Some Thoughts on Life, Balance, Bicycles, and My Smaller Brain

My latest Internet obsession is Pinterest. I love it. As I nurse the baby, I'll sit with my new iPod Touch and scroll through pins, getting all sorts of inspiration:  things to make and sew, decorating ideas for my dream home, lovely hairstyles I just can't figure out how to do, recipes for things I shouldn't eat (lemon sugar cookies, anyone?), and a myriad of other things. If you haven't checked out Pinterest (you can see my pins here), you really should. But consider yourself warned -- it's addicting. Occasionally depressing ("when will I ever have the time/money/talent/energy do those things?") too, but mostly inspiring. I've already tried a bunch of things on there. Today I made a guitar out of a cereal box with Max.

Anyway...

One thing I enjoy on Pinterest are the various quotes people have pinned.  Here's one that struck me, in particular:

It stood out to me because balance seems pretty elusive.  How on earth am I supposed to do and teach all I want to to my two boys and keep those two boys fed, have clean clothes for them to wear, keep at least a pathway of the floor uncluttered with toys, and maintain a bathroom that doesn't smell? How do I find time to focus on my relationship with my husband? And how on earth am I supposed to squeeze in time to workout, finish my first draft of my novel, sew all the fun clothes and things for my house, write blog posts, tend to my flowerbeds and vegetable garden, keep up on current events, see a movie, or read the bazillion books I want to? 

As if that weren't enough, I recently learned from my brother-in-law, who also happens to be an R.N., that pregnancy makes a woman's brain shrink. Even worse, it takes anywhere from six months to a year for it go back to its regular size. When I heard this, I was both dismayed and relieved. Dismayed that my body pulled yet another mean trick on me (as if roller coaster hormones weren't bad enough), but relieved because I have an excuse for my absent-mindedness.

The advice I've been getting from seasoned mothers when I express all this is to just keep moving, or, to quote Finding Nemo, "just keep swimming."  When I saw this quote by Albert Einstein, I thought of all the advice I'd been getting. "Life is like a bicycle."  Yes, a bicycle. I can see how the analogy works.

Only bicycles and I have a turbulent history.

When I was around seven years old, I was riding on my pink Huffy bike and I hit the bumper of a parked car, which sent me careening toward a tree. I can still clearly remember my face colliding with the trunk of that tree. The neighbor lady ran out of her house, and walked me home, wailing and bleeding, along with my scuffed up bike.

Then when I was twelve, I hit a patch of gravel on my bike while going down a steep hill. I won't go in to the story and all its details except that the encounter sent me to the hospital for five days, two of them in the ICU, with a fractured skull and concussion.

So, yeah, I'm not so great on a bicycle. But, now as I write all this, I realize that the analogy still works for bicycle-impaired me.

Back to the tree vs. bike encounter.  My face was all scuffed and scabbed up from the tree. The next day at church they took pictures of the Primary kids to put in copies of the Book of Mormon, along with a message/testimony, that the missionaries were going to hand out. I remember it being my turn and the teacher took my picture with the Polaroid camera. I don't even think I could have smiled for that picture if I wanted to. I like to think of the investigator who got the Book of Mormon with my scratched up and scabby face pasted in it. Please Universe, make that picture find its way back to me.

As awful as it seemed then, I think the whole thing is so funny now. Even down to the details of Mrs. Robertson (yep, I still remember her name), with her beehive-ish hairdo, running out into her yard, as I staggered around in a stupor. I think of how ridiculous it was that the Primary leader still took my picture for our Book of Mormon project.  Back to the analogy. Just like I find humor in that bicycle-related episode of my life, I need to work harder on finding the humor in my life now, to laugh more and enjoy life and its craziness more. As Oscar Wilde said, "Life is too important to be taken seriously."  Boy, do I need to post that quote all over my house.

Then there's the much more serious bicycle incident from my past, the one that nearly killed me. The night of my accident, the doctors prepared my parents for the worst, that I would likely not survive from my injuries and if I did, that there was a risk of brain damage and/or other long-term problems. But faith pulled my frightened parents and myself through it. A priesthood blessing from my dad, prayers of family, neighbors, and friends, made the difference. I remember going back to my follow-up appointment with the neurologist weeks after my accident and how he kept saying how remarkable my recovery was, how he'd seen others with similar injuries fare so much worse. The only evidence of the ordeal are scars from road rash on my left knee and right hand.  That significant moment in my life, that other run-in with a bicycle, taught me of the power of faith. Even with that powerful affirmation in my past, my faith wavers from time to time. It's not perfect. I still don't understand everything, but I'm always working at it.  I also learned to always, always wear a helmet.

And here's the other thing I learned from both of those experiences: I always got back on the bike. Even after my near-death experience.  And that's how I've got to approach this phase of my life that seems so hectic, so exhausting, so overwhelming. It's never going to be perfect. It's going to be hard. But it can also be so great and so beautiful and so rewarding. My brain will return to its normal size someday. Someday, I'll miss the unbridled energy of my four-year-old and my two-month-old's constant desire for closeness. So for now, with some humor and a lot of faith, I'm going learn to simply enjoy the ride.