The Weight of Love

 

Love Locks, Pont des Arts bridge, Paris, France. February 2015

Paris is effortlessly enchanting; the setting surreal. When I visited last February, It appeared I’d climbed off a plane and stumbled onto a movie lot. I stammered through the set, feeling hideously underdressed and under-classed; a poor peasant, gawking apologetically at the beauty, (trying not to look like the obvious star struck outsider I was -not even fit to be cast as an extra). Every detail was impeccable: the lighting a warm caress, the irresistible chinks of cobblestones clicking against my boots as I walked. The River Siene lapped the edge of the city while sail boats swayed seductively on the waves. The wafting aroma of fresh pastry seemed to melt into the canvas backdrop –It must be a painting? I’d reasoned, and worried croissant crumbs would leave a greasy mark. The bookstands, the structures, the texture of culture and heritage and history settled in my soul a mystery to be unwound. But the story would have to wait to be absorbed, because I was distracted by a (make-your-womb-hurt) little girl; a red scarf tied smartly around her neck, who was holding a crepe to her mouth, a trail of sugar and butter dripped like bread crumbs as she walked. “Lick ever last drop!” I’d thought “Don’t be ashamed to suck the sugar spot on your sweater.  You don’t want to miss anything!”

 

It was SO cold...I had on a pair of leggings, jeans, a wool undershirt,

a shirt a sweater and two coats. But I LOVED every minute!

Paris SCREAMS romance; a siren call for lovers. A batman beacon in the sky. Everywhere you turned couples were tucked into each other, their fingers intertwined, and their every step in sync. As I walked across the Regal Pont des Arts Bridge, I stopped to watch young sweethearts secure locks onto the bridge frame and throw the keys into the river. The padlocks winked in the sunlight, sharpie initials scribbled haphazardly on the links, a tangible token of couples from around the world who desired to be (wait for it) locked in love forever. I thought it was romantic and was amazed by the sheer number of metal hooks hanging from the iron bridge. But I learned the future of this ritual was doomed, because as the number of locks had surged past 700 000, the weight of love had grown heavy enough to bend the beams of iron, and break down the walls.

 

Seriously, that's a lot of love. Locks were fastened to other locks in order to secure a spot. 2015

Currently, it’s estimated each metal panel carries more than 1,100 pounds of extra weight, which is more than four times the maximum weight allowed. City workers circulate nightly, wire cutters in hand to break the locks off the bridge, but their efforts seem to be in vain, because almost immediately another lock is anchored in its place.

Eating birthday gelato with my birthday boy. It must have been good because Alex
indulged me with a birthday selfie AND birthday smile. March 30, 2015, Texas.

And this is the image I was (admittedly wistfully) remembering the other night, when hour three of four of Operation “Get Alex Unstuck” had started (I NEVER remember to wear my camo). Getting “stuck” is something Alex is exceptionally good at. Classic overachiever. A more scientific term for “stuck” would be “perseverate” and is something a lot of individuals with autism struggle with. It’s responding in the same way repetitively and can include behaviors like stemming, echolalia, obsessions and routines. Perseveration involves actions, thoughts, words, phrases and emotions. For Alex, his perseverating takes on the form of specialized interests. If the boy is into something he is INTO something. Go ahead and ask him to name all the national parks, and he can tell you their location, park hours, distinguishing features, the history of construction, how many people died there, what President made it a National Park… I could go on all day. It has been suggested that a lot of the groundwork for the computers we have today was laid by individuals who perseverated on computer chips. Perseveration has its upside, but on the flip side, it can also be a burden. For Alex, the challenge arrives in repetitive negative thought patterns that prevent him from getting past perceived wrongs and moving forward. His frustrations viewed through the prism of autism might seem illogical to everyone BUT Alex (who sees it as perfectly rational).

The history and beauty of Paris was almost my undoing. I only had my phone to take pictures with and I filled the memory. Paris, France 2015

For example, when Alex broke his arm and the doctor took off the cast, his arm still hurt and Alex was certain it was still broken. The doctor showed him the X-ray where the bone was healed, but Alex fixated on the empty space in between bones, concluding the doctor was lying, ergo all doctors are liars. This fixation lasted for YEARS. No amount of arguing, explaining, documenting, apologizing, scientific facting, OR electrical shock thereapying (kidding….too expensive wink wink) could persuade him otherwise. This road bump got tricky, because we deal with doctors a lot. AND we are friends with doctors. Yes, at my front door a Doctor and his family coming for dinner was told, “My mom is making apple pie. It smells amazing. Sorry, liars aren’t allowed in this house.” (Que door slamming). Or there was the time Alex had pneumonia complicated by asthma and refused breathing treatments (like we can trust their judgment!). There is no fixing it, when he gets stuck in a cycle of perseveration, (BELIEVE ME I’VE TRIED) and sadly, some of the issues he struggles with have become massive roadblocks in his life, preventing him from further movement. Think landslide size roadblocks, and the more you move dirt from point A to point B, thinking you are making progress, you realize he’s just been moving it back from point B to point A the whole time, and all your effort has been in vain. Furthermore, and probably the most frustrating and hardest thing to juggle, is how his landslides affect the movement of his brothers and his parents. We have all slid off the road, time and time again, mud filing our shoes as we slide, the grit of dirt slow to wash off.



Gargoyle's view: From the top of Notre Dame...just call me a hunch back! 2015

On this night, I had my feet propped up against Alex’s legs as he sunk deeper in defeat into the couch. My 6’4 bred to be a linebacker son, reminded me of a toddler who had exhausted himself after throwing a tantrum. His fists were still clenched in unresolved frustration, tears stained his face, the burden of anxiety, depression and autism, settled like concrete in his frame. He was undone. This was the third night in a row we had played this game, with no declared winner, and I was so bone weary tired of folding, of being dealt a losing hand and shuffling the cards. Finally, silence settled in the room. We sat catatonic, listening to the fan churning the air, and my mind drifted back to that bridge and the weight of love.

The River Seine was deep, and dark and beautiful. Paris, France 2015

I confess, in that midnight moment, the weight of love was not poetic, or velvety like rose petals. It was not something to be pined over. The burden of love felt crushing and for just a moment I closed my eyes and sunk into the black angst of despair. I lamented that this was not the way I envisioned love! Or motherhood, or my life. Love felt like a rock I was chained to pulling me down into an ocean of hopelessness. Love was rubbing me raw.

But. Then I blinked and looked up. I saw my son as he dipped his head and peered at me cautiously from under the shadow fringe of bangs, and love buoyed me up, pulled me to the surface, and became a lifeboat.

I want my parenting to be like this statue; the soldier who is saving the baby
(buck naked of course because how else would one save a child's life?) And
there are moments of this (only usually with clothing). Louvre, Paris, France 2015

 

But honestly mostly my parenting experiences are like this (and, usually without clothing as well...wink wink)
Louvre, Paris, France 2015

I know I’m not alone when I say this was not the life I thought I would have.  Every human has experienced that aha moment. Motherhood is so much work! I had no idea when I put that wheel in motion that IT NEVER STOPS. But, oh how grateful I am to be a mother. Because being a parent has grounded me.  I have been strengthened by love, refined and balanced by the ballast as I’ve learned to shift the density of attachment. In that moment of nighttime calm, I accepted the weight again. I remembered I didn’t want to be unchained and released; glad the key to our lock was resting against the smooth flesh of river rocks.



A break from France (geez who wants to deal with THAT all the time!!!) to another favorite place: The Tetons
Summer 2015 with my favorite boys; Alex, Logan and Spencer 

The truth is, my carpal tunnel fingers ache to type that as the sun started to rise, pink clouds stretched in gauzy strips across the horizon, that Alex miraculously took up his bed and walked. But he did not. The game was a draw. Again. I folded. Again. Dropped my cards, cried “Uncle” and asked, “Do you think you can sleep now?” Again.

I’ve repeatedly wondered if all the talking, listening, reasoning and reassuring makes even a chink in the armor of autism, let alone a dent in the shield. But, my ace up my sleeve is knowing I can perseverate too. In fact, love compels me to “repeat something intently or redundantly, usually to an exceptional degree or beyond a desired point.” I have to believe that the weight of love will be decisive.

The force is strong in this one.... Spencer and Logan throwing the weight of love around.
A FREEZING -29 degrees, hurts to breath, day in Jackson. December 2014

The gravity of devotion is cumulative; snowflakes melting like sugar in your hand while you puzzle over how one tiny flake can make any difference? (*Try a winter in Wyoming and you will see). I believe by small and simple means are great things brought to pass.  And all the times I wiped noses, wiped butts, buckled boys in car seats, (stopped on the side of the road every other mile to REBUCKLE them in car seats). All the hours enduring the stomach flu, cracked nipples, ER visits and bouts of biting. All the landforms formed, PE clothes washed, forgotten lunches delivered. All the binkies found, Halloween costumes created, knees bandaged, apples peeled. All the books read, boundaries set, chores enforced. All the sleepless nights stumbled through, lullabies sung, long lines tolerated and parent teacher conference scolding’s absorbed. All the laundry washed, pancakes flipped, tempers held and crusts removed, it all counts.

The Eiffel Tower in the background on a rainy afternoon in Paris, 2015

The weight of love can always be felt and sparkles with the light of a thousand diamonds when it banks against your window and you put your palm up to the pane, wanting to cup the miracle; overcome by the biting beauty.

And this morning, still yawning from my late night poker session with Alex, I was driving to the Middle School (Kenny Roger’s lyrics “you’ve got to know when to hold ‘em” running through my head) to drop off forgotten gym clothes to Logan for football practice. Again. And coming up on a rise in the road I was overcome by how the electrical pillar looked just like the Eifel Tower.

Taking a boat tour on the River Seine @ night.
My smile was literally frozen in place (but I looked that way in
the warmth of the hotel room too...) Ahh, Paris. 2015

 

And as a PS: This is why I'm not even qualified to work as an extra on the set of Paris, France, because I do classy things like drop my glove in the toilet at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Elegant as always, (and sadly...cold). 

 

Uh, yes. That is the bathroom at the top of the Eifel Tower.
Yes, the one where I dropped my glove in the toilet.

 

 

 

 

+

What About Now?

Uncle Jake takes one for the team as Spencer plows a pie into his face on Pie Day 3.14.15

When I was 27 weeks pregnant with Logan, I slipped on the ice and tore the ACL in my right knee. Well, needless to say, I was never graceful to start out with (obviously) so crutches took some extra effort, then add to the mix a gravity defying pregnant belly, a 15 month old Spencer, a 3 year old Alex, and an absentee husband (Russ was working for the SLC Olympics DURING the Olympics) and you get a REAL party (like it’s 1999 baby)!

During this time of (cough cough) “healing” I found myself propped up in a leather-lazy-boy recliner, a bag of ice resting on my knee, while I attempted to maintain the routine of “rocking” (oops) Spencer before sleepy time, while Russ put Alex to bed. Eventually Spence finished his bottle and settled like a cuddly little tree monkey against my shoulder and conked out. I remember smelling his just washed hair and sighing contentedly, just before he (wait for it) arched his back and threw up ALL OVER ME (uh…remember he was cuddled on my shoulder….so the direct target would be….? )

While calling for help (no response), I pulled off Spencer’s pajamas, and used his blanket to hastily wipe off my face. I handed him his binky and shifted him to my other side where he INEXPLICABLY went back to sleep. At first my continued cries for backup were like soft kitten mewing sounds, because I didn’t want to wake up Spencer…but as time marched on, and the melted ice dripped down my leg, the dead weight of Spencey cut off my blood flow, the need to pee became the sole thought thumping like a heart beat in my brain and, oh wait! -I was COVERED IN VOMIT and couldn’t move- my pleas got increasingly louder. I could hear Russ snoring in Alex’s room, (he was exhausted) and was SHOCKED when my full out eventual RANTING didn’t rouse him (or Spencer). As impatience, frustration and even panic begin setting in (all while I starred numbly at a Mighty Bullet infomercial … did I forget to mention I’d dropped the remote?) I may have whispered pathetically into the dark, “Someone will find your body eventually. There will be a proper burial. Lassie will go for help!”  I knew I’d be okay, but in those heavy, moments waiting for the sunrise, I remember thinking, “But how do I get through now?”


This photo was taken on a freezing morning one week before Logan was born at a Torch Light Parade
During the 2002 Winter Games in SLC. (As a side not since Logan was born during the Olympics,
Russ told the nurse as a joke that we were naming him Olympius Thor.
Don't worry. We had to change the birth certificate). 


My childhood friend’s mother is dying of cancer and she feels swallowed up by anxiety as she watches powerlessly. She wants to stall the creeping death and give her mother hope, but feels like she keeps falling short of the mark. She’s caught in a collapsed blanket hut of grief, and the stiches are tight with no weak spots in the seams. I watch her searching for a hole in the fabric so she can poke out a finger and let somebody know she’s there (I see you).

“What about now?” I imagine her saying. “How do we get through now?”

Another friend is courageously facing postpartum depression.

A family I love is working to absorb the tragic death of their daughter.

And my oldest son faces daily debilitating depression and despair (and he will also tell you if you ask, “Murderous rage” but the alliteration with the d words is a much nicer fit right?).

Sunset in Jackson .... would like to get through a few more of these (What about NOW? Yes please!) 2015

What about now?

We lost our first baby 23 weeks into my pregnancy, it happened so fast. Within a matter of hours life slipped seamlessly from me, like a ghost disappearing, smoke dissipating, and I was left bereft, 22 and barely able to wrap my mind around what had just happened. I remember laying on the floor of the bedroom that would have been our child’s nursery and feeling crushed by the weight of remorse, every breath I tried to find seemed lost in some black empty place that used to hold my heart. I hated that I couldn’t escape. I hated the feeling of waking up and remembering my life had derailed, and I was making my way through carnage. I was just a girl, barely older than a toddler and I thought I could cheat grief; so I got pregnant with Alex (against medical advice) six weeks after losing out first son. I was so young. I didn’t know grief was patient. That it bided it’s time. That it waits like a hungry panther; white teeth shining in the shadows.

Now that I’m barely older than a school girl, I’ve learned we all have moments of angst. No one escapes this life without being ravaged a time or two. We all have days (Months…years…eek!!!) When Lassie gets distracted by the hot Pug around the corner and never makes it back to the well with help. We have all spent time underwater, wondering if we will ever feel the earth beneath our feet again.

So what about now?

What about when you wave your white flag; your muscles fail, when you have no words but no one accepts your offer of defeat? The rhino charges anyway?



This picture I took after I had spend the ENTIRE night bawling pathetically
(Day 28 with a VENGENCE coupled with a long drive, no sleep, a walk into a wall -literally- and a fever) 
but in the morning I got up, and went for a long run in the misty mountain tops.
It reminds me of the Psalm, "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."
When I look at this picture I feel resilient.  2014



How do we get through? Well one thing I’ve learned is that’s just it… you have to get through it, there is no skulking around it, and even if you try, even if you think you’ve cheated grief/anger/resentment/heartache it will just rear its ugly head again. You have to wade through your Red Sea one baby step at a time.

And HOW, you want to know, do you wade from the fetal position? (Have you heard of the front crawl?) Well, this is a blog, not (alas) a dissertation. But here are some things that have helped me:

Stay positive, which is admittedly, easier said than done. Being positive includes being grateful for what you have. I love moments when the prism through which I see life shifts and everything changes. I vividly remember having just come home from the hospital where I’d had yet another IV rehydrating session because I was unexpectedly expecting Logan, and couldn’t keep ANYTHING down. I was feeling lower than low and certainly justified in my self-pity. I got home just in time to attend a women’s meeting. I entered the building rubbing the sore spot on my hand where the student nurse had tried eight times to get an IV started, and stopped by the bathroom on the way in to throw up what? Saline solution?!! Part of the meeting included a video on Humanitarian Aid, and in the footage there was a refugee woman who was trying to feed her dehydrated child. He was too weak to suck, so she cupped gruel in her empty hand and tried to pour it into his open mouth. I looked at this mother sitting in the dirt, a dusty rag tied around her head, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she tried to save the life of her child. Watching this changed me.  Gratitude for all I had split me apart. My whole perspective shifted, and even though my pregnancy with Logan continued to miserable right up until delivery, I felt grateful to have access to so much care and support. Gratitude became an island in my sea of sorrow.
 

Um, hanging at the Ocean with my friend is something I can feel positive about.
(That and not breaking my ankle when I landed made me feel even better) 2015

 

Learn to laugh, this has been hands down the saving grace in my life. I live in a world of black and white thinkers, Alex especially is very literal and he struggles with being happy. The other morning I greeted him as he padded down the stairs saying, “Good morning Alex, how are you feeling today?” He answered, “I’m really struggling with feelings of murderous rage right now.” “Well, remind me not to stand by the kitchen knives!” I replied. “Why?” Alex wanted to know. And so began the daily ritual we’ve been doing since he was a little boy, it’s a game called, “It’s a little bit funny and here’s why” where we try to teach him how to infuse hues of color into his world colored midnight.  Humor is infectious, when laughter is shared it binds people together. Laughter has been scientifically proven to strengthen your immune system, boost your energy, diminish pain and protect you from the damaging effects of stress. So go to a comedy club, watch a funny show, read the comics, hangout with your kids, because it turns out laughter really is the best medicine.

Take a pause. Step back and look at the big picture. (Observe the situation as an outsider). Focus on what’s working and set small achievable goals (today I will shower :) and only eat ONE tub of ice cream). Recognize how far you’ve come (Yesterday I showered too :). I tend to default to how far we have to go, instead of celebrating the mileage we’ve covered and believe me -especially when it comes to Autism- mileage covered is hard earned and SHOULD be celebrated! Like confetti guns and blow horns celebrated! (Um, scratch that, too stimulating! Brownies alone in the closet works too!). Take a moment in your ocean of anguish to dog paddle, to float on your back so you can take stock of the situation. Make a plan. Decide on an escape route. Get your bearings, take a deep breath, tighten your life jacket, and then dig into to the waves.



Sometimes denial tastes like a waffle from the BKK airport.... mmmmm sugar! 2014

 

Denial. I am a fan of denial. Now simmer down, this isn’t to say you should just ignore a problem, but sometimes you can get so absorbed in the grieving of grief (the action of it, grief as a verb) that you are rendered catatonic. I remember when Alex was first diagnosed with autism I spent HOURS and HOURS and HOURS researching cures and behavior modification, causes, IEPs and websites for adults with autism. I was overwhelmed by the amount of information I had to digest, so much so that I choked. I had to detach to be able to function on a guttural level. To be able to do laundry and make sack lunches and read bedtime stories and work. Now, did my spending the afternoon getting a pedicure and reading in the parking lot instead of going into the lecture on “Social Stories for Beginners” ruin anything? No. But ignoring the elephant in the room, for just a few glorious moments, allowed me enough time to gather some more straw (because elephants eat A LOT duh!). Denial goes along with thinking in small sips, because when you are in a crisis situation you can’t gulp or you’ll choke. You must sip like a fine lady, pinkies out. I also like to lie to myself, for example, every morning when I’m dragging myself out of bed I think, “Don’t worry. You can take a nap later.” Of course I never do, (and I even know when I think it that I won’t) but that white lie never fails to get me on my feet.

Learn from the past. This one takes some doing, (and it can be a bit painful) but it’s huge. Until we can improve on yesterday we really are just spinning our wheels and not making any forward progress.  Sadly, you can’t change a situation you don’t take responsibility for. Now there are plenty of situations that you did not cause, but of no fault of your own, becomes a problem you’re left to deal with. For example, in the airline industry, a passenger might come to me with trouble checking in for their flight and looking at their computer record I realize their whole itinerary has been mistakenly cancelled. Did I cause the problem? Nope. But is it my problem to fix? Yep. Will ranting that I didn’t cause the problem help anybody? Nope. Especially because the person standing in front of me didn’t cause the problem either. NOW, I have learned to (sometimes begrudgingly) recognize my part of the dysfunction in issues that occur closer to home. For example: No. I don’t have autism.  Alex is the one melting down on aisle five. Yes. This is HIS behavior not mine.  But I might be the one adding too many things to Alex’s plate. I might have been distracted by the lipsticks on clearance and missed his low moans signaling we needed to high tail it out of the store.  I’ve had to learn once the dust settles to dissect the tornado and recognize the signs of impending storms. I’ve had to change my behavior in conjunction with his behavior even though I have never had a problem with, for instance, screaming, “I DON’T CARE ABOUT FREAKING PIE DAY!!” at the sample lady in Costco (As a side note something helpful I have learned from Alex is how to avoid eye contact. This skill has served me well).  Another part of learning from the past is looking for patterns. We all have soothing rituals of behavior (comfort zone) we want to slip back into when experiencing uncomfortable situations or change. I’m not a huge fan of confrontation or feeling like someone is upset with me, so I have a default setting of undoing all the good I’ve done by being honest and setting boundaries (no, I’m too busy to host the PTA bake off) by then jumping back on the phone and offering to run the book sale instead. I know this about myself, which is why I have to give my phone to Logan and tell him he can play Minecraft until the battery dies after I tell someone no. Avoiding eye contact also works well in conjunction with PTA presidents :) which I’ve been one so simmer down!

The boys jumping in the waves of Mission Beach in San Diego over spring break. Alex rarely made it off the ground
but offered his brothers a stabilizing force as they caught air. 2015

 

Take action. If you are in a particularly bad place you must prioritize self-care. You can’t be dealing with the tip of the Maslow’s pyramid of needs when you base is crumbling. (Or help anyone with any of their needs for that matter either). Things that have helped me? Get outside. Go for a walk, a hike a drive.  Attempt to create balance (I know, I know, insert maniacal laughter). And if you are feeling particularly brave, choose to embrace the thing you fear, and you might be surprised to realize that while you might be David with your puny sling shot facing the Goliath in your life,  that giants can be taken down with even the smallest of well-aimed stones. Forward movement always feels better after a period of being stagnant.

Forgive. Be kind to yourself and recognizing that some days your best effort and the most courageous thing you will do is to get out of bed (let your kids out of the locked closet), and continue breathing out. Forgive others.  Martin Luther King said, “We must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love. There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this we are less prone to hate our enemies.”  I know especially when we have been hurt deeply, it’s a hard task to accomplish, but in my own life, I’ve found when I don’t forgive, it’s like I’ve downed three vials of poison and thought the other person would die. Mark Twain said, (and as a side note the poetic nerd in me loves this) “Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.”

 

My parents are some of my favorite (sorry) people to ask for (plead beg) help! 2015
 

Ask for help. As a rule I suck at this. I would 1000 times rather help than be helped. BUT I have been blessed (1000 times over!) with some good to their marrow souls in my life who I’ve been able to share my story with, who have lifted, supported and carried me –I know! I know! It burns! (This topic deserves a whole blog post, or perhaps a dissertation). I love the quote, “I’ll lift thee, and you lift me, and we’ll ascend together.”

Being Willing This is something I learned from watching my mother. You have to be willing to believe you can do what you think you cannot. My mother’s favorite catch phrase is, “How hard can it be?” She taught me when times were tough, you must be tougher, that mindset is half the battle and pain is part of life and helps you grow. From her I learned you can let a situation strengthen and define you or destroy you.  Being willing means you try, but with all of your heart, try.  It’s digging in, it’s going full throttle. Being willing to me, is when you look at the marathon runner who’s standing next to you in a race your friends signed you up for as an April Fool’s day joke and even though you know you are wearing heels and haven’t ran since you chased your toddler across Chick-Fila (because, duh, he was spilling all your fries) in 2004. BUT, you look Jesse Owen’s in the eye anyway, take in the length of the track, assume the position and say to him, “I’ll see you at the finish line!”    

 

The strongest most capable woman I know. (That's A LOT of pressure mom!) 2015

Faith. To me, this is the most important thing to have in your bag of tricks when wondering, “How do I get through now.”  Hope that at some point the sun will rise (it always does) the tide will recede (laws of nature) and as unimaginable as it may seem when darkness seems to stretch like thick wool across everything you hold dear, that you will be ok. Birds sing in the pre-dawn dark because they aren’t burdened down by fear. They know the light will come. Plants grow through concrete. And husband’s eventually roll off of race car toddler beds, and prove their worth by not complaining when you press your vomit crusted hair into their chest, or confess between sobs that you ordered five Mighty Bullets while he carries you (light as a feather) to the tub. 

 

Spencer wears triumph well! 2015

The Male Mind Verses The Female Mind

 

The boys found this book in a gas station on a road trip.... their faces speak volumes:) St. George, UT 2014

“So let me get this straight…” Logan begins from the back seat of the car, “She just left the root beer sitting there? She didn’t even drink it?” “Yep!” Spencer confirmed. “But she said she wanted it!!” Logan continued, baffled. “Logan, its time you understood something. Women are incomprehensible!” “In-com-pre-what?” Logan interrupts “Just look at mom!” Spencer continues,  gesturing wildly towards me,  “Sometimes girls say they want something and they don’t want it, or they actually do want it but they think they shouldn’t or what they really want they don’t think they should say that they want and while they're trying to decide what to do, the soda goes flat while all the dudes die of thirst,” Spencer explained, spreading his arms wide as he talked. "Like how mom never orders ice-cream at McDonalds because she doesn't 'want one' but downs my cone before I can even get a lick in?” Logan asks, “Now you're catching on!” Spencer confirms. "Why do women act this way? Are they some type of She-devils? I'm not gonna lie! Trying to figure this out is giving me a headache!” “Join the club brother.” Spencer says while patting him on the back. “Join the club.”

They are right... usually I don't order my own and just eat theirs :) - that 's Logan's cone :) Texas 2015

 

For my sons, (when you are older) an attempt at explaining the unexplainable: The male mind verses the female mind.

The best example I can come up with when thinking about the way a mind works, is to imagine the brain as a post office system; ideas/tasks/emotions/life experiences – the lot of it- are dropped off in a giant humanity mail box, from there they are picked up, sorted, filed and slid into individual PO boxes.  From that “metal brain,” individuals access their “mail” to get the information they are craving.  But, in my experience when ingressing thoughts, emotions or to do lists…our brains react very differently depending on whose picking up the letters.


One of these things is not like the other...sorta the way my whole life has gone...
 (I don't know why when we were making cookies we only made one armless ghost) Texas 2014

Having spent my whole life surrounded by men (luck-eeeeee) I've learned -for the most part- men are very straight forward. These observations are backed by hard scientific facts. Men utilize nearly seven times more gray matter than women. Gray matter areas are localized pockets of information and action processing; which translates into men functioning in a type of tunnel vision when they are doing a task. For example, when they wake up in the morning they mentally search through their inbox until they find the envelope entitled “Wake up.” They slide it from its spot, slip it open, read through, and check off the instructions:



Logan's to do list..."Skip school, check, play video games, check,
be a good boy and do homework seem to have been prematurely
crossed off the list. Texas 2014

Morning Routine

1)      Hit snooze

2)      Do a cautionary check to see if you might get lucky.

3)      Oh well. Get out of bed.

4)      Scratch nether regions.

5)      Stretch, yawn, moan, and make Chewbacca noises.

6)       Shower. Dry off. Get dressed.

7)       Find black socks.

8)      Put toilet paper on razor cut.

9)      Wipe toothpaste off chin.

10)   Flip on TV and check the news.   

11)    Eat cereal.

12)    Grab briefcase.

13)   Climb in car.

14)     Drive to work.

 Morning routine. Check! (There are other subcategory envelopes entitled, “Weekend Morning” or “It isn’t your birthday but you’re getting Lucky this morning, possibly because you did the dishes last night! Don’t blow it!” that have different applicable checklists).  Throughout the day, envelopes are opened in a straight forward manner, information accessed, check lists checked and the envelope is closed and returned to its dedicated slot. It’s neat. It’s efficient. It’s uncomplicated.



Late night hanging with some of my favorite brains (my oldest and youngest brothers) Utah 2014

Now it’s not to say the male mind doesn’t think deeply or delve into complicated matters, but overall, men would like to keep it simple (chillax) which means they’d 10,000,000 times rather pull out the envelope entitled “Buying Video Games” than the envelope titled, “Let’s talk about our relationship.” For him, it’s simple math, “Time for a sandwich” Or “Getting lucky at Bedtime” is so much more appealing than “Analyzing what you meant when you said a gym membership would probably be  a good idea for your spouse” and also the “So…you’re sleeping on the couch now” envelope.

There are all sorts of envelopes in the male PO Box, including a letter with a bold toxic biohazard skull emblazoned across the front entitled, “Dealing with PMS.” But the check list is blank on this paper, and in its place is a rudely sketched escape route to the underground bomb shelter built in secret (naturally it's done in invisible ink and you have to brush it with lemon juice to reveal the map). The male mind thinks the envelope system is lovely; and in truth I ENVY the straight forward nature of the male mind. You got a problem? Here’s a solution! Because when I pick up the mail, my experience is entirely different.

The male mind: You want a donut, you eat a donut. Simple Simon! Texas 2014

My mind (me being the female in this scenario) - my envelope system- does not work this way. Because while my brain is still a post office, I still have envelopes, I just have 872,766,999 envelopes, (all opened at the same time) and they aren’t made up of simple check lists, but rather paragraph upon paragraph of instruction tied to emotion and the motivation behind actions and a chunk of them are unreadable because tears have made the ink run.  They are paragraphs upon paragraphs upon paragraphs long. And they start with phrases like, “What I’ve realized is…” or “Note to self...” There is no systematic checking off of lists in this post office mind of mine… because each word in each list is highlighted in blue and a link, click on that word and it sparks a connection to another word in another list on another letter. This process of hyper linking from topic to topic like Frogger when he's crossing  traffic continues until my post office looks like the room from “It’s a Beautiful Mind” with red ribbons leading to haphazardly ripped photos and torn pages of instruction stapled to a bulletin board with wide, bold marker scribbles listing further instructions. My mind looks like something exploded in the post office…because everything is connected to everything… one thought leads to another thought then another and another. You open up one letter and immediately it’s like you fell down the rabbit hole. And see, it’s not just me! Scientist explain the female mind utilizes up to 10 times more white matter then men. White matter is the networking grid that connects the brains and other processing centers with one another; which translated means girls tend to be in a perpetual state of multi-tasking.

Ummmm.... Housekeeping?

For example, last week when I was at the grocery store, I happened to think, “What should I make for dinner?” (I know this might seem like a misplaced idea being in the grocery store and all but go with me on this). So, like a man, I opened the letter entitled “Dinner time” but upon reading the first word, “Decide what to make for dinner,” the word “dinner” reminded me that I’d both invited the missionaries over for dinner, (open the “trying to get into heaven” envelop) and I’d volunteered to take dinner to a friend who just had a baby (slide out that “friendship envelope”). So then because I invited the missionaries over, I opened the “Clean the house envelope” and the “Dinner other than ramen noodles” envelope and as a sub-list from the clean the house envelope I opened the “Clean the bathroom” envelope, which made me think about how BADLY my oldest son’s aim is … so then I started thinking about his gross motor skills and how I should probably check into OT again,  so I opened the “OT envelope” and then the word OT sparked a memory that I was suppose to get Spencer’s eye hand coordination tested again because of the missing vision in his right eye. Then the missing vision made me yank out the “guilt envelope” (which is always in a highly accessible spot and never grows dusty from being ignored too long) because I bought the stupid bungee cords that caused the missing vision in the first place. (The guilt envelope is actually the size of a dissertation, which is why I may have looked stoned on the cereal aisle, as my brain downloaded the guilt upgrades). So then I spent a few moments in the fetal position, blocking traffic by the milk (The fetal position envelope is well worn with photos and step by step instructions of how to rock back and forth properly). But then the fetal position reminded me that I was taking dinner to the woman who is struggling with post-partum depression so I’d better pull out the “Chocolate envelope” from its slot. (Sigh. That’s a good envelope) and then while I was drooling over the chocolate envelope, I remembered I needed to make cupcakes for the PTA bake sale tomorrow, (cue  the “PTA envelope” which try as I might, I can’t EVER misplace :) and while debating if I should make chocolate frosting because it’s so messy, the word messy linked me to the “laundry envelope” as I remembered I forgot to put Logan’s football pants in the dryer (slide out the “drop things off at school” envelope). And so, within the course of 1 minute, I have scattered all over my post office brain 13 opened envelope, one dissertation on guilt, and one how to rock in the fetal position diagram. And it’s only 9 am. My brain constantly looks like the floor of the New York stock exchange. And that tornado of information was spurred by the simple question, “What should I make for dinner?”

I LOVE Logan's sense of humor.... "Attempting to care -loading- please wait." I think this was after I asked him to work on his homework... Love this boy! Texas 2014

And that’s just for nominal tasks! Don't even get me started on my analyzing skills! Another skull and cross envelope is a worm hole, a black hole envelope, titled, "Interpreting what he thinks.” This envelope is a disaster because it’s written in Latin, (and I don’t speak Latin) and never goes well, partly because women process more of the bonding chemical oxytocin, so we have more emotional connectivity than men. Additionally, females have verbal centers on both hemispheres of the brain, where as men only have one on the left hemisphere. Meaning, girls tend to use more words when discussing incidences, and attach emotion to almost all interactions. Men, not only have fewer verbal centers but have less connectivity between their word centers and their memories, meaning girls LOVE to discuss feelings and emotions and senses tied to their experiences, whereas men, often... do not (AND, when it comes to analyzing what he thinks, it’s helpful if you both spoke the same language. Rosetta Stone this may be an untapped market).

Hanging with my sister-in-laws, finally my brothers got something right :) St.George UT 2014

Because of the way my mind works, I sometimes run into trouble when trying to dissect a situation. For example, right after we got married, we were driving home from a night out and Russ was unusually quiet. I asked a few probing questions, but he seemed listless, and brushed them off. Well, my multi-tasking, emotion fueled mind assigned eight hundred potential possibilities for his behavior, and by the time we'd reached home, I’d surmised our marriage was over because of X Y and Z.  Meanwhile, Russ was utterly DUMBFOUNDED when I exploded in the driveway about "how can you just let our marriage fall apart and not even say anything?" As it turned out, he'd just been mourning the fact that I ate all of his chocolate cake at dinner (when I specifically said I was full and DIDN’T want to order any desert!).

Train 'em up young...shopping in Paris 2015

In conclusion, I think the best part about the male brain is that men have an envelope that is titled, “NOTHING.” And when they open it, it’s just a blank page. This is their favorite envelope. And they really can just shut down, think about nothing, zone out, take a load off, relax, unwind, chill. And that’s not meant as a SLAM….I long for that envelope! (I have sixteen varieties of "EVERYTHING" one in chineese just in case). Because my mind is endlessly making lists…I wake up at three am and I’ve already got a dictionary going for what I need to do for tomorrow: check, check, check, check (tick tick tick tick) (facial tick or time clock you decide).

Then, as a side note, please examine exhibit A, the autistic male mind…. (Or at least the autistic minds that I deal with). Which magnifies this letter rule honor system to a laser focused power of 3000…. and then maybe you will understand why it was a cruel twist of fate to give my children me for a mother because I am utterly baffling to them. “I thought you said we were having pork chops for dinner and this is soup….?” (“Because –duh-  I forgot to buy the pork chops because I was too busy buying army soldiers to make a land form project, and am using the cookie sheets for salt dough so I couldn’t make fish sticks and besides reading appendix A of the guilt dissertation takes a chunk of time! So eat your Campbells and simmer down!”). Such a wonderful magical thing… the male mind. It’s not caked with dried flecks of fruity pebbles, or salt dough. It doesn't have red ribbon leading from one synapsis to the next. And it says, “Turn off mind” when sleep is next on the list of what to do.


Mmmmmmm estrogen! Celebrating turning forty with my girls!
(And celebrating people who think like me )
Jackson, WY 2015

 “So why do we put up with it? Logan asked baffled

“I don’t know. Why do you let mom lick your ice cream cone when you want it all for yourself?” Spencer probed.

“Because I love her and I don’t want to make her feel bad if I initiated a smack down situation.”

“See? That’s why, because we love them.” Spencer agreed.

“So what you’re saying is, don’t expect a second glass of root beer, and not to freak out when she doesn’t drink hers?” Logan confirmed.

“No, I’m saying not to freak-out when she throws it in your face.” Spencer answered matter-of-factly.

Why would she throw it in my face? Logan wondered.

“You can’t ever be sure.” Spencer said.

“So you’re saying I should just buy my own root beer and hide it under my bed?” Logan asked.

“No.” Spencer said, patting him on the back.  “What I’m saying is … RUN!
 

Love these beautiful minds! Texas coast 2015