Deep Thoughts

My daughter threw up last night. As a mother, I wanted to rush to her, take her in my arms, and tell her everything would be alright. I wanted to make her feel better. As the person who mops the floor, however, I just had to take a moment to step back and marvel. I must say, when my kid does something, she does it big. The fallout  was spread three feet wide, five feet long, and (I kid you not) produced a splatter zone that was up to eighteen inches high in some places. Floor, mopboard, cabinet, and door - nothing was spared. At least it was on hard flooring. I shudder to think of what would have happened if it would have been on the carpet. I think that would have been cause to just torch the place and start anew. At the very least, FEMA and the National Guard would have had to have been called in.

But, there were no reinforcements coming, so it was up to me to handle the situation. I honestly did have to stand there for a moment and just try to assess how on earth I was even going to deal with it. There weren't enough paper towels in the western hemisphere to tackle this mess, and all of the rags I considered using were trapped in the bathroom, on the other side of Lake Lost-It. So, I headed outside, filled a bucket with water at the spigot, and grabbed the mop. Thirty-five minutes and three bucket-dumps later I had made a path wide enough to get in to where the rags where stored, so I could start on the woodwork. Needless to say, there are more diverting ways to spend an hour, but none more worthwhile.

What is it about being a parent that makes us able to handle such situations? There are no classes that teach you how to clean up puke. And, it's a task that most people would avoid at any cost. Yet, there I was, at 10:00 at night, mopping away with a smile on my face. What is that intangible element that makes us willing to deal with boogers, and puke, and poop so willingly - even joyfully? You can't bottle it. You can't buy it. It can't be concocted or forced, or even pretended. That's right, ladies and gentlemen - it is love, pure and simple, and it wells up from a spot somewhere deep, deep within us when we need it most.

Which, I guess, is a good thing. I've always believed in fighting fire with fire, so to speak, and the only way you can deal with something that literally comes from deep, deep within (like my daughter produced all over my bathroom floor) is with something that figuratively comes from deep, deep within. I'm just glad that expressing that deep, maternal love doesn't leave a splatter zone, and can be safely done with carpeting and soft furnishings around. 

Wedded Bliss

Today is my best friend's anniversary. She and her husband have been married for nine years. That's really saying something, especially since they were both  younger than average when they tied the knot - a factor that often predicts marital failure. Despite that, and other challenges they faced, they've crossed a pretty important threshold today. According to the census bureau, most first marriages that end in divorce do so before or during eighth year.Wow. Congratulations guys - you've beat the odds. I always knew you would.

I have been thinking a lot about marriage lately, not only because of their anniversary, but also because there are some weddings marked on my calendar this summer that I'm looking forward to attending. In just a few weeks I will watch a young couple who is madly in love with each other - positively aglow with excitement - exchange vows. Their exuberance is contagious, and I can't help but smile when I think about them. They are beautiful. They are filled with hope and possibility. They are ready to take on the world, and they have no idea what they're getting in to.

None of us do, really. I was only nineteen when I got married, and I have never - not even for a moment - regretted that decision. However, marriage is not always what I expected it to be. There is something more permanent and powerful about the forging of two lives and souls than anyone can anticipate. I sometimes think, 'gee, it would have been nice if someone would have sat me down before my wedding and told me what it's like to be a wife.' Of course, there's no way to express how wonderful and challenging it really is, is there? I'm now in the position to do exactly that for a young person just ready to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, but I'm not sure what to say.

Should I tell her that she will not be the same person several years from now that she is today? How do you tell someone that the individual they're madly in love with will not be the same one they celebrate their tenth anniversary with? Moreover, how do you convince someone that those changes are ok? That, with all the challenges you will face together, you're not going to want this man to be the one standing next to you in the delivery room, or the emergency room, or the hospice room of your dying parent? But the person he will turn into will be exactly who you need him to be? How do you tell someone that you will literally watch parts of your new spouse - aspects of him or her that you dearly love - disappear with each passing day, only to be replaced by new characteristics, traits, and habits? How do you tell a giddy young bride-to-be that the defining elements of who her fiancee really and fundamentally is, will be all that remain as the years pass, and those elements might not be the ones she thinks they are? 

Should I tell her that there will be times (moments, hours, even days) when it won't be fun to be around her husband? When she might not really like how he's acting, or think that she doesn't even really like him? And, worse than that, there will be times when it won't be fun for her husband to be around her. How do you tell someone that only fairytales end with the effortless 'happily ever after?' In the real world, relationships require constant attention, work, and compromise - especially those the are happy forever after. In fact, as near as I can tell, that is one of the defining elements of what makes a marriage successful: the commitment to the marriage itself (and all the effort that entails) as well as the commitment to the person you are married to.

Should I tell her she'll sacrifice more than she realized she could? Should I tell her that sometimes she'll carry burdens that are bigger than she deserves? Should I tell her that sometimes she will be a bigger burden to her husband than he deserves? Should I tell her of the immensity of emotion - both in the depth of pain and the height of joy - that she will endure? The worry she will feel? How much of a comfort she will be to him, and what comfort he will provide to her? The pride at being joined with such a wonderful human being? The feelings of being inadequate for the tasks required? The enormity of what it means to be everything her husband needs her to be, in every area of their shared lives, for now and each day to follow? Should I?

I think, instead, I will sum all of that up into two little sentences, and tell her every truth about this important endeavor that I know by simply stating (as others did for me on my wedding day), "Congratulations! God really knew what He was doing when He created the blessing of marriage." Yes, I think that is exactly what I will tell her, and I will sincerely mean every word of it.

Stats and Facts

Wow! I just discovered a feature of Blogspot.com that I had never noticed before. While I was wasting time fiddling with the tabs entitled 'comments,' 'settings', and 'design,' I completely overlooked the best one of all - 'stats.' That's right, this tab allows me to see statistics and information about this blog that I never could have even imagined were available. Through the wonder of modern technology and a bit of mysterious digital magic people call the internet, I can lie in bed at 11:00 at night and check in on who's checking me out. Cooooool.

First off, I must thank you (my faithful reader). Without your pageviews, the 'stats' tab would be a very boring place, indeed. But, because you've been willing to read my brain droppings and check in every once in a while to see what new adventure I've been having, I can share with you some fantastic statistics. For example:

•People have come to find this blog in a variety of ways. Most are linked from Facebook, but some did a Google search to get here.

•Some of the people who did a search for the blog used the predictable search words of 'andreafarrier' or 'andreafarrierblog'. However, four people managed to find their way here (apparently) by searching for 'winter cartoons.' And, a whopping 18 visits to this page came about because someone searched for 'scared deer.' Who knew?

•The top five posts (by sheer number of views) were: Getting My Hopes Up (52), Corrupting the Youth (55), O! The Humanity (61), Moving On (78), and Rondo Meets Bambi (207). (What on earth made that one so popular!?)

•Apparently my readers mostly use Internet Explorer (47%), but Firefox is gaining popularity (34%). Someone out there, however, is using a browser called Flock, and has viewed my blog five times from it. Who are you, oh mystery Flock user?

•You are clearly a PC crowd - with 86% of the pageviews coming from Windows, and only 8% from Mac. There have also been 25 views from IPhone users, and 6 from my Blackberry contingency. I'm so proud to have such a diverse, tech savvy following.

•And, finally - the part that made me actually giggle aloud in bed - I'm thrilled to announce that, while the vast majority of my pageviews come from the U.S., I have been read in ten different countries, including 50 views from South Korea, 21 from India, and 12 from Iran. We're like a giant, online family from all over the globe. Makes me smile every time I think of it!

So, what does all this mean? Well, first off, I can see that I'm going to have a new, time-consuming hobby in checking the 'stats' tab at least a dozen times per day. You can be assured that there will be much rejoicing at my house when new search terms or countries pop up.

Secondly, I might start trying to be more “professional” in my posts in light of the much wider audience than I previously knew. Nahhh… probably not. The only change this new information is likely to bring is an increased sense of gratitude that people really do want to read what I have to write. I am humbled and overjoyed beyond words. Thank you!

This Just In...

I am a news junkie. Whether it's the outbreak of World War III or a mild rainstorm headed our way - if it's being covered, I'll follow it. I try to limit myself to local newspapers. And, thankfully, we do not have cable (or the cable news networks), so I am saved from being tethered to the television 23.8 hours per day. However, I still check headlines on the internet, watch my evening news (on at both 9:00 AND 10:00) and even make my husband pause in his channel surfing so I can watch the 30-second teaser that they put on during commercial breaks.

I am fascinated by the news, and everything it entails. Do the wardrobe people not see that red is not flattering for Tiffany? Is the mic purposely turned up higher on the sports report, or is John just that much louder than everyone else? Just how do you gracefully make the transition from a story about five people dying in a grisly car accident to a feel-good piece featuring fuzzy puppies and babies? Why is it ok to decorate at Christmas time, but the set remains unchanged the other 11 months of the year? How come they make the the poor weather intern stand in the cold to give his report? I mean, what good does it do us to watch him give a detailed explanation of the situation when we could just stick our head out the back door instead? Hmmm.... Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Of course, the most interesting thing to me is how a station decides what does and does not make the evening news. Since I live in a rural area, there isn't a whole lot going on. We get about two murders a year, and a handful of break-ins. Our news reports are heavy on the 'human interest' stories, and I think that's great. Andy Warhol is attributed with quipping that someday everyone will have their 15 minutes of fame. For those of us who live in the sticks it's more like 15 hours. I've been on TV and in the local newspaper more times than I care to recall, and not even one of those was the police report. My husband's been the news, as have all three of our children. It's not that we've done amazingly notable things, you see, just that we've done things others might be slightly interested in, and we're willing to talk about it publicly. In rural Iowa, that's all it takes, and that suites me just fine.

So, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to go weed the garden. Perhaps I'll discover a buried treasure or a new variety of insect. It's possible that my tomatoes will be the biggest in the county this year, or that I'll end up with a cucumber with the face of Jesus on it. If nothing else, I can always take my extra produce to the local farmer's market and get a few bucks for it.  No matter what the outcome of my work this afternoon, there's a chance you'll hear about it in our local news at either 9:00 or 10:00, or in next week's paper. Just a few more moments to add to my 15 hours of fame.

All In a Day's Work

Last night before I tucked her into bed, I asked my four-year-old daughter what she wanted to be when she grew up. She smiled, cocked her head, and said, "A superhero." Given the recent devotion to classic DC comic book heroes and their related action films and cartoons at our house, I didn't give much thought to her answer at the time. However, this morning, as I made breakfast, I happened to glance out the window and notice that my Amish neighbor was plowing for all he was worth in the glorious May sunshine. With each furrow of rich, black, Iowa soil that he turned over, I think I better understood what my youngest child was saying.

You see, I'm sure that my neighbor doesn't consider himself a superhero, even though he literally feeds the world by his humble, daily chores. Neither, for that matter, do most people as they plod through life. Work - even with the most rewarding tasks and the most convivial environments - is generally associated with stress, headaches, ungrateful bosses, difficult coworkers, deadlines, paperwork, micromanagement - the list goes on and on. How does this happen? How do the imaginary games and grand dreams of our early childhood, and our idealistic and passionate striving of early adulthood lead to everyone simply having a job they can barely tolerate and doing work that is uninspiring and wearing? Surely something's wrong here.

I vividly recall being four years old and swaggering around town with a sense of distinct pride because my daddy was a plumber. That meant that he knew all sorts of magic about such important things as pipes and wrenches - substantial, heavy, necessary things. The kinds of things that remain a complete mystery to most people, hence the need for such a capable, vital, professional man as my dad. But, more than that - beyond just knowing things that were unknown and unknowable to other people - he also had a job that made a difference in the world. There's not much more welcome sight than a plumbing van when your toilet is clogged or a pipe is endlessly spraying water all over your carpeting. I think I totally had it right at four years old, as does my daughter today - my dad was (and still is) a superhero, and we all can be as well.

That's it then. In order to become a superhero we should quit our jobs and become plumbers, right? Not exactly. My mom worked in Human Resources and saved jobs, marriages, and families by her encouraging words, willingness to listen, and genuine care for people. (The candy on her desk didn't hurt things, either.) My sister is a pharmacist, and her careful work (as tedious as it can sometimes be) literally saves lives and prolongs health and vitality. My husband works at a waste water plant. And - even as inglorious of a position as people generally think that to be - what he does ensures that we will have safe, sanitary living conditions today, and clean rivers and streams for generations to come. Every person I know - from my grandmother who proofreads the local paper, to a former student who bags groceries at the mom-and-pop store in town - goes to work with a cape under their uniform, though whether they ever use their powers is truly up to each individual, each and every day.

You see, you don't have to pull people from burning buildings or dive from the top of a skyscraper in order to be a superhero. All it takes to unfurl your cape and unleash your good deeds upon a populace in desperate need of being saved is for you to recognize your own ability to make the world a better place right where you are. There is not a single job on the face of the planet without merit or the opportunity to make a positive impact in someone's life. For, as Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance, and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence."

So, if you'll excuse me, I've got some villianous dust bunnies to slay and a date with destiny at the dishwasher. It's not an easy job, mind you, but somebody's got to protect the slumbering citizens of this household. As you can see, I'm choosing to embrace my inner superhero as I head off to do the tasks at hand, and I hope you'll do the same.