Ordinary life challenge response

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine challenged me to post pictures from my ordinary life for 7 days.  I think ordinary life pictures and posts are nice, because it helps people to know that everything isn't hunky dory all the time, but I ran into a little hiccup as I started trying to choose scenes from my life to take pictures to complete the challenge, and at first I worried that they'd be BORING.

That hiccup turned into a hang-up when I started to try to take pictures of things from my life.  What's ordinary for me is probably nothing like ordinary for most people.  For example:  I have 5 kids. (If you count our baby that died almost 2 years ago, I've had 6.) On purpose...All from the same Dad...Who I've been married to the whole time.  That's so far beyond normal....and most of my pictures have my 5 kids in them.  And one of my quests in life has been not to be ordinary or "normal", so i'm not.  I don't swear.  I prefer more creative expressions like "For the love of Pete" or "Oh MYLANTA" or we decided it would be funny if I started saying "Peaches and Cream", because my kids think my other two sayings are weird--so I am trying to implement that one regularly.  Another example: I make up songs a lot.  A LOT.  Sometimes when my kids can't remember things such as 5280 feet are in a mile (incidentally WHY are American's so hung up on using the standard system?  Couldn't we switch to metric and be like the rest of the world, on the EASIER system to remember?), I make up a song to help them remember it.  ("5280 feet are in a mile" is to the tune of La Bamba.) And I sometimes sing with an opera type voice when I'm tired of trying to get their attention.  And my every day life has been BLASTED full of serious moments at random times.  One of my children died, and that has shaken up what is ordinary for me, and I don't think it would be ordinary for anyone else.  When all my kids are playing nicely, I sometimes cry, because I wish he were here to be a part of it.  I count my kids when we go places like the library or the store or grandma's house, and I feel like someone is missing.  All.  The.  Time.  And I have 5--if I was ordinary I'd be like "HOLY COW, WHY DID I HAVE ALL THESE KIDS?" not thinking "1-2-3-4-5...is that all?  It feels like someone is missing," and then my heart throbs because someone IS missing.

So....I have tried to think about what IS ordinary about me.  I do have a problem with the dishes.  I don't like doing them.  My kids don't like doing them.  I don't like hounding my kids to do them, and so some days, my sink looks like this.  Exhibit A:

The thing is, though, that even dishes are a part of my every day life (and I detest them, I truly do, and that's probably normal), I still have things in my dishes area that make the dishes less than ordinary.  Such as my orchid, which was given to me in the hospital when I had Gideon.  Yes, almost 2 years ago.  Yes, it's blooming again.  Somehow I have not killed it, and not only that, but it starts blooming around Christmas and my birthday and mother's day and it reminds me that Gideon is still part of my family on those special holidays. And look at that rose, which my husband brought to me the other day (we are approaching our anniversary).  And my Easter cactus is a monster--I got that in the hospital when I had my first baby, and it keeps growing just like my family.  And I did NOT move them here for the picture, I just stepped back and took it at a larger angle.  This is supposed to be REAL LIFE, and it is my real life, but I think that it's far from ordinary.

Also, you may notice that there are bread pans in the sink.  That's because I made banana bread.  Ooooooh so good.  Exhibit B:

  That's after 3 loaves got eaten already today.  And every day is not a banana bread making day, so is it really ordinary?  And my positive attitude? (Dishes are crappy, but it means that I made banana bread.) That's not an ordinary thing either.  What is ordinary anyway?  Apparently not me. 

So, I'm sorry I can't complete the 7 day ordinary life challenge.  I'm too extra-ordinary.  And I'm OK with that.

It's all in how you look at it.

Last weekend was Memorial Day weekend, and so we made a trip to Gideon's grave site.  Much to my chagrin, when we arrived, the cemetery had the sprinklers on in the area where Gideon's gravestone is found.  I was irritated--already feeling heavy and sad, and the sprinklers being in the way just added to my frustration.  So I did what most modern folks would do: I pulled out my smart phone, and took a picture so that I could share my irritation on social media (and here it is.)

Why did they have to run the sprinklers during memorial day weekend when it was still fully daylight outside?  Couldn't they have set them to run after 9 PM when it was getting dark and people weren't as likely to show up and try to put flowers on graves?  I seethed with negativity.  Yes, even I occasionally get steeped in negativity.

We sat in the car for a few minutes, hoping the sprinklers might cycle to a different location so we could still go see his marker and place flowers by it, but to no avail.  So we got out, determined to quickly place the flowers, try to get a quick picture, and then head back to the car.  It was not what I had envisioned--I planned to sit at his grave site and have a deep conversation with my children about how Gideon had changed each of them.  How were we going to make that happen?!

I am so blessed, though, to be a mother, and to have the perspective of children thrust upon me with regularity.   I hurried the flowers to Gideon's grave and took a quick picture.  The sprinklers were coming around, so we dashed away for a minute.  

After the sprinklers went around, I got everyone together (even my shadow) and we did a family picture at his grave.  I didn't even have a whole lot of time to try and get everyone to look at me. The water was coming around again.After that picture, (and after the water had come around again and I had a minute) I stood at Gideon's grave marker, lost in my own little bubble for a brief time.  Before I shuttled everyone to "safety" when the sprinklers got close to where I was, my children had seized the opportunity to enjoy them.  They did not trod on any grave markers (we've talked about that), but they started reaching their hands into the water, and getting a little wet in the mist.  

 What had been deep feelings of frustration and heaviness began to melt away as I heard my children laughing and enjoying themselves, and I thought a lot about this as a metaphor for life.  How many times have I been presented with a trial or a challenge that messes up what I had in mind for myself?  I get irritated, overwhelmed, frustrated, and I want to complain about and avoid the situation instead of embracing it as an opportunity.  Less than ideal situations often present themselves, they are just a part of life, but I was strongly reminded that I can either be upset about these moments, or view them as a chance to make the most of it, which, in this case, probably ended up being more than I would have originally made it.  In so many ways, that is EXACTLY what Gideon's medical issues and then death have done for us--we were given multiple really tough scenarios to deal with, and we're doing our best to make the most of them and to learn from this challenge.

Later that evening, I looked back at the pictures I had taken and noticed that in the first picture, (my evidence that I planned to share so that I could complain) it was cloudy overhead and the picture is colored with shadow and gloom, and in all the later pictures when we went out to "make the most of it", the sun has come out, and they are more bright and vibrant.  I am pretty sure that's also a metaphor for life--when we grudgingly face life's challenges, we really peer through dimmer lenses than when we open our hearts and give each situation a chance.

We were still able to talk about how Gideon has changed our lives, but we did it in the car on our way away from the cemetery.  I wrote the things my children said down in a journal entry.  Largely, they are learning many of the same things that I've posted about here on my blog.  My oldest child remarked that he takes the choices he makes more seriously now, and in some ways, that is more confusing.  My daughter remarked that she has thought about ways she could live to be able to see Gideon again, and wants to do things to help her be more like Jesus.  One of my boys mentioned that before Gideon, death seemed really scary to him, but now it doesn't seem as bad.   My 5 year old didn't have much to say about how Gideon changed him, but he does miss Gideon, and still talks about him.  And Scott and I have been changed in so many ways it's hard to describe them all (but that's what this blog is for.)  So the conversation didn't happen exactly the way I thought it would, but it still happened, and I'm pretty sure we'll ALWAYS remember this year's Memorial Day weekend, when the kids played in the sprinklers at the cemetery.