Book of Faces

No, these guys weren't doing their social networking online. They were playing star wars lego games. Very serious, world changing star wars lego games, apparently.

I'm pondering. What kind of name is "facebook?" I realize it's catchy and modern and edgy... but it doesn't have anything to do with the site. There are no faces (unless you upload one, I guess) and it's not a book. Facebook makes me think of a phonebook that has the pictures of everyone listed. Is that what facebook was created for? To be a listing of people's faces and information in order to contact them?

I guess it makes a little sense. But I still don't like it.

Oh well.

Anyway, I'm wondering today about whether our obsession with online social interaction is a positive or negative influence on our relationships or perhaps both. I'm also wondering if that sentence was properly constructed, but only my sister would have noticed if it wasn't until I decided to point it out...

I'm a bit rambly today. I suppose you could tell. It's probably a good idea to refrain from blogging when rambly. It's probably also a good idea to resist the urge to make up words. Blog wasn't even a word till a few years ago, so you never know when you're going to create the next new thing. Or... word. I wonder if all the teenagers will soon be saying "rambly." Not that all the teenagers think I'm altogether that cool.

I really need to stop. I should probably do some backspacing as well but I won't, because I'm just that lazy today. Hey, "backspacing." I made up another word. I'm so creative.

All right, I'll get to the point. Is facebook the creator of new friendships, the sustainer of old ones, and the builder of the established? Or is facebook creating a society that hides behind computer screens and increasingly finds it difficult to talk to people face-to-face, one-on-one?

Here are my thoughts.

Yes. To both.

What? I have to explain? Alright.

Facebook has helped me make some new friends. There are people in my circle that were too shy to talk to me and I took their shyness for revulsion so I didn't talk to them, because I'm a bit "shy" myself in some ways. So becoming friends on facebook and realizing all the things we had in common gave them and me the courage to talk in person. So now, I've got a few friends I wouldn't have had otherwise.

Facebook has helped me to find long lost friends. My high school principal (the awesome kind of principal,) my close friend who grew up down the street from me, my old piano teacher, one of the boys in my class all the way through school, my two best buds in college. You all have these stories too. In fact, there aren't too many people from my past I wasn't able to find on facebook. I wouldn't have any connection to these people or even know where they are if it weren't for facebook.

Facebook has sustained present relationships. I hate the phone. Those of you that have called me know I don't answer it all the time. I don't even respond to messages sometimes that clearly say "please call me back at this number." I send a facebook message instead. I know, it's a little weird to have a phone phobia. If you also have one please let me know I'm not alone. Or else I might have to have myself commited to overcome my irrational fear of telecommunications.

So I facebook people instead. I suppose this is because I am far more confident behind my written words than my spoken. And if that's weird then I willingly own my weirdness.

But I also think it's possible for facebook to come between people if you let it. If you never talk face to face, if you never have that human contact that grows you as a person, if you never learn to read other people's body language, their expressions... well, that's all part of knowing someone else.

So that's my two cents for the day. I'm sorry I'm not wealthy in wisdom and able to provide 25 cents or 50.

If you've got anything to add, start typing!

Tortoise meets Hare

First of all, before I get into it, may I please have the support of every woman who thinks this is completely disgusting?

MacGyver says it is the only place he can charge his razor, full of little stubbly bits. He says it's the only place that's convenient. He says he needs it to be there when he gets up at 5 am and heads to work for a full day of tireless grinding effort to put food on the table and clothes on our backs...

Okay, that was my imaginative version of what he said. But still. Am I insane to be a little weirded out by a razor charging on my stove?

Thank you for your support.

That being said, I promised MacGyver when I asked if I could write about us today that I would be fair. And so I shall.

The idea occurred to me a few days ago when a friend mentioned that an injury had made her husband a little crabby. I was in shock, because I've never seen her husband without a huge smile on his face. Then I got to wondering - how many people think MacGyver and I always smile and have complete harmony in our home?

Then I laughed. Really, really laughed. MacGyver is laughing too as he reads this, I can see it. Actually he's probably just shaking his head. Love you, Honey.

Here's the real story. Fourteen and a half years ago God thought it would be HILARIOUS to introduce the Tortoise to the Hare. Then he decided to let Hare in on a little secret. "Tortoise is for you. But you're going to have to wait a VERY long time."

I honestly sighed a little when I shook hands with MacGyver the first time and realized that I wasn't going to be getting married and having a family anytime soon. But I cheered up pretty quickly when I realized he was worth it.

All through high school, I dreamed about what my husband would be like. I thought maybe I'd found him a few times. I knew he would have to have the ingenuity of MacGyver, the boyish innocence and morality of the Kid, the depth of Mulder, and the manliness of Sully, because those were my heroes at the time.

And he did. He had every last one of those qualities that I was hoping for. Trouble is, I didn't realize that my man would come with a few of their negative qualities as well. One of them being, as I have mentioned... he's slow.

Not slow of mind. Quite the contrary, he's a genius. He's never met a broken thing he can't put back in working order. Hence his nickname. He has an answer for every scientific, mathematical quandary Eldest can come up with. When she asks me, I just raise my eyebrow and say "Ask your Dad" as my mind spins out of control with the horridness that is scientific math.

No, no, MacGyver is what we shall call... "careful." He's a double triple checker. He's a "let's not rush into anything" sort of guy. He's a "let's get all the facts out on the table and analyze them to death" sort of guy.

Then there's me. I'm a "if it feels right, jump in with both feet and let what happens happen" kind of girl. When we got married and MacGyver realized this, he was horrified. We spent almost every day of our first year of marriage fighting the fight of justice. His cause was "caution" and my cause was "seize the day."

Well, here we are almost ten years later, and we've both changed. We've come to some sort of treaty. In fact, we've come to see the other's major points and embraced them. I can see how it's good to be careful sometimes. He can see that life will pass you by if you wait too long. We know we need the other one to help us be more than we could be by ourselves. So after all, God had a good plan.

But that's not to say that there aren't still occasional battles at Tortoise and Hare's home. That's not to say that sometimes Hare doesn't leave Tortoise in the dust getting tired of waiting for him to catch up. That's not to say that Tortoise doesn't sometimes go slower just to get Hare's dander up...

Yes. We have days. Now we have a referee. Eldest lets us know when we're out of line. Sometimes we purposefully wait until she's sound asleep to argue because she's so good at guilt. And she isn't sound asleep till the wee hours of the morning.

But all this to say is that I'm glad God gave me a Tortoise. Being married to another Hare would not be a fun life. I suppose he could have given me someone more in the middle, but I probably would have found that boring. As much as I hate the drama... I like it a little. Please don't tell MacGyver. Oh wait... he reads this.

The day I married MacGyver I wasn't completely sure that he really wanted to be married to me. Ten years later, I'm amazed at how far we've come. Even in more recent months, I can honestly say that I know he loves me, and that for whatever reason, he's glad he's married to me. And even though it's hard for me to express sometimes, I love him more each day. I'm really really hard on him, I know, but I look up to him for his relentlessness, his courage, his thoughtfulness and his commitment to excellence. He inspires me, helps me be what I'm supposed to be, and he teaches me that it's okay to be a work in progress, because that's what God specializes in.

Thanks for the last ten years, MacGyver. Just think of the possibilities for the next ten.

Maybe you'll even stop charging your razor on the stove.

Great Aunt Emily

I CANNOT live with you,
It would be life,
And life is over there
Behind the shelf - Dickinson

Meet my great great great and so forth Aunt Emily. Also known as the poet Emily Dickinson. She's actually an aunt on both my paternal grandparents sides. I know, I know, that's a little weird. Fortunately for me and everyone else in my family, Grandpa and Grammy didn't know they were distantly related. Otherwise they might have been weirded out too and never would have got married and had six healthy children, one being my father.

Anyway, my point is only to say that I feel a sort of kinship with my great aunt/cousin/whatever the exact title might be. My Dad has sorted it out and posted it on his website but I only need to know she's a relative. I feel a kinship with her of course because we share a love of writing. Even though I've tried Emily's poetry and sometimes I just can't get her style. She might have felt the same way about my historical novels.

Another way we are alike is in our perception of people. She gave in to her fears and became reclusive, in her later years not even willing to leave her room. While I cannot really understand completely shutting off from life, I understand the motivation behind it. It's not that I am necessarily afraid of people or dislike people. In fact, based on this poem of Emily's, I don't think that was it for her either. I think she was like me. People were so important to her, she loved so deeply, that fear of losing them or being rejected took over her mind.

Emily gave up on her faith. I have no doubt in my mind that if I had done the same, I would be as reclusive and troubled as she was. There is a sort of physical nervous response that builds up in me when I am in a group of people attempting to mingle, or when I am speaking in front of people or even singing. (I find it interesting that God has called upon me to do these very things many times in my life. It reminds me of the words of Paul that "My grace is sufficient, my power is made perfect in weakness.") Even with my own precious family, toward the end of the day my whole body is tensed and willing the late hour to come when I can be alone and breathe. I would describe this nervous reaction to crowds and social situations as I describe the feeling of claustrophobia. It is not something that I allow to happen, it is a physical response.

However, it is not a physical response that I cannot control or learn to master, at least in part. Emily didn't realize that on the springboard of faith in God she could learn to deny her need to be alone on occasion and she would be glad for it. I guess that's what I've learned over the years and am still learning each day. To work toward being more involved in the lives of the people around me, not less. To allow others to sharpen me and rid me of my rough spots, not run away from constructive criticism and call it rejection.

I suppose that physically ill response to people all around me will always be part of who I am, just as it was for Emily. But I'm determined not to let it get control.

I wish with all my heart for a time machine to go visit Aunt Emily and tell her the very same.

Character Flaws

Today has been a much better day. I am no longer questioning my sanity. At least, not in relation to having a large family. I even had two nephews under 6 join my bunch this evening so my sis and hubby could see "Inception." Everything was fine.

I'm prepared, in fact, to be quite honest tonight as pertains to something that has always bugged me about my personality. I'm not sure if it's a character flaw or not.

Have you ever tried to look at yourself in a scratched mirror? We have an antique mirror hanging on the wall that gives off a great vibe - but it's not much good for seeing yourself. Sometimes I feel that way when I am trying to judge parts of my character that are good and parts that need work. I don't know if I'm the only one, but sometimes I have a hard time telling the two apart. Like staring into a mirror when you can't see your whole face.

I figured out pretty young that I was rough around the edges. I didn't like how mean I could be or how lazy. These were two things I began to give conscious effort into changing right around the time I started high school. I have a bit of a "people pleaser" complex and I spend a lot of time wondering how I seem to others.

So all of this swirling around in the stew that is me makes for a questionable aroma. I sometimes get the feeling that other people are afraid of me. I'm not sure what I do to give off a fearful vibe, except that the efficient part of me sometimes realizes that I better take over and get the job done if no one else is doing it. I have learned to try to squelch this urge when I observe that others might be offended by it, but I acknowledge that I can't always know what others are thinking or feeling.

I also admit I'm a bit obsessed with truth. I hate pretension, I hate putting on a show to get attention, and I hate dishonesty in all its forms. I would not knowingly point out a flaw in someone else just for the sake of being honest, but if asked a direct question, I must answer honestly. This has certainly gotten me into trouble on a few occasions.

I'm not sure where I'm really going with all this. Perhaps I'm just hoping I'm not the only one who spends way too much time thinking about what other people think, or wondering if my good intentions aren't seen as good by others around me.

To sum up - it sounds good to say I am efficient and honest. But what if my efficiency and honesty get in the way of my relationships? What if they become more important than my duty to love others?

So this is my quandary. Please, if there is anyone out there who feels remotely the same, or has some other misunderstood character trait, let us know about it!

I must add that since I've started this blog I've felt a little uncomfortable walking around in my life knowing that you all are reading my deepest thoughts. Not so much because I don't want you to know - I'm just worried that everyone is going to think I'm a moron. The hopeful-to-be-one-day-soon-published novelist in me rejoices that someone cares to read what I write. The slightly-reclusive part of me is a little afraid of all this exposure.

But anything worth doing is a challenge. And so I will continue to bleed my words onto this blog, and hope that someone somewhere will appreciate the sacrifice and take something away from it.

Good night.

To Know Them is to Love Them

I have too many pictures. It took me a good half hour to find that one.

MacGyver and I watched a comedian named Brian Regan on Netflix the other day. He was talking about how we as adults do not really try to put ourselves in children's places. He was saying that he saw a little boy crying because he'd lost his balloon, and the parents just hushing him as if it weren't important. He said maybe we should think of the balloon as our wallet or purse and then we might understand a little more what they are feeling.

Of course, when he said this it was very funny and everyone laughed. I realize that I have lost something in the translation. But the idea of that stuck with me. Kids have to understand that sometimes balloons fly away. But there's no reason we can't sympathize.

I've been thinking about my crew and wondering if sometimes I am too harsh, too busy, too OLD to think about my children as people. I know I can definitely get to the place where it's been awhile since I built a fort and shot the monsters, played peekaboo 700 times, danced the hokey pokey until I'm winded, or listened to the tales of imaginary horses and superheroes.

So I've made a goal in my relationship with my kids. To be intentional in the way that I relate to them. We went on a walk last week when the weather was absolutely perfect. I said "Okay, tell me about anything you want."

Eldest told me every single fact she could think of (and she knows many of them) in relation to horses. The breeds, caring for them, what it might be like to ride one. I asked her "Why do you love horses so much?" She really thought about it and said "I was made to love horses, I guess."

I turned to my Second-born and asked him what he'd like to talk about. "Spiderman. And Batman." Now I must say that I have not allowed my 4 year old to watch Spiderman or Batman. The only thing he knows of them is the pictures on his T-shirts and caps. Or so I thought. I asked "What do you love so much about them?" and he concentrated hard and finally answered "Because they can fly. Because they are strong. I want to be strong like them." (We did have a bit of a discussion about how Spiderman and Batman don't technically fly. I told him Superman does fly, and that's why he's MY favorite superhero. But he stuck with his first answers.)

I guess my point is that I'm realizing it's not just my job to feed them and clothe them and teach them how to act right in society. They are people, and beneath all the chatter that might sound like nonsense to an adult, there are real feelings and interests and dreams. To know them, and to love them completely and help them find their wings, I have to understand what the childish gibberish means.

So I'm determined to listen more. To be on their level more, even if it seems silly or too much of a chore. I'm going to take the time to do it. I don't want to wake up in 20 years and find out they all left to go off to live before I figured out who they were. I want to discover who they are right along with them. And so I commit to take the time.