No Coincidences

Tag: parenthood

  • San Junipero

    San Junipero

    I really enjoy the show Black Mirror on Netflix.

    For those who don’t know the show, each season includes independent episodes that usually (but not always) have a futuristic, technological theme.

    One of my favorite episodes is called San Junipero.

    I don’t love this episode for its ending. I love it for how it makes me think. Funny enough, I watched the episode a second time, 7 years after the first viewing. Usually when something really makes me think, I pull out my phone and start writing down my thoughts.

    In 2025 when I rewatched San Junipero, I pulled out my phone to take notes. I found notes I took 7 years prior. I didn’t remember taking those notes. But they fit exactly what I thought 7 years later watching the episode a second time. Good to see I’m consistent. Typing those thoughts out led to this blog post.

    In the show, San Junipero is a virtual reality where people can upload their consciousness to live and experience life much like in the real world. In San Junipero, people can eat, drink, laugh, dance, and do seemingly all of the things that you can do in real life.  

    The main character is named Yorki. Yorki meets a character named Kelly (I hope it goes without saying that there are about to be spoilers for the episode).

    Yorki and Kelly start a romance in San Junipero. In San Junipero, everyone is young and vibrant. We learn that in the real world Yorki is an old woman who was paralyzed at the age of 20 and has spent her entire life in a coma-like state. Kelly is an old woman who was given 3 months to live 6 months ago.

    We learn that Kelly was married for many years to a man named Richard. Kelly and Richard… well, I’ll let Kelly tell the story.

    The episode comes to a climax when Yorki is trying to convince Kelly to stay with her in San Junipero.

    This leads to one of the most powerful monologues I’ve ever seen on television. In exasperation and frustration at Yorki’s request, Kelly exploded (you can watch the exact clip on YouTube HERE):

    “49 years. I was with him for 49 years. You can’t begin to imagine. You can’t know. The bond, the commitment, the boredom, the yearning, the laughter, the love of it. The *expletive love. You just cannot know. Everything we sacrificed. The years I gave him. The years he gave me. Did you think to ask? Did it occur to you to ask?

    “We had a daughter, Allison. Always difficult, always beautiful. Died at 39 years old, bless her heart. And Richard and I, we felt that heartbreak as one.

    “You know when he was dying, Rich said to me, when they offered him this, to pass over, pass through, spend eternity in this *expletive graveyard you’re so in love with, he said, ‘How can I? When she missed out, how can I?’ And so he went. And I wish I could believe he’s with her now, that they’re together, but I don’t. I believe they’re nowhere. Just like you said. Gone…

    “And now you give me some sales pitch about how *expletive peachy forever could be. You want to spend forever somewhere nothing matters? End up like Wes. All those lost *expletives at the Quagmire trying anything to feel something, go ahead. But I’m out. I’m gone.”

    The episode goes on. You see a coffin being lowered into a grave next to Richard’s tombstone. You think that’s the end.

    Black Mirror is known for its twists. I love it for its twists. I hated this twist.

    Kelly is back in San Junipero with Yorki. She decided not to “pass on.” She stayed in San Junipero. The show plays background music of Belinda Carlisle’s Heaven is a Place on Earth.

    While this may seem like a happy ending, the broader implications broke my heart.

    Obviously, I’m going to take this from a perspective of faith.

    There’s a lot to unpack here and a lot to consider. It’s why, despite my dislike for the ending, it’ s still one of my favorite episodes.

    Kelly could have “moved on” and spent an eternity with her husband and daughter. Instead she decided to stay in an artificial world.

    What is the lesson here?

    Her husband Rich had a particle of faith. Just a mustard seed of faith, you might say. Kelly couldn’t exhibit even that. She said herself, “I wish I could believe he’s with her now.” Wish. She Wishes. She hopes, probably. But she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t even give real honest effort. She could only wish and hope but she couldn’t believe. According to Kelly Richard didn’t believe, but clearly he tried to. From a faithful perspective, what did Richard get? An eternity with his beloved daughter. What did Kelly get? An eternity in a fake and counterfeit world.

    Kelly took the guarantee in front of her. She took what she knew. She chose earth. She chose an existence of “trying to feel alive” over eternal life.

    Kelly’s monologue makes mention of a place called the Quagmire. The definition of quagmire is: “a soft boggy area of land that gives way underfoot.” A land that gives way underfoot = unsteady, uncertain, unsure. A sandy foundation.

    The Quagmire was a disgusting, sad, pathetic place where people in San Junipero went to party. It was all grotesque acts, cage fighting, drugs – all the worst of the world. Why did so many people in San Junipero go to the Quagmire? A hell-hole of debauchery? Kelly in her monologue pointed out the reason the living souls of the dead in San Junipero went there. Why would they go to somewhere so horrible? Just to try to feel alive.

    This is another eternal point to consider. The Quagmire clearly represented hell. Hell is a lack of progression. Hell is a lack of purpose.

    What is life without purpose? What is your purpose?

    Kelly chose a fake world. Will her life there be happy? Maybe. It might even be amazing, from an earthly perspective.

    We know that people really will make this choice. When some die, they can’t enjoy an otherworldly experience because they are too attached to this world. It’s the reason Jesus said to leave all earthly things behind and seek after eternal things. There is so much in store for us if we can just seek it out. Some will choose this world and this life because they can’t garner the faith to hope for something so much more.

    For those that want a greater blessing, there will be an eternity of love and joy, and things we can’t even begin to wrap our minds around – amazing, spectacular, fantastic things. But if we get too stuck in this world, we’ll miss the opportunity for that so much more.

    The fictional Richard hoped for so much more. He wished for so much more. He believed it just enough that he received it. A blessed existence for eternity with his daughter.

    I so wished the show would have taken an “eternal perspective” for once. But alas, it is a show of the world.

  • A Lesson on Prayer from Ivy

    A Lesson on Prayer from Ivy

    “Become as little children” (Matthew 18:3).

    I think about this a lot.

    Ivy and I pray together often. Most nights at dinner. Most nights before bed.

    I used to say the prayer almost every time. Then most nights we both would say a prayer. Then we started splitting it 50/50, sometimes I would say it, sometimes Ivy would say it. Now she says it almost every time.

    It’s really neat to see her try to replicate what I say. When we were both saying a prayer each night, she would usually ask me to go first. When it was her turn, it was clear she was trying to repeat as much of what I said as she could remember.

    When she started asking to go first then demanding I repeat things she said, I knew she was close to taking over this important responsibility. I was very happy.

    It’s fun watching her prayers evolve.

    Recently she’s started saying something profound and powerful every night.

    “Heavenly Father, thank you for everything we have, and thank you for everything we don’t have.”

    When is the last time you thanked God for everything you don’t have?

    The faith of a little child. What a thing.

    Now Ivy is teaching me how to pray.

    I couldn’t be happier.

  • Ivy and Sage Thoughts

    Ivy and Sage Thoughts

    This would have been the fifth installment of “Ivy Thoughts” but instead we get our first “Ivy and Sage Thoughts”! Welcome to my world of two adorable daughters. Come on in.

    Let’s start with Sage since she’s new to the segment. She hasn’t started forming full sentences yet, but it’s time she became an official part of these posts.

    Sage loves the Bluey song. For those who aren’t familiar, you can click HERE.

    In the song where it yells “Mom,” “Dad,” “Bingo,” and “Bluey” Sage yells “Dad!” every time. If she hears that song she stops, stares, and yells “Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!” I enjoy her rendition of the theme song.

    Sage is off the charts shy, including around family she doesn’t get to see that often. It’s really interesting because this “shyness,” for lack of a better term, has been a part of Sage since she was a baby. When she was a baby she would sometimes start screaming and crying if someone looked at her. That has continued into her toddler-hood.

    Sage doesn’t like extra attention on her, besides from Beth and I. There was a moment where this became clear. We were doing Sage’s first birthday party at her grandparents. There were great grandparents, aunts, uncles and family there. We put a cake and candles in front of Sage. We sang happy birthday to her. What would normally be a dream come true, a whole cake in front of her, turned quickly to a nightmare when we finished singing and she looked around at all this mass amount of love and attention on her. Sage burst into tears. The collective attention and singing was too much for her to take.

    We’ve seen my family four weekends in the last 6 weeks. Every time we see my family Sage needs at least 24 hours to warm up. She will not go near anyone, gets upset if she gets picked up (or even looked at), and is excessively shy. She will cling to Beth or myself, often laying her head on our shoulder or snuggling her face into our arm to avoid anyone looking at her.

    What’s interesting about this is Sage is the outgoing one between her and Ivy. Sage is wild and crazy and outgoing when comfortable. But if there are strangers around, she gets quiet and closes in on herself. I think I’m like this. It’s interesting how our characteristics are passed onto our children and how some things are just built into us, even as babies. Sage is shy and reserved the same way I was always shy and reserved growing up.

    This past weekend when we were with my family it was fascinating watching Sage’s transformations. At one point Sage was sitting on my lap outside. My mom was in a chair across from us. Sage was snuggling next to me and being her normal (for this weekend) shy, quiet, timid self with my mom nearby. My mom got up to walk inside. The second she was gone Sage stood up and started laughing and screaming and playing. It was an instant transformation. She loves my family once she warms up. Once she warms up she’s crazy and laughing and playing, but until then she is terrified of any outside attention coming her way.

    Sage has inherited plenty of nicknames already. Some of her nicknames include Sagey Sunshine, Sagerific, Rif, Rific, Sage Laura, Roo, and Smudge. That’s all I can think of off the top of my head. That’s to say nothing of the dozens and dozens of nicknames Ivy has given her.

    One last special Sage moment that I think exemplifies strong second child. I dropped Ivy and Sage off at school recently. This was out of the ordinary as Beth usually takes them to school and Ivy was letting it be known this was not in routine. She was crying, saying she was sick, and making a big hubub. While Ivy was melting down I set all our stuff down – snacks for the school for the day, draw bags of washed sheets, lunch boxes, and waters. The teacher patiently gathered all our stuff while I consoled Ivy. Sage meanwhile had walked in through the first gate and was waiting to be let in to go play. The teacher was holding Ivy’s lunch box and looking around. “Where is Sage’s lunchbox?” She asked looking all over the place. I looked around too. It was just there. Sage walked back from the second gate and pointed on the shelf where she had set her lunchbox. She then turned around with a complete, “See the people I have to deal with?” look on her face as she waited to be let in to school to start playing.

    Now onto some classic Ivy thoughts.

    After getting home late from grandparents’ home one night, I asked Ivy for a hug and a kiss. She gave me a big hug then she got her face really close to mine and said, “sticker time,” patted her chest and said, “Ivy tired” and got into bed. Still not sure what sticker time meant or was referring to.

    Ivy flushed a toy down the toilet. I told her if she did that again the toilet would break and we’d need to go to the store when we needed to go to the bathroom. She seemed perplexed about this and continued to ask questions. I emphasized that flushing things down the toilet could break the toilet. “I break the house?” She asked. Seizing the opportunity to potentially get her to understand the severity of flushing something down the toilet I replied, “Yes, flushing toys down the toilet could break the whole house.” This had a big impact. She proceeded to tell Beth that she was worried she was going to break the house.

    The next day we were at church. Beth took Ivy to the bathroom. Ivy looked up at Beth and said, “If I flush a toy down the toilet, I break the church?” Beth told me later, that time I caught Ivy flushing a toy down the toilet was the second straight day Ivy had flushed something down the toilet at home. Beth hadn’t told me because she didn’t want me to freak out. Well, now Ivy is convinced our house is going to collapse into a pile of rubble if she flushes anything besides toilet paper down the toilet. She hasn’t put anything in the toilet since. Parenting win.

    Ivy really doesn’t like crane flies. They freak her out. We explained to Ivy that crane flies aren’t bad. They’re actually pretty good because they don’t bother people, but they eat the little bugs that annoy us. Ivy said, “They kill little bugs?” “Yes,” we replied. “They don’t kill people?” That made us laugh. “No,” we explained, “they don’t even hurt people.” Ivy said, “I’m glad they don’t kill people.”

    There’s a toy I grew up with called Playmobil. They’re little figures that I played with nonstop. I still love Playmobil. Ivy has the same love of them and they are all she plays with when we visit Grandma and Grandpa Q’s house in Las Vegas. Ivy has the same love of order that I do and can spend hours lining them up in orderly groups.

    These little figures have plastic hair pieces that click into their heads. When a Playmobil figure is missing its hair its head becomes bowl-like. The top of their head basically becomes a hole. Ivy saw a Playmobil figure without its hair once and exclaimed, “Oh no! He has a hole in his head. Let me see the hole in your head.” I showed Ivy the spot in the back of my head where hair still doesn’t completely grow. “Awww,” she said sympathetically.

    Before one more heartwarming story, I’ll share a full on threenager moment. This morning Ivy got out of bed and came out of her room. I was just about to walk out the door. Ivy does the cutest thing right now. She walks out and says, “Good morning, Dad, Cory is here” (new alias, Cory Matthews from Boy Meets World).

    I said, “Good morning, Cory, come give me a hug before I leave for work.”

    She walked over and said, “A hug and a big smooch.”

    She hugged and kissed my leg. I put my arm around her and patted her head. She started to walk away then came back and did it again. I again patted her head. She started to walk away then came back again. Same process. I started to think she was broken when on the fourth return walk she said, with feirce anger in her eyes, “No, no, no, Dad, don’t touch my head.” So I didn’t touch her head this time and she hugged my leg, gave it a kiss, and walked away. Then she turned around and looked at me and said, “When you touch my head my hair gets so so so crazy! Don’t pat my head, Dad!” She was holding back tears as she walked to our room to say good morning to Beth. As she walked into our room she slammed our door. The teenage years are going to be great, I can feel it.

    But to balance that, let’s end with a heartwarming Ivy moment. Ivy recently hugged me one night and looked up at me and said, “You’re the best, Dad.”

    I love being a dad.

  • Ivy Thoughts Part 4

    Ivy Thoughts Part 4

    After a discouraging post last week, and on this Thanksgiving day when there’s so much to be grateful for, it’s time for another happy installment of Ivy Thoughts. Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 for reference.

    We had a bit of a fly infestation in our area for a couple weeks. Flies were in our home. We talked to neighbors and learned it was everyone. This led to a couple weeks of me constantly swatting flies. It became a fun recreational activity for me. Make lemonade out of lemons kind of thing. Now, Beth says if Ivy hears her make any loud sound in the kitchen, Ivy will yell, “You killin a fly mommy?”

    All these dead flies have led to another interesting development. We were on a trip to the Grand Canyon and Ivy started talking about how someone died. I looked at Beth questioningly. I hadn’t heard Ivy talk about death before. Beth asked me if I knew where this discussion on death was coming from. I started scouring my memory for books we’d read, shows we’d watched, movies we’d seen, discussions we’d had in front of her. I couldn’t come up with anything. Beth informed me that Ivy’s interest (or knowledge in?) death started after all the dead flies she’d been seeing. It’s crazy what these kids pick up and how they learn things.

    We went to an NBA Finals party at a friend’s house. Ivy and Sage were the only two kids invited. They’re cool like that. But it was basically a bunch of guys I play basketball with, a couple wives/girlfriends, then Beth and I with our two girls. The hosts got Ivy a box of Barbies to play with. This was Ivy’s first experience with Barbies and boy did she take to them. The next day Beth reported an exchange Ivy had with her Fisher Price Little People (her old favorite toys). It was a reenactment that went something like this, “People say, ‘What you want for Christmas?’ And I say ‘ummm I want Barbies like at the party’ and they say, ‘okay we tell Santa.’”

    Sage
    Sage

    I was reading Ivy a bedtime book. Somehow, this night, she got ahold of Beth’s phone during bedtime and was scrolling through Beth’s pictures, which are almost all Ivy and Sage, obviously. Ivy wasn’t paying much attention to the book. I thought about giving up, but reading to her at night is one of my favorite parts of any day. It wasn’t the first time I was reading to an un-captivated audience. In an attempt to get Ivy’s attention, I said, “Look! A fireman!” Pointing to a fireman in the book. Ivy, without looking up from the phone, said, “That’s right, Dad.” It was a terrifying look into my future.

    The very next morning Ivy and I were sitting on the couch eating fruit and watching the only movie that was allowed in our home while Ivy’s awake for 6 months, the Polar Express. She was entranced by Polar Express, despite it being her (twice a day for ~6 months, let’s go with) 360th viewing. I said to her, “These strawberries are really good.” Without looking away from her movie she replied, “That’s right, Dad.”

    Proud moments are one of the best parts of being a parent. Proud moments happen about as often as “not proud” moments. We try our best to laugh at the not proud moments and dwell on the proud moments. A “not proud” moment is every time Ivy throws food on the floor. I had a recent proud moment. It was just her and I hanging out in the living room. Beth and Sage were napping. Ivy and I were trying to decide what we wanted to do. Options included playing a game, building a tower, or playing with her Little People.

    Then Ivy caught me off guard. She said, “We clean?”

    I responded, “You want to clean the room?”

    Ivy said, “We clean. Mommy be so proud?”

    I told Ivy that Mom would be so proud if we cleaned the room. Instead of playing a game, we spent the next 30 minutes cleaning the room. It was awesome.

    I don’t know how Beth will feel about me sharing this story but it’s too funny. Also, it’s not true, so it’s fine. For whatever reason, Ivy got obsessed with the idea of stinky breath. For other random obsessions see other Ivy Thougts posts for mentions of Zach, fried rice, and puppets. I believe this obsession originated from Beth telling Ivy she needed to brush her teeth, or her breath would stink. The other day, Beth was cuddling with Ivy on the couch. Ivy was sitting with her head on Beth’s shoulder. Beth looked down at Ivy and said, “I love you. I’m so glad I get to be with you.” Ivy looked up at Beth and said, “Your breath stink.”

    Sage

    Do you have a little hype person for every time you go to the bathroom? I do. We recently had a road trip back from St. George to Arizona. We stopped 4 times. Every time I took Ivy with me to the bathroom and every time she stood behind me at the urinal and said, “Go Daddy go! Go Daddy go!” She’s been doing this for months and it’s really quite encouraging.

    I showed Ivy a picture of her as a baby and asked, “Do you know who that is?”

    “Sage,” she responded.

    I told her, no, that was baby Ivy.

    She responded, “Oh… I love her.”

    We should all love ourselves the way Ivy loves baby Ivy.

  • Embrace the Chaos: Parenting a Toddler

    Embrace the Chaos: Parenting a Toddler

    On the heels of my Mr. Feeny post I had a revelation.

    Growing up, I have vague memories of staying up late with my mom at a very young age. I remember sitting with her on the couch while she folded laundry watching Law and Order or CSI. While these are vague memories, they’re powerful memories.

    The last few months have been a battle with Ivy. I won’t go into all the details to avoid seeming like a completely incompetent parent. To give you a tiny glimpse into it, Ivy requires us to lie next to her bed and hold her hand for her to sleep in her bed. She’ll then sleep there for a couple hours until she wakes up and realizes we’re not there, then come into our bed. That lying next to her bed phase waiting for her to fall asleep can be 10 minutes or it can be three hours.

    I am completely open to suggestions on how to get your toddler to sleep.

    I will maybe try suggestions but more likely laugh in the face of any suggestion that implies you can get a toddler to do anything they don’t want to do.

    Beth and I have really tried to add some structure to Ivy’s life. Before she become a full-blown 2 year-old with all the personality and stubbornness of an aged mule, I think we did a good job. We still try to get her to bed between 7pm and 8pm. See the above paragraph for notes on “trying” to get her to go to bed.

    Last night, I laid next to Ivy for 30 minutes while she sang, did some sort of dance lying down (I just know her feet were moving a lot), went through all her books (it was pitch black), and repeatedly re-adjusted the holding of my hand. After 30 minutes I stood up and left the room. I had a Jazz game to watch. She followed.

    Beth went to bed around 9:00pm.

    Ivy and I stayed up until 10:30pm watching the game. We laughed, we high-fived, we hugged, we danced, we cheered (quietly), we cried (they lost).

    “Education is not about obscure facts and little test scores. Education is about the overall effect of years of slow absorption of concepts, philosophies, approaches to problem-solving. The whole process is so grand and all-encompassing that it really can’t be threatened by the occasional late-night no-hitter. It is important that a boy (or girl) spend time with his (or her) father.”

    Mr. Feeny

    I may remember that night for the rest of my life. It was not a no-hitter, just the sixth regular season game in an 82 game season. But I may remember that night forever because it was so great.

    This led me to sending my mom a text, which read:

    “I’m more and more trending toward your way of doing things. What’s the point in having a battle of contrition with a 3yo that I’ll never win? Trying to put her to sleep at 8pm and lying next to her bed for hours on end hoping she’ll fall asleep. Why? So she can sleep for 2 hours then get up and get in our bed anyway? Not to mention if she doesn’t go to sleep, she’s at her peak best behavior ever. She’s sweet, nice, and plays quietly on her own, only occasionally asking if you want to play with her. It’s all going to come back around anyway. Either she’ll nap really good today at school or she’ll go to bed early tonight because she’s actually tired (doubt it). It’s also kind of the best when she’s being so nice and we get to stay up until 1030 watching the Jazz, cheering, clapping, hugging, and crying together. Multiple times I made her jump during her quiet playing because I got loud. Every time she looked at me like, “Uhm, trying to have some peace and quiet over here.” So she gets to see what we feel like all day every day. I’m failing to see the true downside. Teaching discipline? Avoiding chaos? We’re way past that. You can’t discipline a 3yo. She does whatever she wants when she wants and dares us to do something about it. She’ll come around, I’m sure. But for now, just embrace the chaos, I think, is the way to go.”

    I remember those nights with my mom.

    Maybe Ivy will remember some of these nights with me.

    I always hoped I’d have super well-behaved, obedient, and disciplined children. I think, on the toddler scale, Ivy is turning out to be exceptional in those categories. BUT – the idea of a disciplined toddler is like the fantasy of a well organized and controlled tornado – it really doesn’t exist.

    I think the occasional late night Jazz game is way more valuable than discipline. I think.

    Embrace the chaos.