STAYING WITHIN EMOTIONAL REACH

I'm the apple of her eye!

On Sunday, my wife Ann and I will celebrate 34 years of marriage.  In this day and age, that is an accomplishment I suppose.  But honestly, divorce while always an option never has seemed to be the way to ultimately deal with problems between us.

I can say that through the years, I have assimilated some of Ann’s personal and gender characteristics and she likewise has assimilated some of mine.  Perhaps more importantly from the standpoint of the couple’s therapy that I do routinely these days, she has been working on her own personal issues while at the same time I have been working on my own.  What that has served to accomplish is to keep us within emotional reach of one another.  What I mean by that is she has grown more secure in herself through the years while I have grown more secure in myself in those years, and that growth has been fairly equivalent.

Based upon my research and my clinical experience, when one partner in a relationship goes forward or backward in a significant way in their emotional life and their partner does not simultaneously respond in like manner, there are problems.  For example, if a partner gets caught up in an addiction, there is a regression in his or her emotional life, while at the same time, their partner usually has maintained and not regressed.  That’s a problem.  That presents a widening gap in their emotional reach of one another.  Another example might be a partner who has an exciting, fulfilling job while the other has a repetitive, non-stimulating life at home.  (Read my daughter’s example of my hypothesis in my recent blog entry of her blog post.)  That’s a problem.  That also likely causes a widening gap in their emotional reach.

As I state often in my clinical experience, when we go into a partner relationship, we enter at the level of our dysfunction.  In other words, we find and connect with someone who is as similarly “messed up” as we are (or aren’t).  We fall in love with someone who is within emotional reach of us.  Harville Hendrix, who has written extensively about finding our “Imago,” (Greek for our “image”— our likeness) is stating what I just wrote but in a different way.  We enter into relationships with similar “baggage” from our families of origin and our life experiences (nurture), and who we are (nature.)  If partners aren’t similarly “messed up,” the relationship will likely not last.

Icy surroundings, warm hearts

But then, unless a couple’s emotional lives remain somewhat close as the years pass, their relationship will likely be in peril and likely will not last.  Having read this hypothesis, I imagine my daughter might think that her relationship with my son-in-law might be doomed.  That is not necessarily so.  If both are really concerned about the other and each is willing to be humble and open to making changes in themselves, not expecting the other to change before they do, then they likely will stay within emotional reach of one another.  I pretty sure that will be the case with my daughter and her good husband who is a wonderful, humble man, and whom I am proud to have as a son-in-law. 

I know that Ann really cares for me on a deep level as I care deeply for her, but we both humbly realize that we each have issues and we try to work on them constantly.  In order for our marriage to flourish—that third entity in our partnership beyond her and me—, each entity has to “take care of their own side of the street.”  As we do so, the emotional distance between us is relatively small and we can deal with the resulting bumps in the road as they occur.

To be fully transparent, we have not always cleaned our own sides of the street.  In the past we looked outwardly to the other, to some degree, to meet our emotional needs.  And that occasionally surfaces even now, but when our partnership was wobbly in the past during challenges in child rearing, we got into therapy and we BOTH started working on our own “stuff,” and we continue to do so.  As a consequence, we have grown, and we have grown more or less at the same rate.  That small emotional distance between us has allowed us to grow together as a couple!

We sometimes "put on the dog"

Longevity in marriages does not necessarily mean that all is well and blissful.  For every one that is, there are as many or more that are not.  Couples can often merely tolerate one another because there is little emotional connection; they are not within emotional reach of one each other.  Those partners will often look to fulfill emotional needs outside of their relationship because there is so precious little within it.

So as I approach April 22, I have a huge smile on my face!  I have never been happier and more in love than I am right now at this time of my life.  My marriage just keeps getting better because there is emotional connection and passion.  My wife is my best friend, my confidant, my lover.  I cannot wait to be around her and love living life with her.  And what is most wondrous about this relationship is that the doctrine of my Church dictates it can last beyond death.  It can last forever; there is no “‘til death do you part.”  Why wouldn’t I want this blissful experience to go on indefinitely?

I am working hard on what I can control—myself, and on our marriage so that the transition from mortality to eternity will be natural.   HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO ME!

"You are my lover, you're my best friend, you're in my soul"

Brushing Me with Broad Strokes

Coming to an LDS Temple/Building Near You?

When the State of California was embroiled in the voter battle over passage of Proposition 8 that sought to formally define marriage as between a man and a woman, I found myself being called on/expected as an ecclesiastical leader of a young single adult congregation in the LDS Church to get congregants engaged in getting out the vote and to work on getting a majority of Californians to vote in favor of the Proposition.  It occasioned me to look at it from both theological and humanitarian positions.  After considering who was asking me to do this, and considering consequences, I made the decision to support its passage and I got my young congregants involved.

I was attending school at the time, getting my Master’s Degree in Psychology, and my support was emblazoned on a bumper sticker on my wife’s car. It caused a brouhaha among my classmates who did not know whose car it was.  Many of my classmates were wondering how anybody could possibly support Proposition 8, especially in light of the “open mindedness” that we were learning was essential to become a good therapist.  I listened with interest as different classmates joined in the disparaging conversation, careful not to say that the car with “that” bumper sticker belonged to me.

Really? 

Still embroiled in the push-pull that was Prop 8, the withering onslaught of negativity and reproachful commentary continued online at a discussion website set up to allow students to communicate with one another (this was before Facebook became the medium to facilitate such communication).  I read with increasing indignity as the commentaries poured in one evening.  I got to a point where I could no longer just read the vitriol. 

It seemed to be the height of hypocrisy to read comments from my peers accusing people who supported Prop 8 as being unloving, uncaring, bigoted, etc..  They were usually the least judgmental people I knew and were being trained to be non-judgmental and open minded as psychotherapists.  And while I couldn’t comment specifically as to the character of each of my fellow supporters (I found nearly all to be loving and caring people), I knew who I was.  I knew that I was open minded, that I was caring and loving and non-judgmental (and was going into a profession where those character traits would serve me well), and felt that I was being wrongfully accused.

The Bumper Sticker

I decided to write a post declaring that it was my car that had the bumper sticker on it and that those that knew me well KNEW that I was non-judgmental, caring and loving.  Furthermore, without calling them out for saying/writing what they had, I merely told them that their words had hurt and that not everyone who supported Prop 8 was how they were portraying them.  In my response, I told them that I see people as people—and because of my religious paradigm, as God’s children and equal to me, not choosing to focus on their sexual orientation, gender, race or ethnicity, and that what I had been taught at our school further reinforced that construct for me.

For the record, not longer after I posted my response, I received a thoughtful response honoring me for my beliefs from my faculty advisor and sometime professor, David, who is gay, whom I had come to appreciate and highly regard and who had been very helpful to me in dealing with my struggles as a 50-something student.  I also received a very thoughtful response from my department chair, Deborah, a lesbian, whose partner ironically was raised as a Latter-day Saint.  In a caring way, she likewise honored my beliefs and informed me that because of what I had experienced at the hands of my peers, I could have greater empathy and compassion for those in her LBGT community who had and continue to experience the labels and broad strokes that I had experienced.  That empathy and compassion has helped me as I have taken the opportunity to have therapeutic relationships with that community and with a beloved transgender individual in particular.

An Active Mormon as President?

Fast forwarding to March 2012, I find myself in a somewhat similar circumstance with my conservative views.  In the current sociopolitical landscape, they and my religion are under attack from those who view themselves as being caring, open minded, and unbigoted.  If Mitt Romney becomes the Republican nominee for President of the United States (and it is becoming nearly impossible for that not to happen), I fear that in the coming months my religion and my religious views will be made light of, ridiculed, and besmirched.  If Romney were a Jew or a Muslim, the media would condemn the perpetrator.  But since he is LDS, and since my Church chooses to ignore and not respond to such attacks, those attacks will be fair game.  I would not be surprised to see “anti-Mormon” demonstrations similar to those that took place outside of the LDS Temple grounds in Los Angeles during the Prop 8 debate.

Night View of Los Angeles LDS Temple

Because of these fears and because I have already heard comments made by thoughtless people, I am publicly taking a stand.  Some people are finding or will find teachings, doctrines, and quotes from past and present leaders of the Church, or other material, that they believe entitles them to mock my beliefs, or Romney’s beliefs.  Some will portray him (and by association, me) as being a member of a cult, a member of an organization that represses women in a variety of ways, and a denomination so bigoted that they did not allow black members to hold God’s priesthood until forced to in 1978. 

 Tons of Donated Clothing for a Needy World

Does a cult allow its believers to freely interact with others in society, serve in the military, celebrate all national and religious holidays, and allow its believers to have differing political viewpoints?  Does a cult allow its believers to donate hundreds of thousands of work hours, hundreds of tons of used clothing, and millions of dollars each year to humanitarian projects that are intended for non-believers?  Does a cult allow non-believers to access their genealogical records so that they can do genealogical research to find their ancestors?  Does a cult build and run schools and universities that allow non-believers to attend?  If one is open minded at all and would look past the doctrines and beliefs and focus on the fruits of my religion, that person would have to admit that my Church is not a cult.  Cults don’t bear such fruit.

Relief Society Donating Food in DR Congo

Because members of my Church funded much of the battle to pass Prop 8 and fought against the passage of the ERA Amendment in the 70s, it will be portrayed as quaint, or even worse, as disenfranchising women and treating them as second class citizens within the Church.  What will likely not be portrayed is how the Church sponsors the largest organization for women in the world: the Relief Society, with a membership of over 4 million women in over 100 countries, which I know from personal experience and knowledge seeks to empower and teach women to be all that they can be and which gives them a voice.  There will be few if any words of praise about how women are honored and given respect over the pulpits of the Church, both on local and general Church levels.  You will not likely hear how in the most sacred and important of all rituals and ordinances of the Church performed in that LDS Temple in Los Angeles and in nearly 140 others around the world, women participate equally with men. 

Darius Gray with Merrill Bateman

In the finger pointing that will surely take place about how bigoted my Church is, you will likely not hear the historical context of how the Gentiles were forbidden from hearing Christ’s teachings while He was on the earth, and that it was only after Christ had been crucified and Peter had received a revelation from God that he decided that the Gentiles could finally be taught the Word.  Nor will you likely hear about how the Levite tribe was the ONLY tribe of the Tribes of Israel that could officiate in the rituals of the Priesthood in the Old Testament which along with the New Testament is in our Canon.  Those who ridicule will likely not tell you that certain black members were given the Priesthood in the early days of the Church, nor will they relate statistics of how the Church is growing faster on the African continent than on any other, and that most Blacks who have joined the Church and participate fully in the Priesthood have come to understand that it was God’s will and not formal Church doctrine that denied their race that blessing for a time.  

Black LDS Family

As it has in the past, the Church has maintained its political neutrality and continues to do so, evidenced by a memo from the top leadership of the Church affirming that fact that was recently read over the pulpits of all church congregations in the United States.  How else can you explain the Church “umbrella” under which Republican Mitt Romney and Democrat Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid share its protection?  Members of my Church may lean right in their personal politics and point their judging, labeling fingers at those who do not believe as they do–and I deplore them for doing so exclusively in our auxiliary meetings--but the policy of the Church is of neutrality.

To conclude, if those who may denigrate my beliefs, the doctrines I espouse, and my Church, I would ask you to get to know some members of my faith, to look at the fruits of this religion and belief system, to honor and respect its members who do not share all of the beliefs of the greater Christian world regarding Jesus Christ and the Godhead, to look past the sound bites and really learn about us. 

LDS Members Donating Disaster Clean Up Service 

If I choose to label an individual or group, I take an “I-am-better-than-you” view of them; there is negative pride inside of me.  Labeling gives me permission to distance myself physically and emotionally from that person or group.  It allows me to disengage myself from them.   I don’t have to deal with them because I suppose I know all about them and who they are and what they represent.  It’s emotionally easier than dealing with them.

I'm Trying to Be Like Him

I don’t want people to label me and paint me with unknowing broad strokes.  I am trying to follow the loving and caring example of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and my religion and its doctrines and teachings have nurtured those attributes in me.  Engage me.

A Soul Cry from My Daughter

Dear Readers,

My daughter Emily (the mother of the triplets) has a wonderful blog --> 3-ring-circus.tumblr.com.  Like me, she uses the blog to send out to the blogosphere, to the world, her ideas, feelings, musings, trying to make sense of her life.  I found her most recent posting engaging and deeply profound.  I know my daughter and I know that she feels so deeply what she writes about.  I wanted to share her soul cry on my blog because after all she is a part of me; I raised her.  

And I want to say to the world how proud I am of her and her resilience in the face of overwhelming challenges; how she does get up every morning and tries to give my grandchildren the love and care they need even when she doesn't feel like doing so. 

March 13, 10:00 PM

This morning, I sat on the rug in my kids’ room, watching them play with their Mega Blocks. After three or four attempts to help them build a tower (the only thing you can build with Mega Blocks) followed by one of them knocking it down with glee, I was ready to scream. Or cry. Or run screaming and crying into another room. Which is what I did. (Okay, so I was screaming and crying on the inside.) I laid on my bed and was overcome by an immense feeling of boredom and despair. Then my eldest popped her head in the doorway and asked if she could come in. “Just close the door behind you,” I pleaded. But no. Three more little heads bobbed towards the bed. Back to the Mega Blocks we go.

The official Church position, and for my intents and purposes, the word of God himself is this:

By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life andprotection for their families. Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children. In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners. Disability, death, or other circumstances may necessitate individual adaptation. Extended families should lend support when needed.

So this, translated in my mind, sounds like this: In ideal circumstances (ie. the parents are married, alive, and able-bodied), the dad should work to pay the bills, and the mom should take care of their children in their home. At least while the children are young, mom’s primary focus should be on taking care of them, not on making money. That’s dad’s job. Both work for the good of the family focusing mainly on their own spheres of responsibility. But obviously, this can overlap. Dads are expected to pitch in w/ the kids and household chores. And if mom can manage to get all her stuff done and still have time to make some extra money on the side, well, then more power to her.  Maybe you agree. Maybe you don’t. But for me. this has been my understanding of How Life Works since I was a kid. And I’m not saying I disagree with it now. But I was thinking about this whole idea tonight and something struck me.

You see, the men (and by “the men” I mean Mormon men. In the USA. Who are middle class. So maybe none of this really applies outside of my little world…) Anyway, the men go to college where they spend all this time and money to figure out what career they want to pursue, get the education and training they need for said career, and then work in it for the rest of their lives. They may change careers at some point. But ultimately, and hopefully, they work at a job they enjoy while fulfilling their duty to provide for their family. There are a million different jobs out there. And any of them are open to them. The women, however, no matter what they studied in college or where they worked before having kids, all end up doing the same thing. Sure, some excel at baking. Others take on quilting. Some even learn photography. But we all are doing basically the same job: cooking, cleaning, caring for the children. We are all wiping bums and noses, making grocery lists, and picking up toys. My husband had endless choices when it came to deciding what he’d be doing with the vast majority of his time each day. I had one. 

I’m not saying this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. I’m not saying I disagree with the church leaders who have taught this concept. I’m not shaking my fist at God (not over this, anyway.) I mean, if you take this line of thinking far enough, you start thinking, this isn’t fair. Why can’t I choose something else? I don’t think I would. I couldn’t imagine putting my kids in day care. It would kill me. I couldn’t imagine leaving them with a nanny, or even a close relative. Not all day, five days a week. It’s going to be hard enough sending my firstborn off to preschool next fall. So obviously, on some level, I chose this as the best (if only) option. 

And it’s not as if I cried with boredom and despair this morning because it’s all simply too easy for me. I’m not so smart/capable/awesomely talented that I’m bored with being a SAHM. In fact, I’m not a very good homemaker. At all. My husband recently pulled the bed away from the wall to reveal a huge patch of mold. Growing on the wall. I didn’t even know you had to check for things like mold. On walls. Behind beds. And there it was all this time. So you see, I’m not very good at this. And that’s only a part of the job description. There’s this whole “shaping of the future generation” aspect of my job description. Isn’t that amazing? I’m doing the most important work a person could do! Ever! SO IMPORTANT, PEOPLE!!!!! (How many times have I heard that in Relief Society?) All sarcasm aside, it does make me feel great when I teach my daughter a new concept. Or when the babies start to do the little hand motions to the “Five Little Monkies” song we’ve been singing every day for weeks straight. I am trying to take this seriously. I even thought about coming up with a curriculum to follow each day. I wrote it on my to-do list and everything. But every time I looked at it, I found something else to do. Because just looking at it made me want to simultaneously cry and fall asleep. 

So where does this leave me? I know that choosing to stay home with my kids was the right choice. I know that giving my time to the nurturing of my children and the upkeep of our home is very, very important. I also know that all this esoteric contemplation may come across selfish at worst and annoying at best. (So thank you for not leaving snarky comments.) But I still am left with the fact that tomorrow, I’m going to have to get up and do everything I did yesterday, Mega Blocks and all, and I really, really need to figure out how to be happy doing it. Or just not consumed with boredom and despair. Any ideas on how? And bonus points if you avoid using phrases like, “count your blessings” or “positive attitude.” I have an uncontrollable reflex that makes my eyes roll when I hear GospelSpeak. 

Okay, friends. Ready, GO! 

I wrote this last night, after a long, hard day. Today has been better. So maybe that’s my answer: just keep swimming.

BIRTHDAY TRIBUTE TO JANEEN

Janeen and My Brother Tom at the Beach

          On the occasion of her 75^th birthday, I wanted to take some time to write about my favorite sister-in-law.  I want her and the world to know how I feel about her.  She is no ordinary woman.  And rather than talk about her to others at some future point when she is pushing up  

daisies, I want her to know now!

          Since she got married to my brother Tom when I was less than three years old, I do not know a world without Janeen.  She has been a constant in my own life and that of my wife and children, supportive and loving through thick and thin.  I want you to know Janeen, as best I can describe her from the many interactions I and my family have had with her through these many years.

          Janeen ‘s greatest attribute is her ability to love, regardless of whether someone is worthy or not of that love .  I would be willing to bet a lot of money that if one were to ask just about anyone who interacts with her, from her children, grand children, great grand children, to friends or even acquaintances, they would tell you that they feel that Janeen cares about them.  She involves herself in their lives, anxious to know how they’re doing, what is happening in their lives—and she does so, I believe, because of her amazing ability to love.  It doesn’t matter if you are not living in the way she thinks you should live (I’m thinking of when my oldest daughter Rebecca lived with her and Tom); she looks past what a person does and looks at the lovable person that they are.  It doesn’t matter if a person has caused her grief (I’m thinking about my mother whom Janeen took care of during the closing months of her life); she continues to love them. It doesn’t matter if you are mentally or emotionally afflicted (I’m thinking about her tireless work with that population in her school district); she loves them even more.  It doesn’t matter if a person has not been considerate of her feelings (I’m sure I’ve done that in the past as has Tom, her offspring and others); she will look past the hurt and love them.

          I can honestly say that of all of the people that I have known closely—family, friends, co-workers, fellow believers—Janeen is the most loving and caring of them all.  To me, she exemplifies to the greatest degree the kind of love that God has for his children.  If that seem like lofty hyperbole, I am not given to doing that, and the person challenging that statement has not felt of her love for them.

          She goes out of her way to show you that she cares.  One would be hard pressed to count all of the meals she has lovingly provided me and others in her home and elsewhere.  I cannot count all of the encouraging words that she has freely given me and mine through the years.  If ever you need her to do something, she will move heaven and earth to accomplish it.  If ever you need her to take care of somebody on your behalf, she is there 100%.  If ever you need a shoulder to cry on, she will offer you hers and shed tears with you.

From my psychologically trained perspective (for what that is worth), I believe that she is capable of  loving and caring and being available for others because she has such a healthy view of herself, accepting who she is, warts and all, so that her issues do not get in the way of her interactions with others.  In other words, she is able to give so much because her issues do not get in her way, thus allowing her to better focus on you.  Most other people, and I include myself in that group, are challenged to be so available to others because our inadequacies get in our way.  Perhaps she can focus on others because she really does understand her relationship to her God, and she understands that the most important thing that we can do here in mortality is to love.  Everything else is subordinate to loving people.

          Another amazing attribute of this amazing woman is her attitude.  I am sure she has moments when physical ailments press in on her, or she feels some level of discouragement, but she deals with them in private (I guess) and does whatever she can to help you be happy and grateful.  (My family and I will forever quote her famous refrain, “aren’t we lucky?)  She has an uncanny ability to cheer you up, probably because she does not take herself very seriously.  She really tries to enjoy life and will do all within her power to help you enjoy your life as well.

          I am so appreciative that she has loved my brother through good and bad, always at his side following him wherever he has gone, being his counterpoint.  I am 100% sure that among the great legacies she has given to her posterity is her undying love and support for Tom (even though like most wives there are times, I’m sure, when she would like to kick him off the dock at Bear Lake!)  How many wives would have cheerfully lived in Nigeria or lived in a tiny flat in England as she did?

 I just want to conclude by saying that she is one of the greatest examples that I have this side of heaven.  I feel very blessed that I have had the privilege to have her grace my life.  I cherish her love and caring.  I selfishly hope that she is blessed with a good many more years here in mortality so that I may yet feel of her love for me.  May God’s choicest blessings be upon you now and forever, Janeen!

A RECOVERY PARADOX...FOR ME ANYWAY

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

So reads what is known in the Recovery World of Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, Nicotine Anonymous, Sex Addicts Anonymous, and all of the myriad “Anonymouses,” or “Anonymai,” as the “Serenity Prayer.”  This Prayer has been recited by literally millions of people, and will likely be recited by millions more in the years and decades to come, especially as addictions continue to plague society.  It is a Prayer in which the person reciting it is committing to—or at least desiring to commit to—an emotional surrendering to a Higher Power.  This spirit of surrender is embodied in the first three steps of the Twelve Step Program that the organizations above espouse:

Step 1—We admitted we were powerless over [our addiction]—that our lives had become unmanageable.  (“I can’t.”)

Step 2—Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.  (“God can.”)

Step 3—Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him.  (“I’ll let him.”)

The idea of “surrendering” in the recovery world that I inhabit is both appealing and perplexing to me.  Secular, popular Western culture (and ironically, LDS culture) seems to promote personal self-sufficiency, yet “surrendering” is in line with the doctrine of grace in Christian and other religious communities.  In my world of addiction recovery, and I spend a lot of time there, there appears to be a paradox of the Addict surrendering to God (a la Twelve Step Programs) vs. those same Programs and addiction rehabilitation programs far and wide promoting cognitive-based behavioral changes which have as their goal to restructure the thinking of the triggered addict so that new, positive, non-irrational thoughts can produce new positive behaviors.  It seems paradoxical to me because the former implies that the Addict is powerless over the addiction and should surrender to it (to feel it), and surrender to a “full of grace” God, yet the latter would imply that the Addict indeed has power and should take the “non-surrendering” responsibility and change his/her irrational thoughts that lead to addictive, destructive behaviors. 

Interestingly, in my therapy and Twelve Step work I have related both ideas to clients and members of recovery groups, depending on the circumstance.  I can easily defend both ways of dealing with addiction.  Perhaps this may be a deficiency in me.  I have the thought that I am wanting/needing to work out this paradox in order to be completely congruent in my role as a therapist.  But then, could both ways of looking at recovery be correct for the addict?  Can he/she experience both and incorporate them into their recovery? How does that work?  

Is it possible that surrender is indeed a necessary and integral part of recovery, and that someone using and “working” the Twelve Steps can simultaneously surrender will and change thoughts (“stinking thinking”)which then change behaviors?  Does the addict surrender to God (or a Higher Power) who then theoretically changes the thoughts of the addict?  Is challenging the irrational thinking a focus on abstinence from the addiction rather than on real recovery (assuming the belief that abstinence is not necessarily recovery)?

Or can it be said that surrendering to the feeling of the desire to “act out” or to participate in the addiction (feeling one’s “dark side”) must indeed occur in order for the addict to cognitively not engage in “stinking thinking” and choose not to indulge in the behavior? Is this the process that ultimately must take place in the life of the addict before there is recovery?  If so, what role does a Higher Power (God) and the addict’s surrendering to It/Him play in that process?

Or is the idea of surrendering the initial part of recovery, and the cognitive challenging of irrational thoughts the later, on-going work of the recovery process?  Or, when all is said and done, are they just two different ways of dealing with addiction?

I congratulate those who read this blog and have gotten to this end of my musings about addiction.  Writing this blog is an important outlet for me and this posting is all about me and my musings.  I apologize to anyone reading this who has not been affected by addiction or who couldn’t care less.  This blog is about my transitions (RED IN TRANSITION) and this is a transition from uncertainty that I want to make that is important to me.

The Page Is Turned

The Adam Johnson family left in its entirety early this past Sunday morning for their residence in Brooklyn, New York.  They arrived safely, thank God.  Our daughter Emily reports that she and the kids are settling in to their previous life there.  And I'm sure Adam is back in the routine of bottles, diapers, bathing, taking Elizabeth to potty. But our home is VERY quiet now.  Items left in one place one day are still there the next.  It takes three to four days to fill up our dishwasher.  Did I say that our home is VERY quiet now?

I find myself missing (somewhat) the "controlled chaos."  I find myself missing the hugs and smiles.  I find myself missing Elizabeth's giggles.  I find myself missing the love I felt from Emily.

Emily reported that when they finally arrived back at their apartment in Brooklyn after the long flight, upon entering, Eddie looked around and said, "Pumpa?"   

 

What A Journey

As I am wont to do, I become philosophical when confronting challenges and trials.  I look at what is occurring, what I am experiencing and feeling, and then postulate ideas based upon them.  It is probably only normal and to be expected that as I near the end of a two-month journey with my daughter, son-in-law, and four grand children, I try to figure out the “takeaway” of it all.

In speaking with people, I have been told how wonderful it is and how blessed it must be to have them stay with us.  To be sure, it has been a great and memorable experience, but as with most life situations, it occasionally has involved some “rough sledding.”  My intent is not to pass judgment on the past two months, but merely to comment on what it has been like.  I hope that came through as well in the last posting I did as seen through the eyes of one of the triplets.  There have been some wonderful, touching moments, and there have been others when I left home with children screaming and crying and feeling grateful that I was able to leave.

Much of societal change and invention in this day and age has to do with self-satisfaction and finding meaning in one’s life.  The mantra seems to be that if one feels stress, boredom, anxiety, challenge, sadness or pain, that person should do whatever it takes to simplify life, to ease up on the gas pedal, so to speak, and to do whatever it takes to reduce the difficulties of life.  It seems to be a societal belief that having these “negatives” in one’s life is unacceptable and to be avoided.  If you doubt what I am saying, you need to go no farther than to the television and look at the substance of the commercials.

Not that one should deliberately look for difficulties to steer through in life, but what has been my life experience has been that I have grown the most in my character in those moments when I have found myself in the crucible, those very difficult circumstances.  Obviously, my challenges compared to those of others might very well be considered light weight or barely registering on the difficulty scale, but nonetheless they have been difficult for me.  I see them as divinely given/allowed for specific purposes and for my exact needs.

I have written previously about the experience of the decision and then attending graduate school in an effort to effect a career change while serving as a lay ecclesiastical leader of a congregation of 200. I did this while working full time and being a full-time husband and father.  These were times of extremity, times of frustration, times of extreme weariness, times of self-doubt, times of non-stop intensity.  I think about other times in my life when obstacles were numerous, feelings were intense, circumstances were challenging, and I have lived through them all. 

Most importantly, in my extremity, I have grown the most and learned lessons that I would have missed had I chosen/been given an easier path.  I have become what I am today, and while there could be a discussion as to exactly what that is and to my value in the pool of humanity, I am comfortable and accepting of where I am.  That does not mean that I will rest on my laurels or whatever other metaphor comes to mind.  It means that I will not be afraid to put myself/be put in challenging positions in the future because I know they will be for my best good now and in eternity.  It means that having my New York family here was a difficult, wonderful experience.

Every tear, every scream, every child crying jag, every toy picked up, every diaper changed (especially the poopy ones), every dish and utensil washed, every dollar spent on additional food, every child buckled into a car seat, every wiggling child held during a church meeting, every door slammed, every window dirtied by sticky hands, every piece of furniture moved to accommodate cribs and pack and plays, every email not sent from my office that now serves as a child’s bedroom, every light globe broken, every peanut butter sandwich made, every piece of cheese and grape cut in half for the kids’ snack, every piece of food swept off the kitchen floor or picked off the floor and pew at church, every room vacuumed, every night’s sleep awakened by a crying child, every towel wrapped around the wiggly body of a just-bathed, wet child, every spill dried up, every child pushed in a stroller, every child swept off their feet because they were where they shouldn’t be, every fly taken out of a baby’s mouth (yes I did that once, and luckily it was dead…but so gross!), every bottle warmed up in my bleary-eyed state at 6:30am, every plastic latch opened and shut purchased to prevent kids from getting into a cabinet or drawer and emptying its contents, every face washed over the sink because of food or dirt, every toy on the floor that becomes an obstacle course for me, every ladder or chair that is in my front yard to stop kids from going where they shouldn’t go or from eating dirt, every leaf pulled and shredded into pieces in the house, every Christmas ornament yanked off the tree, every child crying because they’ve gotten themselves stuck, every bib put on and taken off covered with food, every attempt by a little hand to turn on the disposal or to reach something on the dining room table, other furniture or Christmas tree, and every hand print or pen/pencil mark on a wall or closet door, will have its opposite, endearing, smile-producing (and maybe tear producing) memory. 

I want to remember the contentedness I felt and they felt as I held one in my arms while they drank their warmed morning bottle.  I want to remember their delight in the bubbles I blew on the front lawn, their laughs as I sprayed them with a hose and played catch with them on the lawn, their “wan-wan” sounds when they heard dogs, their utter amazement and delight as they looked skyward to see a helicopter or on the ground to see a flower, their giggles as I pushed them in the swings at the nearby park, their giggles as I played “Eye Winker, Tom Tinker, Nose Dropper, Mouth Eater, Chin Chopper and Gollywhopper,”  their looks as I fed them grapes, pieces of cheese and crackers, or snuck in a piece of banana with their oatmeal, their imitating my animal sounds while sitting on my lap and reading countless books to them, their playing and giggling with their cousin Daniel when he came over, their wide-open eyes gazing upon the Christmas tree, their imitation of placing a toy on their heads because I placed one on mine, their dancing to “Hold Still…Wiggle, Wiggle, Wiggle, Wiggle” and “At the Hop” and “Pumpa’s favorite” Chantilly Lace, or “Put Down the Duckie,” their joy at watching “Yo Gabba Gabba,” their trying to make adult words like “thank you” and “I love you,” their lying still while I changed their diaper and put the legs to their sleepers back on them, the joy in their voices when they talked with their Daddy on the phone or watched him on the I-Phone or Skype, their tiny hands in mine as we walked, their waiting in line for me to play “Patty Cake, Patty Cake, Baker Man” with them, their dancing to the sounds of dueling toys, their giggles as I threw them in the air, over my shoulder, swung them in front of me, or played with them on their beds, and their quietness and stillness (at least for a short time) as I sang a lullaby to them before putting them down for a nap or for the day.

All of the challenges and difficulties and accommodations will melt away in the future as I think of Emily’s grateful, if wan, smile and heartfelt thank you for helping her and giving her support at this time of her extremity.  They will melt away when I remember Elizabeth’s inquiring face then charming, full-face smile as she looks at her Pumpa and wonders if he is just being silly or is he saying the truth.  They will melt away when I remember Charlie, the boy everyone says looks like me, looking at me and imploring me to hold him while I read him a book while he sucks on his binky and holds his blanket.  They will melt away when I remember little chubby Lucy looking at me through those slits of eyes and saying quite articulately, “I love you.”  And they will melt away when I think of Eddie constantly holding out/up his arms for his Pumpa to hold him and hug him.

This has been a difficult, demanding experience, but the transition from a full, noise-filled nest to a quiet, empty one for Pumpa and Geema will likewise be a new, if wistful, one.

Eddie's 24-Hour Diary

Having four of our grandchildren here for a couple of months is quite a journey! We are enjoying having everyone here, especially when a child looks up at you and wants to be held. At that time, the crying and screaming they do fades away and you remember how much you love them and that they are behaving exactly how they should be behaving at this age. 

I have not posted on this blog since Christmas Eve because I have been so busy being a grandpa, being "Pumpa."  I figured what I was experiencing was an exceptional experience and that those few who read this would find it interesting if not amusing. Before you read it, however, I have to acknowledge the superhuman efforts of my daughter Emily, their mother.  She deserves every bit of admiration and credit for this most difficult task she is doing.  Her patience is just incredible, her caring boundless, and her love for them undeniable. She amazes me.

So here is what I have been experiencing as seen through the eyes of one of my grandbabies. Enjoy the ride!

Waaaaaah, waaaaaah, waaaaaaaaah.  My name is Eddie and I am living right now with my “Pumpa and Geema,” and I thought that it would be fun for some of Pumpa’s friends to know what it’s like to be with my Mama and three-year-old sister, Elizabeth, and my triplet brother, Charley, and sister, Lucy.  Pumpa is writing this down because my siblings and I are just a little older than one year old.

My day begins…waaaaaaaaaaaaah…sometimes at about 3am.  I’m not fully awake but I sometimes will cry.  Waaaaaaaaah.  I just woke up Charley.  We’ll cry for a little while and maybe fall back to sleep until around 6:15.  Waaaaaaaah…that’s Charley…waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah…that’s Lucy; I might as well cry…Waaaaaaah.  That’s enough noise to get Mom and Geema and Pumpa up out of bed.  The first thing…Waaaaaah, Waaaaaah, Waaaaaah…that happens is that either Pumpa or Geema or Mama put our three bottles of 8 ounces of milk in the microwave, one at a time, for 55 seconds.  Ahhhhhh…warm milk.  The three adults are cradling us while we hold our bottles.

It’s time to get our first of four or five diaper changes.  Feels good to have Geema change me.  She’ll put the wet diaper with the two others just out the back door where they’re dropped until Pumpa takes a bunch to the black garbage bin that gets pretty full (and stinky) in a week’s time.  Before we came, Pumpa says that sometimes he didn’t even put that bin out every week.

It’s about 7 now, and we’re playing with some toys on the living room floor, next to where our three cribs are.  Pumpa and Geema had some friends who loaned them a couple of pack and plays that work as our cribs.  They go along with the one that they already had that my cousin Daniel sleeps in when he stays the night with my Uncle Doug.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley just fell on me.  Here comes Mama.  We’ve kind of taken over the living room.  It was really fun when the Christmas tree in the corner was up and we would try to take ornaments off.  Waaaaaaah.  That’s Lucy crying because Charley just took a book from her.  Is Mama going to come pick her up?  Here comes my older sister Elizabeth.  She’s three years old and our crying probably woke her up.  But then she got up at least once I think and started crying and woke Mama up. 

Waaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy must be hungry.  It’s about 7:30 and time for breakfast.  Pumpa puts Charley in one of the three high chairs in the kitchen, one loaned by friends.  We all get our bibs put on as Mom prepares our meal: oatmeal mixed with applesauce and honey. Yummmmm!  Either Mama or Pumpa or Geema sit facing us with a TV tray in front of a chair, and they open their mouths to get us to open our mouths.  One mouth, two mouths, three mouths…kind of like Dr. Seuss!  Waaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy can’t wait for another bite.  She gets the next spoonful.  I think Mom is starting to give us little bowls with spoons to try to feed ourselves but we’re not too good at it yet.  In front of the bowl are three “sipee cups” full of milk to help wash down the oatmeal.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley wants banana.  Dad taught Pumpa and Geema a trick with a banana before he went back to Brooklyn last week where we live.  It helps when we are getting bored with oatmeal. The adult has the spoon in their right hand, filled with oatmeal, and cuts the banana with the left hand.  The adult opens their mouth which makes us open our mouths in anticipation of a slice of banana, and shoves in the oatmeal and drops the banana slice on our tray.  Pretty sneaky!  I think I’ll turn and drop my sipee cup on the floor.  The adults do not like it when I do that. 

After we’re washed off at the sink, we start playing with toys again.  Pumpa and Geema sit at the dining room table after we’re done and help Elizabeth eat her cereal for breakfast.  They eventually eat their breakfast.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Somebody fell on me.  Geema is coming to the living room to make sure I’m not hurt.  Waaaaaa.  Charley took a toy from Lucy.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Charley took a toy from me.  Waaaaaaaaah.  I took a toy from Charley.  Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaaaaaaaaah…waaaaaaaah.  We’re all crying.  It’s probably time for our morning nap/crib time because it’s getting close to 9.  Mama usually sings a little lullaby to us before putting us down; we like it when she sings to us.  When we’re all down she closes the door and goes to the dining room to have her breakfast and maybe work on the crossword puzzle from the newspaper.  I think she does it to help her mind from turning to jelly, like the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she’ll fix for us when we wake up for our mid morning snack.

Pumpa has gone to work but Geema is here all day.  She has a two-month break from teaching and that’s why she invited us to come stay with her and Pumpa.  Mom needs help because dealing with us is pretty hard.  When Pumpa is here, he’ll change diapers, help feed us, and read books to us, and hold us when we need to be held.  He likes it when we smile.  He’s got a goofy smile, and he is always squeezing my nose or tickling me under my chin.

PU! Somebody’s pooped.  Oh, it’s me.  Waaaaaaaaaaah.  Here comes Geema to change me…thank heavens.  That’s another dirty diaper for outside.  PU!  I think Lucy’s filled her drawers as well.   Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy doesn’t like Mama trying to hold her arms so she can’t put her fingers in the goo.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Charley just fell down on Lucy while she’s getting her poopy diaper changed.  Mama and Geema are taking us out of our pajamas and putting us into our day outfits.

Waaaaaaaaaah.  I want to be held.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley’s crying and screaming because I took his toy from him.  Waaaaaaaah.  Charley was climbing onto a chair and wants to get down.   Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy fell on me and I bumped my head.  We’re all playing with toys for awhile, quietly.  Mom can’t get onto the computer while we’re up like the few minutes she stole to go on Facebook while we were in our cribs.  She tells Geema that it helps her keep somewhat attached to the outside world. Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaah…waaaaaaah.  I think that it’s time for our lunch: PB&J and pieces of fresh pear or grapes cut in half.  Yummmm.  I like getting it all over my face.  So does Lucy and Charley.  Mama and Geema rinse us off and then it’s another lullaby at about 1 for our nap.  I give Geema a big smile and that makes her smile.

Mama says it’s pretty quiet when we’re all asleep.  But you know what.  We don’t go right to sleep, usually not right away.  Pumpa says that we play around for awhile and then eventually fall asleep.  While we’re asleep, Mama or Geema sometimes go to the supermarket to buy more whole milk for us and 1% milk for the adults.  When Pumpa and Geema were alone, they would go through a gallon of milk every 8-9 days.  They’re buying milk every other day now.

Waaaaaaaaaaah.  I’m bored and I want out of my crib.  Waaaaaaaaaaah.  I woke up Charley.  Here comes Mom.  Let’s see, where can I put this toy so nobody else will find it?  Waaaaaaaah.  Charley took my toy.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  I hit Charley on the head with a plastic cup.  Mama is not very pleased with me.  Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy and Charley want the same toy.  Here comes Mama and Geema.  Waaaaah…waaaaaaah.  We’re hungry because it’s time for our afternoon snack.  Mama has cut up some cheese into little cubes and filled other “sippy cups” with water.  That will help wash down the cheese and cracker pieces that she’s giving us.

I like running around the dining room table with my Elizabeth except when she can’t stop herself and knocks me down.  Sometimes I cry or my brother and sister cry when she takes a toy away from us that she wants for herself.  But she also helps Mama by closing doors or getting something  Mama needs.  I think sometimes Mama gets pretty upset with her, but Mama always makes up by loving her a little more afterwards.  Mama is that way with me too.  I know that this is really hard on her and I think Mama likes being here where she can get help with us.

I like looking out the window.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.    Charley is crying because he climbed onto a chair and can’t get down.  Lucy is playing with toys on the living room floor but she likes looking at books too.  I like to crawl onto Geema’s lap and have her read to me.  We all like it when Mama or Geema or Pumpa read to us.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Charley just took my book away.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Elizabeth wanted to read that book and took it away from Charley.  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.  Elizabeth is crying and screaming because Mama took the book away from her.  I think Mom wants to let us run around outside on the grass for a change so Mama and Geema are putting on our shoes.  It’s nice here in California.  Daddy says that it’s been cold in Brooklyn.  I like it when Mama calls up Daddy and talks to him and lets us talk with him.  Mama tries to Skype with him so that we all can see him and don’t forget him.  But is usually is hard to sit in a chair while Skyping with Daddy.  We all want to see him and we fight for position.  Waaaaaaaah…waaaaaaaah…waaaaaaaah.

Mama tries to take advantage of the grass and the enclosed yard every day, a couple of things we don’t have in Brooklyn.  It’s pretty hard living in our second story, 700 square foot, two bedroom apartment with no washer or dryer or dishwasher.  Mama also tries to keep a tradition each day that we have in Brooklyn.  She tells us that we are going to have dance time, and we’ll all gather in Pumpa’s office which is now Elizabeth’s bedroom, and dance to You Tube songs she plays on Pumpa’s computer.  We all really like the Wiggle and Hold Still song.  I’m pretty good at holding still like a statue—for about three seconds.

It’s getting time for dinner.  It’s about 5:45 in the afternoon.  Mama will feed us some food that Geema made, or sometimes food that she makes.  Pumpa usually is home by now and he helps us put on our bibs, and he’ll wash up the high chairs and trays afterwards.  When we’re finished, I’ll play with some toys or look at books or ask Pumpa to hold me.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy fell down and hit her head.  Here comes Mama to comfort her.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  She likes holding me;s he likes holding all of us. Charley is getting his diaper changed but doesn’t like lying still while Mama changes him.  PU.  Mama is reaching for the wipes that are just about gone.  We go through about a container of 72 in about ten days.  Geema and Mama went to Costco a couple of weeks ago to buy diapers and they bought two big boxes—around 300 diapers.  I don’t think that they’ll last us until we go back to Brooklyn just before Valentine’s Day.  

I know that all of the adults are looking forward to us going to bed so I might as well not fight having Mama take off my clothes and putting on my pajamas.  Lucy and Charley are getting into their pajamas now, and pretty soon Mama will make sure we have our pacifiers in our mouths and will gently rock us before placing us with our blankets so that we can go to sleep.  Waaaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley does not want to go to bed.  Mama taps him and tells him she loves him and that she’ll see him in the morning.  I sure like it when Mama sings the Go To Sleep lullaby to me before putting me down.  I know that she loves me and loves our family.  I know that Pumpa and Geema love us too.

Once we’re down, it’s time for Elizabeth and the adults to eat dinner.  Sometimes they eat when we’re still up but that isn’t so good for their digestion.  After finishing dinner, Mama begins the process of putting Elizabeth in her pajamas and getting her ready for bed.  Elizabeth always wants to stay up with the adults and will keep doing things to stall finally having the night light on and her tucked in bed with her Pooh and Foofa dolls and her blankets.  Mama sometimes gets a little impatient with her, but I know Mama loves her. 

If they’re lucky, the adults won’t hear us wake up too much in the night.  Pumpa and Geema have started wearing ear plugs.  We all sometimes will stir and wake up and cry just a short time but then fall back to sleep.  I need to get a good night’s sleep so that I can do this all over again tomorrow here at Pumpa and Geema’s house in California!