Thursday, January 30, 2014

My Own Emotions Confuse Me at Times. This Would be One of Those Times.

There are a few things that I know about myself.  One is that I am not easily intimidated.  Two is that I rarely feel nervous.  And three is that I am a talker.  I know these things to be true because I know myself pretty well.  And I know that while numbers one and two can be considered good things, there are definitely aspects of number three that may not be.
  
Here’s how I explain my self-labeled talker status.  Yes, I see your child doing the pee-pee dance, tugging on your shirt sleeve while you desperately try to wrap this up.  Yes I see you with your head down working diligently on something that I know needs to be done by noon today. Yes I see that you have lost all interest in this conversation because it has gone on for far too long.  Yes I see all of these things.  Here’s the problem: I can’t help myself.  I just cannot make my face-hole utter the final word and just let you be.  I cannot stop myself from telling just one more story about one of my children, or about the time I got a brain tumor, or about the time I planted a single flower in my backyard and absolutely nothing remarkable happened.  I just have to tell you.  

Part of the problem is that I spend so much of my time with my children that I actually start to crave adult interaction.  I need to be able to have a conversation with more depth than that which can be derived from the endless words that can be combined to describe one single Pokemon.  I need to speak in a voice that is not used to ground a child, or discipline a child, or to make my point that I am annoyed with a child who should stop now, or else.  I have this voice that I rarely hear because it is not my Mommy Voice, it is my Oh-Look-I-Am-An-Adult-Who-Can-Have-Intelligent-Conversations Voice.  I really like that voice.  To me it sounds like music, sweet and beautiful, and oh-so-rare.  

So, imagine my surprise when I recently discovered that there exists in the world at least one person who intimidates me, makes me feel nervous, and with whom I am practically incapable of using any voice whatsoever.  I am pretty sure that the single longest conversation I have ever had with this person involved a pleasant greeting followed by my brilliant and inspiring response of exhaling whilst attempting some sort of vowel sound at the same time. Impressive, Nikki.  Very impressive.  I have, of course, talked about this with a couple of my closest friends and the consensus would be that I am the victim of …..wait for it ……. A crush. On a man.  It appears that I have, in all of my awkward, adolescent-like glory, a freaking crush on a man.

Crap.

Having been unfazed by the opposite sex since the demise of my last relationship, I find this startling and confusing.  What sort of magical power must said man have to make me turn into some version of myself that I have not seen since high school?  As a woman who has worked very hard to learn how to control my own emotions, how on earth is this even possible?  How can I be at the mercy of involuntary feelings and reactions to another human being?  Oh, wait, could it be that it is because I am a human being: and one whose heart is finally softening, if only a little?  Maybe.  Or maybe he just has a magical power.  I do not yet know the true answer, but I do know that I find a mixed bag of emotions when I think about this situation.   

I find it fun to “like” someone again.  I find it confusing that it is even happening.  I find it annoying that I cannot use my voice.  I even find it a little pathetic, to be honest.  But, I also find joy in the fact that I have come so very far since the darker days in my life.  And I hope to find that in the end all of these emotions will have been for some greater purpose in my life. Time will tell.

But in the meantime, if you happen to find me making barely audible vowel sounds in the presence of another person, you may have stumbled upon the magic.  Feel free to sit back and enjoy the show.       

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Wait. What?

Colin informed me the other day that he now has a girlfriend, but not the kissing kind.  Oh, and by the way, so does Chris.  But his girlfriend isn’t the kissing kind either.

Wait.  What?  

My nine year old twins have girlfriends?!

After the long, open-mouthed, incredulous staring was done, my brain finally kicked into action and started subtly asking some questions.  As their mother I am extremely interested in why on earth my nine year olds feel the need to label a relationship as boyfriend/girlfriend. 

Unfortunately I did not get quite the answers I was looking for; instead I got a whole lot more. 
Somehow this conversation turned on me and for the reader’s enjoyment I will simply give you some direct quotes from my children.  You will see how I have a lot more on my hands here than my boys entering the crazy territory that is young love.

“Mom doesn’t want a boyfriend, but if she did she could just go buy one.”

“Mom doesn’t need a boyfriend because I am going to live with her forever.”

“I guess you could have a boyfriend, but definitely not the kissing kind.”

“Our Mom doesn’t need a boyfriend.”  

“Wait, do you want a boyfriend, Mom?”

“But if you had a boyfriend, would you want the kissing kind or the other kind?”

Wait.  What?

How did this turn into a conversation about me?  

I guess there are some important lessons to be learned here.  First of all, I need to start really working on Nick and his insistence that he is never leaving home.  I love that boy to the moon and back, but eventually he will simply have to go.  Secondly, it appears that perhaps I have been unknowingly setting myself up for trouble through my single-by-choice-and-loving-it life over the past five and half years.  And finally, Chris and I need to talk about how one cannot simply buy a boyfriend or, more importantly in his case, a girlfriend.  Acquiring a boyfriend is not like running to the store for a gallon of milk.  Come to think of it, perhaps I should do some more investigation into exactly how he got his girlfriend.  If that piggy bank feels a little light, we have a problem.   

I also find it interesting that this conversation happens to closely coincide with my declaration that it is time for the Nikki-as-a-hermit days to end.  Not that no longer being a hermit automatically means a boyfriend, but it seems that I now have some unexpected work to do with these boys.  And I am pretty sure it will be a lot more involved than acquiring a gallon of milk.  

On the bright side, Alec has a clear understanding of the difference between want and need. At least I have that much going for me.  

Saturday, January 25, 2014

All These Changes Inside of Me

This is what I meant in a previous post by "honest transparency".  It is about to get a little bit personal.......

I have never been hit or beaten.  Never felt the pangs of hunger when there is no food on the table or the helpless feeling of not knowing where I will make my bed at night.  I have never known the depths of despair that a child felt before he chose to end his life nor have I known the consequences of violent actions so evil that there is no turning back from them.   

I have, however, been used; been savored in the mouth of the opportunist before being spit out for the world to witness just how powerful a man’s jaws can be.  I have, however, felt the sting of a biological father who walked away so completely that when he died his new family knew so little of me that my name was wrong in the obituary.  I have, however, lived the horror that is a Sunday night phone call that begins with the words “Your brother just killed himself”; and then felt the confusion and anger when that statement proves wrong; he did no such thing, and after a suspended investigation, someone literally got away with murder. 

Because I am human, I could allow this list to go on and on.  There is no shortage of tragedy in this life and I, like every other person, will never be immune to it.  Some of the tragedies were of my own making, some were of my own misplaced trust, and some were of drunken ignorance. But all, ALL of them were valuable.  The person I am today is far greater than the person I was when any of these things, or countless others, happened.  The person I am today is because I was at one point young, or stupid, or vulnerable, or sick.  In the end, though, no matter what I have been in the moment, I have always remained alive.  Something happened inside of me when I saw all of the life Kevin brought to this world ended instantly by a single, tiny bullet. Something happened inside of me after brain surgery that resulted in my body lying unresponsive for days, my family helpless and terrified.  Something happened to me at the end of a marriage that, in hindsight, was doomed before vows were ever spoken.  

I have a long list of things of which I should not be proud, choices that were so ill-conceived they should never be spoken of again.  But, one of those things that happened inside of me is the realization that without all the pain, stupidity, and helplessness I never would have started the journey to become who I am still becoming.  I am not ashamed of where I have been and I am not afraid of what I am to become.  I will not stop talking about my embarrassing past because I am not embarrassed.  I embrace every moment of this life I have lived and will continue to live; because it is mine, and mine alone.  

Another’s judgment does not scare me.  What scares me is having all these lessons piled around my feet after years of living with nothing to show for them.  What scares me is failing my children by failing myself.  What scares me is becoming disingenuous out of a fear that has no right to invade my personal journey.   My story will be written by me, and I will continue to fill the pages of that story with as many silly jokes, girlish crushes, solo living room dance parties, dorky moments, and hugs of children as I possibly can. The way I see it now, now that something has been happening inside of me, is that the more of these there are, the less space there is for all the other.       

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Here’s a list of things that my kids probably wish I didn’t talk about:

I do not call my children pet names like Honey or Sweetie.  I call them Crack Monkey, Homey, and (my personal favorite) Skillet.  That’s how I roll and I make no apologies.

I still use the phrase “That’s how I roll”.  And I use it often.  I also say “Are you picking up what I’m throwing down?”  Again, no apologies will be made. 

I don’t observe my boys playing Minecraft to ensure that it’s appropriate – I kick them off the Xbox so that I can play.  I love it and I WILL get turns at regular intervals.

I think farts are funny.  Sorry, but I am XX (oops, something happened to my keyboard and the numbers aren't working, oh well) years old and I still think they are funny.  Throw in the fact that the craniotomy cost me my sense of smell and the hilarity only increases.

I make my boys “pay” for their lunch, snacks, and drinks with hugs.  Not short, little hugs, but hugs that last so long they forget what they initially wanted.  Mission accomplished.  Ulterior Mommy Motive: You are a big boy, make your own sandwich.  Seriously.  

In this house weird is not only OK, but encouraged.  So, yeah, the Johnsons are a weird bunch. We’re cool with it.

Underwear is not underwear.  Underwear is drawers.  That is what I call them.  Quit correcting me.

I pronounce cabinet with 3 syllables.  And I pronounce the T in often.  This comes more from trying to teach phonetic spelling than it does from some strange pronunciation issue I have. But, at the same time, so help me, if you replace the D with a B in supposedly, I will go straight up psycho.  Some things a person simply should not ever have their ears offended with – ever.  

I make the boys smell me, my clothes, the trashcan, and pretty much everything else all the time. One who has lost their sense of smell should always have a working nose available just in case. 

Some songs really are better in the Kidz Bop versions and I will blast them in the car as loud as I can stand it.  I don’t care if you have had to listen to the same song five mornings in a row.  I still like it.  I am a mom and if I have to listen to Kidz Bop, I will make the best of it.  I paid for that right with a scar across my tummy.  

My boys, who are unable to remember ten spelling words in a week, can recall with astounding accuracy every single Pokemon card in their collection.  The collections number in the hundreds.  Seriously kid, learn to spell something with that memory.  Geesh. 

Thanks to me, my kids have an appreciation for cooking shows and will gladly sit and watch them with me.  This is partially due to the fact that I am sure they are thinking about food 95 (oh wait, the numbers do work; I should probably go back and fix my age in a previous sentence…….) percent of the time and partially due to the fact that I cannot stand to watch kids’ shows.  Look, I barely came out of the Blue and Dora years alive; self-preservation says that I do not have to endure these tween shows they like now.  I have paid my dues in this department.  Either we watch someone cook something, or we all go to bed.  End of discussion.

Playing a board or card game with the twins requires two things: patience and ear plugs. Without both of these things, tears will happen and I will be found in the fetal position murmuring incoherently about how I thought it would be so cool to have twins.  Seriously, they are loud. And competitive.  And loud.  

The truth in all of this is that I have the best kids.  Any group that will let me be this dorky and love me for it has to be amazing.  

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

I’m Coming Back to Where I was Always Meant to Be

There is an idea that is accepted by many that we never recognize the significance in events as they are happening; that it is only in hindsight that we see the impact of events, decisions, or interactions on our lives.  I would like to think that at this moment I am an exception to that idea. I would like to think that I am not only currently experiencing significant events, decisions, and interactions, but also that I am recognizing and embracing them as they happen.  While I may be overestimating my ability to see that which is happening in my own life, I do know for a fact that there is a shift happening in me.  I suppose its actual significance will be proven or disproven over time.  But for now, I feel it, I see it, and I fully embrace it.  

Perhaps the reason I finally started this blog that I have considered for years is that I need the cleansing power of writing right now.  Or that I need the clarity that I have always found in the pages of my own thoughts.  Or maybe I just ran out of excuses for doing something that I always wanted to do.  I do not know why, but I am certain that the importance of this blog is clear to me, regardless of the view counts or the nature of the comments made or not made.  If it is never read by another soul, its value will remain high for me.  

I cannot completely define what the shift in me is all about.  Perhaps that will be one of the many things in my life that I am able to flesh out through the composition of these lines.  But I do know that jaded is not a good look for me, yet it is one that I have been wearing for years. And there may have been valid reasons for that.  Through divorce, brain tumor, and other unfortunate events it was probably out of necessity that my heart would only allow for so much, and jaded was just the defensive position, and therefore the easy way to go.  But that is not me; it never should have been, and I never want it to be again.  

My dedication to my children will never fade, but my insistence that I must push aside my own desires and needs in order to raise them seems to me now to be shortsighted and well, wrong. There are connections with people in my life right now that have not only shown up uninvited, but have shocked me to my core with their impact in a short period of time.  What was unwelcome or unseen a few short months ago is not only welcome now, but probably a large part of what will save me from myself in the end.  And if I am able to save me from myself, I will be better equipped to be there for those gifts I call my sons.  Some of these people likely have no idea the impact they are making on this heart of mine, but the results are awesome.  And for now, it is okay that they are unaware.  There is a good chance that drawing attention to it could change the nature of the interactions that are currently shaping my days and pervading my thoughts with a relentlessness the likes of which I have not experienced in a long, long time.    

In the coming days I will owe some folks some pretty big thanks, but for now I will continue to absorb, process, and apply what is happening all around me and within me.  There is very little that I do not notice now and that unyielding attention to all that is around me is new and amazing.  I hate to think of all that I missed while I had my heart and vision on lockdown. While my season of gray is clearing, I will continue to bounce through this life with alacrity and the honesty of transparency in all that I do, no matter how insignificant it may appear to others. Because I know, I just know that there is something amazing coming in my life.  And I do not want to miss it when it arrives.  

Saturday, January 18, 2014

My Short List: Things to Tell My Sons

I see these lists all the time.  There are so many neat, bulleted lists that rattle off important things that we should tell our sons.  While I want my sons to hold doors, use their manners, and chase their dreams, it just seems to me that there is far more that our young men need today.  From this mom's perspective, there are some things that should always be included in our conversations with our sons.  Here is my non-bulleted list of things I will always tell mine.

Your masculinity has nothing to do with the images you are presented in the media and by “real men”.  If you ever feel the need to label yourself a real man or defend your status as a grown man, you, in fact, are neither.  Real men cry.  Real men take care of the people they love.  Real men appreciate children and the elderly and treat them with respect and compassion and love, at all times.  You do not need to “Man Up” or “Act Like a Man”.  Just BE a man; do it unconditionally and without apology.  That, my child, is masculine.

You rarely get what you do not ask for.  Even though this one can be hard to apply in all situations, it is the truth and it will always serve you to speak up about what you want.  How will she know you like her if you don’t ask her out?  How will your boss know that you want the promotion if you do not throw your hat in the ring?  How will the guy making your sandwich know you don’t like mayo if you don’t ask him to cut the mayo?  It can and should be that simple: just ask.  Even if you don’t always get what you want, at least you won’t be left wondering if you could have if only you had spoken up.

Your body, your thoughts, your emotions, and your feelings are yours.  No one has the right to tell you how to be you or how you should feel.  Ever.  You do not need validation to be who you are.  And no one will ever be able to tell you how to be a better you than your own inner voice.  If you want change, make it.  If you are happy with your choices, own them.  People will never love or respect you more than you love and respect yourself.  Own everything about yourself.  If you can’t, that only means that you still have work to do.  And that’s ok too; own it and do the work. 

God only ever made ONE perfect human; you are not that human.  While it is the goal of the Christian life to continually seek to be more Christ-like, you simply will not ever reach that goal.  You were not made to reach it.  You were made to always work toward it.  Stop thinking that you have to be perfect at everything you try.  If you love to do something, work hard at getting better.  If you are failing, you are never a failure until you have given up.  During the process, negative self-talk and that nasty ugly internal monologue will not get you closer to your goals and will only pull you further from the Father.  You are here and you are doing the things you are doing for a reason; never stop working toward the goal, but don’t despair at setbacks.  They are simply proof that you are an imperfect human who is still trying, as you were meant to be. 

No relationship that you will ever be a part of will be about you.  It will always be about the other person.  You will not be with a woman for what she can do for you.  You will not be a father because of what that child can do for you.  You will not be a friend for your own benefit.  You may try to approach relationships in a selfish manner, but if you do, you can be assured that those relationships will either outright fail or they will be so toxic they destroy your spirit.  Approach every relationship with a servant’s attitude and you will find more satisfaction and joy in each and every relationship of your life than most people get from their “healthiest” relationship.

You will never have what you want until you are truly thankful for what you have.  And I mean truly thankful.  Your gratitude should pour from your soul and into the world with such force that those around you are almost blinded by it.  The act of gratitude will bring into your life more than you can ever imagine.  And when want you want isn’t coming fast enough, gratitude will remind you of all that you already have.  And do not take the people you care about for granted; if you are thankful for them, tell them.  And tell them often.  Take constant stock of all that you have been blessed with and express constant thankfulness.  There is nothing that will bring more happiness than being thankful.  This is a promise I can make confidently to you.   

So, there’s the short list; straight from this mom who desires nothing more than to provide this world with four outstanding, God-loving young men.   

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

I Can't Hear You

A few minutes ago I was sitting here looking at a blank screen with the thought that blogs were intended to be written with some sort of frequency and perhaps I should well, write.  My thoughts were interrupted with the screams of a child.  For the sake of anonymity we will say that they were coming from “Christopher Perry Johnson”.  Let me tell you about these screams.  They were along the lines of: “MOM!”  “MOM!”  “MOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!” 

Not to be one to let the distress of my child go unattended, I did the only thing I could do: I ignored him.  I flat-out pretended I could not hear him.  I even went so far as to try and time myself typing the alphabet to make it appear as though I was deep in writing thoughts and could not be torn away by mere sounds.  Why?  Because he was screaming in the hopes of having me stop what I was doing and go downstairs so that he could….wait for it…..TATTLE on his brother.   I know this because I know the sounds of my children’s screams.  And this one was a tattle scream; one that I refused to hear or acknowledge. 

At the same time, I heard another child (Alec) ask about putting away his own laundry with astounding clarity.  Suddenly my keyboard no longer held my interest and I took the time to not only answer his call, but also have a brief conversation about how appreciative I am of his initiative to help out.  All this loveliness was happening to the relentless auditory backdrop of “MOM, SERIOUSLY, I NEEEEEEED YOU”. 

There is one thing that I learned fairly early on in motherhood: Learn to distinguish the sounds your children make, and learn them quickly.  This will save a ton of time and energy and will, hopefully, someday, reinforce the knowledge that Mom will not come running every time your brother threw the ball in your face.  (Seriously, at some point, can we all just accept that maybe he has bad aim and a nice game of checkers might be a better choice?)

I learned this as surely as I learned that when your small child is playing on a playground and out of the corner of your eye you see him take a tumble, you never, under any circumstances, make direct eye contact.  And you only utter the words “Are you OK?” if you want to spend the next thirty minutes of your life participating in a boo-boo-fixing, cry-shushing, and make-the-other-moms-at-the-park-back-away-slowly-and-leave spectacle.  As any mom will tell you, drawing attention to it will only make it grow fangs that can drag you, your mood, and your well-laid plans for a lovely afternoon into that same offensive dirt that he should have been able to get up and dust off himself in the first place.

I feel comfortable in my choices to ignore the screaming “Christopher”.  I feel especially comfortable because, for the sake of accuracy, I did go downstairs and check on him.  And what did he want?  Help with a particularly difficult math homework problem?  To ask for help cleaning up an accidental spill?  To ask how he can help make his mom’s life easier by putting away his laundry?  Nope.  He wanted to tattle. 


I called it.  I ignored it.  I rock.  

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Beauty and Success: By These Standards, They are the Same


I saw something the other day on the internet that got me thinking.  It was a count of the number of young girls who have posted online videos posing one simple question: “Am I pretty or am I ugly?”  Coming from a history of being that girl who needed that tell-me-I’m-pretty-validation, I totally get it.  But having moved on and finally owned the knowledge that I am pretty because of what I am, not because of how I look, seeing this information and these girls begging for validation kills me.  It hurts my spirit.  It reminds me of a former me. 

I have had men in my life with whom I placed all of the faith in the relationship in the fact that he found me pretty.  I thought that I was set, that we were set, that pretty girls get what they want and nothing ever goes wrong.  Enter reality.  Because reality knows a few things.  It knows that truly beautiful women need no validation from anyone, for anything about themselves.  It knows that there are millions of pretty girls out there and that you are simply one of millions like you in that regard.  It also knows that nothing built on superficial foundations will ever last.  And most importantly, it knows that no one will ever truly find you pretty until you are able to honestly and completely find it within yourself. 

Now, don’t get me wrong here.  Because I am comfortable with my own contradictions I am going to make the following statement:  I don’t NEED you to tell me I am pretty, but you should DO IT regardless.   Every girl likes a little flattery now and then.  It reminds us that we are still human and we should not stop trying.  But what you should really do, what really makes a girl feel beautiful, is when you honestly allow your reactions to her happen.  When you use your inhibitions to mask your feelings and involuntary reactions, you are denying her of her influence on your emotions, denying her esteem of the knowledge that she is important to another person; you are corroding her intent to simply make you feel a moment of happiness. 

So, when you walk past where I am standing, oblivious to your presence until I glance up and catch you staring, don’t avert your eyes.  When we cross paths and the sight of me makes you start to smile in spite of yourself, don’t shut it down.  Keep looking.  Let me see that smile.  Make that contact and, for just a moment, allow me the feeling of satisfaction that I am succeeding, that I just created in you a moment of happiness.  Or interest.  Or confusion.  Or whatever it was you were feeling that made you react.  Letting me know that I am important, or interesting, or even undefinable is a gift that you give, a gift with which you should not be stingy.

Because, for me, a large part of my life’s goals are to be genuine and honest with those around me; to find a love for every soul that I come into contact with.  And while it is a fact that there will be some that I love differently than others, my purpose is still to love all.  I want my beauty to impact you in a way that takes your breath away, and I want to hear that sharp intake of breath from across a crowded room when I walk in; not because I look good, but because I am good.  I want my presence in a room, a life, or a conversation to be larger than I can ever know because unseen things were taking place in your heart and mind that left your condition a little bit better when it was all over. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson said that “to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.  That is to have succeeded”.  I agree, Mr. Emerson, but not completely.  I want to also make some lives breathe harder, I want some to have their breath taken away time and again, and I want some to just hold a steady breath when that is all they can muster.  I will have succeeded when I know that all the lives I touch keep breathing, not because or in spite of me, but with me, in love, always.   And that kind of success is beautiful.