Survival Mode

A friend recently asked me, “Why did you stop writing?”

Well, that’s a good question. I thought about it and came up with this answer: Because I’ve been playing in Survival Mode for 10 years.

My younger kids play Minecraft now and then. If you’re unfamiliar, in the most basic terms, it’s a video game wherein you can build things. Minecraft can be played in different modes. In Creative Mode, for example, you have unlimited resources. You can build anything you want from the bottomless stash of supplies. In Creative Mode, you don’t have to worry about eating, sleeping, or keeping up your health because you cannot die. In Creative Mode you can fly. You can literally fly.

Then there’s Survival Mode. In Survival Mode, you have to work for all your supplies. You have to mine minerals with a pickaxe. You have to plant vegetables and raise animals for food in order to stay alive. Creatures like Creepers and Zombies, Spiders, Endermen, Witches, and Withers will kill you. You cannot fly. Your mission is to stay alive which can be challenging. For example, you’re trying to plant corn like a good little farmer so you’ll have food for the winter when BLAM! A Skeleton attacks you! Or maybe you’re in a cave chipping away at rocks to find diamonds and BOO! A Ghast attacks you! This is Survival Mode.

To illustrate this point, I asked my kids to teach me how to play Minecraft. That conversation went like this:

MOM:  Will you teach me how to play Minecraft? It's for a blog post.
CLAY:  suurrrre it is
CLAY:  i know you just want to play
CLAY: it's okay your secret is safe with me
MOM:  

So I played for 45 minutes in Creative Mode. This is what I accomplished. I built a little house. My kids think it's lame, but let's remember that I had no idea what I was doing so it took me a ridiculously long time to figure out how to even do basic things like walk.

Inside my house there is a floor, some lights, windows, a bed, and a couch and table.

It has a bed right next to the front door because I'm an expert at designing houses.

It has a miniature floating chair because I have no idea what I'm doing. I cannot, for the life of me, even tell you how on earth I managed to create a tiny floating chair.

And then I played for 45 minutes in Survival Mode. This is what happened.

I died. Apparently you can't swim in lava.

And then I died again. Because apparently you can't swim underwater indefinitely without coming up for air.

I'm not sure what I did to make a chicken fall in love with me. I thought I was kicking it away, but apparently I threw some grass seed at it or something. This game is weird.

Here's a tree. You have to chop them down in order to get wood so you can build a house.

 At the end of 45 minutes of play, here's what I accomplished in Survival Mode. This is my house:

Here's another angle of my house. Some people (my kids) claim this is not actually a house, but just a wall. I say - whatever.

As you can see, it's a little hard to accomplish what you'd like when you're just trying to survive every day. I’ve been operating in Survival Mode for the past 10 years. Blinders on, focused on the moment, playing triage every day. Clay gets over the flu, but Lexi gets sick. I get my income tax refund, but my car breaks down. I make it to Clay’s lacrosse game, but miss Lexi’s water polo game. I get caught up on laundry, but realize there are dishes in the sink piled to the ceiling. I actually make it to work on time, but have to turn around and head home to pick up a sick kid who’s puking at school. I come up with the money to pay Brooklyn’s cheer competition fees, but get hit with NJHS fees. I worry about the kids, the kid who struggled with drugs, the kid who has struggled with depression, the kid who suffers with anxiety. I push down the guilt when I can't make it to a band concert. I shove away the guilt when I miss work. I deal and try to be there for everyone. I try to take care of everyone. I attempt to be mom and dad, breadwinner and homemaker, cheerleader, nurse, and teacher. I get sick and keep going because there’s no one to bring me orange juice or pick kids up for me or make dinner. I talk to myself because there’s no one else to run things by, no one  to commiserate with, no one to simply talk to. Survival Mode.

And it's hard being creative when you’re stuck in Survival Mode. It’s hard finding the funny twist on the mundane when you’re consumed with just surviving. There are many days when I’d like to tell a funny story, but I’m too busy fighting off Endermen and chopping down trees and throwing seeds at chickens to type it out. 

But God Told Me To

While writing my last post about my shoe malfunction, I searched my blog for old pictures of past shoe mishaps to include in the post. Searching the term "shoe", netted me the following little gem. I, being well on my way to dementia, didn't remember this story, but I laughed out loud reading it. And then I shared it with Clay's girlfriend because really, she should know what she's getting into with him, don't you think?

Here, for your reading pleasure is an oldie that's still good for a laugh!

God Told Me To (July 31, 2009)

Clay has a shoe problem - in that he can never find them. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that
A. He never puts them away where they belong, and
B. He's a boy and therefore cannot find anything unless it jumps out and bites him on the butt.

Yesterday was no exception. As I was scrambling to get everyone ready and in the car for vacation bible school, Clay was looking for his shoes. And by "looking for his shoes", I mean wandering around aimlessly, saying, I can't find my shoes. Do I have to wear shoes?"

He managed to find one shoe in the closet where it belongs. Jackson found the other one, after searching high and low for a good 10 minutes, in the garage. (I have no idea.)

Then this morning, I handed Clay a pair of socks as I was folding laundry and told him, "Get your socks and shoes on." (I used to say "get your shoes and socks on", but I have too many smart-aleck kids who would put their shoes on first and then try to pull their socks on over their shoes. "Well you said to put my shoes and socks on," they'd smirk.)

Anyway, Clay marched off with his socks, seemingly to put them on and find his shoes. About 10 minutes later, I saw him, still barefoot, watching TV. I gently reminded him, "TURN OFF THE TV AND PUT YOUR STINKIN' SHOES AND SOCKS ON!" He looked at me and said, "I don't have any socks."

"Yes you do! I just gave you a pair," I responded, frustrated.

"They're wet," he said simply.

"Why are they wet?" I demanded.

"Because I was trying to run on water."

Well duh. Makes perfect sense to me.

"What do you mean - you were trying to run on water? What water? Where?"

"In the sink."

"You were trying to run in the bathroom sink? For real?" I asked, incredulous. Not much Clay does surprises me anymore, but trying to run in the bathroom sink filled with water sounded pretty strange even for Clay.

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Why, why, WHY???"

He thought for a moment and said, "God told me to."

Oh yeah, this is what has come out of vacation bible school. I can just see it now. That's going to be his excuse for everything for the next month.

Why aren't you eating your vegetables?
God told me not to.

Why did you hit your sister?
God told me to.

Why are you driving me to drink?
God told me to.

Fun times ahead.