How to be a Klutz

This blog posting is inspired by a conversation I had yesterday with a close friend of mine. Both of us experienced the not so fun aspects of being a klutz this past week. The question I posed to her is this: Why does Bella (of Twilight fame) come off looking adorable, with men (or should I say boys) falling at her feet to save her from her charming tendency to fall down on a regular basis? Granted I did have a few heroic men (highway patrolmen) kindly scrape me up off the ground - sopping wet and bawling- last week. But I am fairly certain that I didn't come off looking adorable and charming -AT ALL! Ah you say you want to hear the story? Well of course you do because it wasn't you who landed on their backside in a rainstorm! My good friend Jamie and I, along with our boys Evan and Asher were waiting not-to-so patiently just inside the doors of In and Out for the rain storm that was dumping cat and dog shaped raindrops to subside enough to allow us to get to our cars without being drenched. The rain lessened just a bit so we decided to run for it. We took about 4 steps out the doors and down the handicap ramp and the lights went out for me. One minute I was upright holding Asher's hand, my purse and my keys and the next minute I was flat on my back, soaking wet and nursing a throbbing head, my keys and purse flung halfway into the parking lot. Silly me, I was wearing flip flops and when they hit the painted stripe on the wet walkway it was like a cartoon character hitting a banana peel. I fell flat on my backside and my head whipped back and hit the concrete. Before I really knew what was happening a couple of cops were helping me sit up and looking in my eyes to see if I had a concussion. They kept offering to call an ambulance or someone to drive me home but at the point I was bawling and just wanted to get home to nurse my wounds (and wounded pride). Asher was very matter of fact about the whole thing - Jamie told him to pick up my purse and keys, which he did and the whole herd of us, including the cops, headed for my car. Jamie was sweet enough to follow me home to make sure I got there ok. I called Lance the moment I got into the car, sobbing the whole time. He happened to be heading home after a meeting in SLC and so he met me there. Aside from being totally embarrassed I had a pretty good sized goose-egg on my head and I ached all over. I still have an ugly black bruise the size of Texas on my butt! The following days I was really sore almost like I had whiplash. It wasn't a fun couple of days. So back to my question - If a fat middle aged woman falls in a parking lot does it make a sound? Only if you are there to hear her pride screaming!

What's in a name

So this is my rant for the week. When you have met someone you know you will come in contact with again and again don't you make an effort to remember that person's name? Or at the very least hid the fact that you don't remember it until you can figure it out surreptitiously. As most people know a person's name is something that people like to hear - there are lots of scientific studies done on the subject of names and if you read any one of a number of "how to get ahead" type books you will be told to remember the names of people you come in contact with and use them as often as you can in conversation. So what brought about my current soap box of name remembering? I have been this new ward for about 6 months now. I have a calling as a Relief Society teacher so I stand up in front of the sisters every month. I have attended nearly every Relief Society or other ward activity that has been held during that time. I have introduced my self to numerous people, held lengthy conversations with many of them. I have put a conscious effort into remembering who people are, where they live, the names of their family members in the ward and something special about them so I have some thing to converse with them about. I get that lots of people would find this strange but I really have wanted to make an effort to reach out to the members of this ward. If you have read my other posts on this subject you know that it has been a tough transition for me. My way of dealing with this has been to try harder to reach out so that if cannot be said that I didn't try my best to be outgoing and friendly. With out a doubt I consider my self lucky to have found a handful of friends with whom I feel at home. However for the second time in about as many weeks I was asked to day what my name was by someone with whom I have shared several long conversations. Both women are near my age and have children that my children associate with and in one case our husbands work closely together in their callings in the ward. So I ask -what's in a name? In my case - it is a feeling that I am recognizable as a part of the ward, as a neighbor and yes, maybe even a friend. These experiences will not stop me from try to reach out to my fellow ward members - if any thing it has renewed my desire to get to know and call by name the sisters who seem to feel left out or lost in this somewhat cliquish ward. It is a small thing to remember a person's name but it makes a huge difference in how that person feels. Calling someone by their (correct) name is just the first step toward a real relationship. I would hate to miss out on knowing another "kindred spirit" simply because I didn't put the effort into remembering their name.

Contrast and Compare

This last week I received two birthday invitations in the mail. One was for my great- niece's first birthday and the other is for a friend's 100th birthday. For some reason I was struck by the idea that two people I care about are celebrating such amazing milestones. For the one year old a lifetime of experiences: joys, sadness, laughs and tears, stretches out in front of her. So much potential boiling under the surface. For the 100 year old I think of all the amazing, horrifying, crazy things she has seen in those 100 years. What will another 100 years bring us. Some of the amazing, never-will-forget events that have happened in my lifetime include September 11, 2001, the Berlin Wall falling, the invention of the internet and of course the birth of my children. So I have been thinking a lot about the moments and events that make up a lifetime. This last week two my brother's step daughters gave birth to beautiful babies. Two new lives began this week! What a miracle the birth of a child is. This last week a friend buried her grandmother. An amazing life ended and began a new journey that we here still struggling through this mortal existence cannot fully understand. What does this moment in time mean to you and me. Is it a turning point upon which an entire life shifts course? What will be the pattern in my "life quilt" when I look back on it at 100?

Motivation

I have been contemplating the concept of motivation. The questions that I struggle with are - how do I motivate myself to do things I don't enjoy doing but know I should? How do I motivate my children to do the things they should do to help keep our household running smoothly? How do I motivate my other family members to maintain closer ties to our family? I have come to realize that I have a strong stubborn rebellious streak. My mom never expected or forced me to face this tendency as a child - she just gave in to whatever I wanted to do or refused to do. My kids are very aware that they don't always get to do what the want and are expected to do things they don't enjoy doing (ie cleaning up). But are they really motivated to do those things? JJ is motivated more than Hannah and Asher. Whether due to age or just personality JJ gets most of his chores done before school so that he can spend his time after school and homework- playing. Hannah on the other hand requires CONSTANT reminding to get her to finish anything that she doesn't like doing. Cleaning her room is a painful time for both her and Lance and I - one of us has to sit in the room with her and say every few minutes "keep working or stay on task or pick up that". She is 6 and in my mind she should be able to do this on her own especially since she has a place for everything that is in her room. So that comes back to me. If I expect her to be motivated at 6 shouldn't I be motivated too? How do I find this motivation that is so elusive to me? The problem may lie in my own selfishness. I have a desire for a more organized, cleaner home but I also don't want to be swallowed up in those mundane tasks the I miss out on the things that bring me joy - like my kids, reading and scrapbooking. It is a daily challenge to find a balance between what I to do and what I should do.