Theory of Evolution

I am quite certain I have produced offspring which are better adapted for the changing environment than I am. I have a 10-year-old who can explain Newtons Laws of Motion, and a six-year-old who told me today he learned multiplication at school with the second graders. I am joining the ranks of genetically obsolete and intellectually inferior species than successive generations. My grandchildren will likely grow wings and fly to the grocery store, instead of walking on the common ground like the rest of us. 

It should come as no surprise, then, that my youngest made me wonder if I should commit myself to Neanderthal Science as a subject of study first thing in the morning when she asked me, "Mommy, what comes after sticky?"

Um. *blink* Ummmm. Sticky. I repeat the question in my feeble mind, then aloud, just to be sure I heard correctly. 

"Sticky what?"

"You know: Sticky. What. Comes. After. Sticky." (Carefully annunciated so I can process each word individually.)

This question is coming from a three-year-old blonde missile who is uncomfortably familiar with various viscosities of "sticky". 

"Wash your face and hands? Washing comes after sticky."

She stares at me for a moment with a blank expression, as if trying to figure out how I missed left field so completely that I'm not even in the free parking 2 miles from the stadium. I can see her trying to decide if it is worth her while to bother repeating the question, or perhaps she should ask to borrow my iPhone to watch 'Daniel Tiger' and secretly Google her question. Somehow, she decides that--if nothing else--she may gain some additional amusement from seeing what nonsense her less-evolved mother might come up with. 

She takes a deep breath, and re-states her question slowly and clearly.

"Mommy. What comes . . . after . . . sticky."

I cast about for a reference, some semblance of context to form my response around. What comes after . . . before? 

"Well, what comes before sticky?"

Again, an uncomfortable stare. I have flashbacks to high school trigonometry, or whatever class it was that our teacher was trying to help me understand the value of imaginary numbers. My answer was always reaching towards the theory that, since they are imaginary, they can be whatever I needed them to be to get the correct answer and pass the quiz, which I never did. I ended up taking remedial algebra and finally convinced Will Brenneman that as long as I could consistently balance my checkbook, I would faithfully use a calculator for any other necessary calculation. Or Google it. 

She looks out the window for a moment, as if she can feel her wing buds sprouting out her back. She is clearly annoyed. 

She gathers her patience, turns back to me and gently, ever so gently, explains the context of her question.

"You know. Twenty. Firty. Forty. Fifty. Sticky. What comes," she pauses to make sure I'm still with her, "after sticky?"

It takes me a moment to C.O.M.P.L.E.T.E.L.Y. reorient myself to her question. I feel relief flooding me like baptism. I know this one. 

"Seventy!"

I am triumphant. Perhaps I will be smarter than her for another year. 

Living Better

I think one of the lies of Satan is the definition of 

BETTER. 

 When we are small, we begin to believe the lie, as we are held away from things we want.

"Wait until you are bigger."

And, thus, we begin to believe the lie. 

As we grow, we work more to earn more to spend more so that we can be bigger. Bigger house, bigger car, bigger vacation, bigger retirement, bigger birthday parties, bigger gifts, bigger restaurant tabs, bigger business, bigger debt. Bigger anxiety, bigger stress, bigger schedule.

And when we get to the end, we realize it isn't better. Just bigger.

Bigger regret.

Last weekend, I had the honor and sacred privilege of caring for my husbands grandfather before he died. He was, by the standards of his community, wealthy. He channeled his wealth back into his community and opened a summer resort and winter ski area that was open to the general public in a generation when skiing was only available to the elite who were wealthy enough to purchase a membership to the Country Club. He gave local kids cheap lessons, jobs, instructor certification and a ticket to a different life, where choices were made based on character and not by how much bigger they were able to live. Many left the community for higher education and different opportunities. Almost as many come back every season to pour their hearts back in to their home. 

This makes it better. 

Lloyd seemed to know the difference early enough to mold his life's choices around being better. And, when the time came, he was able to reflect and say, "I've had a good life," and then wait to greet death like an old friend instead of something to be feared. 

The gift of the dying is that we have a window to what is most important. The things that are bigger are not what make life better. Easier, perhaps, at certain times. But not better. We are given direct insight to the difference between bigger and better.

And we can choose BETTER.

New Year's Un-Resolution

2013 is gone and I'm pretty sure I missed it. I got to the end of the year and felt like I didn't check nearly all the things off my list that I had written there. Even though I did get to go camping a couple times with the kids at the Sand Dunes (which is the most peaceful place on earth, in case you were wondering).

So. I wrote down the events I will do in 2014. Some of them are written on the calendar in permanent marker, others will happen spontaneously when there is a nice day. Many of them are simply spaces that fill me up, that help me center on the people that are most important to me. Some of them will require a babysitter or Camp Grandma. Some of the will require doing extra laundry. Some of them will mean skiffing an assignment at school or taking an extra day of precious PTO. But they WILL happen. In no particular order:

1. Stay at the Parlin house with good friends (preferably in the summer when we can be outside fishing in the pond or drinking coffee on the deck.
2. Camping at the Sand Dunes (because it's tradition. And peaceful and beautiful and reminds me how my insignificant troubles are--no bigger than a grain of sand). 
3. King Reunion (July)
4. Buffalo Creek Bike/Camping trip
5. Take Liam and Wyatt hiking at the Crags
6. Cross Wedding (June)
7. Eitzen wedding (July)
8. Sipapu ski trip for Clown Clinic (February)
9. Scrapbook Retreat (January)
10. Ski with the family another weekend, just for kicks.
11. Family bike ride
12. Hubby bike ride
13. Eat at Mountain Flying Fish
14. Hubby Hike
15. Spend a day at Mt Princeton Hot Springs
16. High School Reunion (I'm not going to tell you what year. You get to guess.) 
17. Talk with "Dear Kate" at least once a month, either by text, FB, phone or (ideally) in person. 
18. Seven. Seven minutes of a workout and seven minutes of prayer. Every. Day. Because even the busiest of us can find seven minutes of something we can give up. 

It's going to be a busy year! Let's get started . . . .