motto for 2011. How do you like it? Never stop, Elder I. Never stop being who you are and discovering more about yourself and the man and missionary God knows you can be.

Missionary Monday

(excerpt from Elder I's letter)

My dear missionary brother, I've had a thought this Christmas that has stayed with me. I've thought about you this Christmas, and how difficult it must be to have such a beautiful gift to offer people, if they would just open their doors and let the missionaries in. As I've envisioned you on the long streets of Bastrop, I've wondered how it must feel, and how it must have felt for Joseph to have his wife carrying the most beautiful gift in the world. I'm sure you can imagine being Joseph, feeling the responsibility to find a place for Mary to deliver the Savior into the world, but only having doors slammed in your face. I wonder if he was discouraged, or frustrated, wondering how God was going to help them bring this miracle to pass. I'm sure he had a lot of faith that they would find somewhere for his wife to bring this special baby into the world. He must have, because they did find a place. Eventually there was a door opened--though it wasn't the "door" they expected. It was a stable-a cave really, where the animals were kept. Then came the unlikely, humble witnesses to the Savior's birth--the Shepherds to meet the baby who is the lamb of God. What a divine way it all came about. It rarely happens the way we expect or anticipate. But (my new favorite scripture from the nativity story, Luke 1:37, "For with God nothing shall be impossible."