So, the Economic Recovery House Meeting/Scott + Sue Date Night of two weeks ago (yeah…so on top of this blog) was amazing.
The meeting was held in Batavia, Illinois on the second floor of an older, riverfront tavern. This wasn’t the closest meeting to us, geographically speaking, but it certainly posed the most intriguing invitation (read: alcohol was served). There was a relaxed, yet energizing mood pulsating about the room. The first order of business was a round of introductions. About 25 of us took a shot at standing in front of the mini-crowd and explaining what has brought us to the meeting. Most spoke out of fear ~ “I haven’t opened my 401K statement since last year”. “What if I can’t find a job when I graduate?”, “Business has been so slow lately”, “What are we leaving for my grandchildren?”, and more. The room contained more women than men and the average age was about 55. I guess I was expecting a younger crowd, but frankly I was just happy to see so many warm and welcoming faces. At my turn I spoke about how I was there for selfish reasons -- that so much of what is happening lately is hitting much too close to home, as my husband is self-employed, I am now unemployed, we have college-bound teenagers (plus a kindergartener) and we carry our own health insurance….quite the cocktail for economic uncertainty. Diane, a substitute teacher married to an accountant, whispered to me, “You know, years ago we just never spoke about these things! Finances were private and even if you weren’t faring well you kept it to yourself. That is all changing.”. So true, Diane.
After the round of introductions we were treated to two videos: one by President Barack Obama and one by Governor Tim Kaine. Both were inspiring, thought provoking and informative. Still, many more questions remain unanswered such as when will this crisis pass, what can we do individually to help and what does the proposed stimulus package mean to us?
Following the two videos we broke out into smaller groups of about 6 each and were instructed to discuss individual topics (e.g., the environment, Wall Street, health care) and come up with a plan as to how to help the Democratic Party (and, in turn, the community and nation as a whole). Our little group performed miserably with our assignment….D- for us. Honestly, we didn’t have any answers. At some point I wanted to holler over to the moderator, “Hey! If Washington does not have a clear path what makes you think we do?”. Alas, I did not and we moved on to chatting about what an arrogant ass Rush Limbaugh is or how anyone can take Ann Coulter seriously. It was great fun to be surrounded by like-minded folks who were as desperate for answers as we were.
While this non-traditional date night was fun for both Scott and I (dinner later at California Pizza Kitchen was lovely as well), it left us searching for more. We are unwilling to wait for this Economic Stimulus package to step in like a virtual super-hero & save all of us financially. We, like our cohorts at the tavern, want to know what we as individuals can do to get this all back on track. Do we shop local vendors? Do we rearrange our investment portfolio? Do we donate more to the local food pantry? What what what?!?!
We still have no answers and, as of today, no stimulus package ready to swoop in to save us all. If you have answers, kindly share with the rest of the class. Until then, we will anxiously await the next meeting (if we get invited again, refer to the aforementioned failed group project) and I will then share with you.
I promise ~ ~ the next blog will be so much more cheerful…even if I have to bore you with stories about my kids, dog & husband!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Date Night
In a non-stop effort to Keep The Love Alive in our marriage, Scott and I take special pains to make sure that we have date night every few weeks or so. Sure, we usually end up talking about the kids or the business or other topics that marriage experts claim should be verboten during these romantic interludes, but that is just what our lives are all about these days. And frankly, just being out of the house and having dinner without hostile teenagers or a six year old diva who will melt at the very thought of Chez Restaurant not having pink crayons (Blue! Brown! An outrage -- Garcon, some assistance please!) is treat enough for the two of us. A little lingering, some hand holding, sharing a decadent dessert…..we live for these brief moments.
So this Friday will be date night once again for the two of us. Can I hear an AMEN?! This week, though, we are trying something different. No elegant restaurant, no R rated movie, no stroll through the park. This Friday we are going to….drum roll, please…to an “Economic Recovery House Meeting” as brought to us by the fine people at www.mybarackobama.com. I can not tell you how sincerely we are both looking forward to getting out, stretching our brains and really networking with other intellectuals (perhaps pseudo-intellectuals -- I‘ll let you know!). As the invitation email states, it is time for all us to all step up and do our part to turn around the economic situation in this country. We can not sit idly by and pray that our elected officials put into place what they so vehemently promised to us just a few short months ago. Now is the time to not only hold their collective feet to the fire, but also time that we become champions and activists for our own best interests. For the moment, and at least until we attend the meeting in two days, I am not 100% certain how that will play out in our day-to-day lives. What I can tell you with certainty, though, is that both Scott & I are no longer willing to simply be passengers on this train and now insist on being part of the solution.
Yes, this will be a completely different sort of date night for us. Somehow, though, I feel as though this sort of rallying spirit will make our marriage stronger. There is something magical when you are married about putting your collective heads together and share a common vision. It could be a financial vision, a religious purpose, a parenting choice or something much more complex. Doing so reminds you why you married this person and reassures you that you are never going it alone. Sometimes these visions are intrinsically the same and sometimes they merge through the process of negotiation and time.
Seriously, I don’t know what I would have done had I fallen in love with a Republican. Or worse still…and I shudder at this thought…someone apathetic.
To date night!!! {insert wine glasses clinking & Sinatra music}
So this Friday will be date night once again for the two of us. Can I hear an AMEN?! This week, though, we are trying something different. No elegant restaurant, no R rated movie, no stroll through the park. This Friday we are going to….drum roll, please…to an “Economic Recovery House Meeting” as brought to us by the fine people at www.mybarackobama.com. I can not tell you how sincerely we are both looking forward to getting out, stretching our brains and really networking with other intellectuals (perhaps pseudo-intellectuals -- I‘ll let you know!). As the invitation email states, it is time for all us to all step up and do our part to turn around the economic situation in this country. We can not sit idly by and pray that our elected officials put into place what they so vehemently promised to us just a few short months ago. Now is the time to not only hold their collective feet to the fire, but also time that we become champions and activists for our own best interests. For the moment, and at least until we attend the meeting in two days, I am not 100% certain how that will play out in our day-to-day lives. What I can tell you with certainty, though, is that both Scott & I are no longer willing to simply be passengers on this train and now insist on being part of the solution.
Yes, this will be a completely different sort of date night for us. Somehow, though, I feel as though this sort of rallying spirit will make our marriage stronger. There is something magical when you are married about putting your collective heads together and share a common vision. It could be a financial vision, a religious purpose, a parenting choice or something much more complex. Doing so reminds you why you married this person and reassures you that you are never going it alone. Sometimes these visions are intrinsically the same and sometimes they merge through the process of negotiation and time.
Seriously, I don’t know what I would have done had I fallen in love with a Republican. Or worse still…and I shudder at this thought…someone apathetic.
To date night!!! {insert wine glasses clinking & Sinatra music}
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Whose Your Buddy? Whose Your Pal?
Oprah says we should “Live Our Best Life” and this mantra can be found on all things Oprah ~ magazine, satellite radio program, daytime television show, feminine product line. Wait…she has not hit that market yet. Stay tuned. Anyhoo, she and her cult are likely on to something. It really should not take a multi-gazillionaire mogul to chant this to you, but while we are listening to her we may as well take heed.
I have always thought it peculiar that people always treat others better than they treat themselves. Still, I am as guilty of this offense as the next mom/wife/employee/neighbor. We give this fabulous advice to our kids or sisters or PTA cohorts, yet fail to follow this same advice as it applies to our own lives. Why is that? It seems we can chastise Sally to dump her unemployed boyfriend or support Mandy in her pursuit of an interior design career, while our own relationships collapse around us and we continue to toil away at a career that at this point is nothing more than a paycheck….and a crappy one at that. It is time, My Friends, to become your own best friend! Not in a creepy, never-leaving-the-basement, self-absorbed kind of way. But in the way that allows you to treat yourself kindly, to forgive your own human sins, or to coax yourself out of a less than ideal circumstance.
Have you ever sincerely examined the real issues of your life and wondered what a true friend would say to you? She (or he) would never call you a fat loser pig for indulging in some raw cookie dough. Still, this is our own self-dialogue. A real pal would never tell you that you are too imperfect to apply for that management position within your company. Yet, “Loser, Underachiever, Slacker” repeats through your head like an evil twin every time you think of making that long trek to the Human Resources Department to examine this amazing possibility. Would you ever in a million years say those same belittling things to someone you truly cared for? No….and neither would I. If you are engaging in this destructive behavior, stop it this minute. I mean it…done….finished! Just as I am hollering this loving advice to you, I will listen to it myself.
I am not perfect, my husband is not perfect and my kids are not perfect. Hell, the world is not perfect -- just ask the mother of a slain child or a sexual assault victim or someone losing their precious home to foreclosure. The key is to deal with the circumstance you have been presented with and be kind to yourself as you work through it to the best of your ability. Patience, too, will be key.
Yep - Live Your Best Life, just as the Big O says. And start that journey with the kindness you always reserve for others and heap it upon yourself. Believe me, you can never have too many BFFs ~ ~ even if the biggest, bestest one is looking right back at you in the mirror.
I have always thought it peculiar that people always treat others better than they treat themselves. Still, I am as guilty of this offense as the next mom/wife/employee/neighbor. We give this fabulous advice to our kids or sisters or PTA cohorts, yet fail to follow this same advice as it applies to our own lives. Why is that? It seems we can chastise Sally to dump her unemployed boyfriend or support Mandy in her pursuit of an interior design career, while our own relationships collapse around us and we continue to toil away at a career that at this point is nothing more than a paycheck….and a crappy one at that. It is time, My Friends, to become your own best friend! Not in a creepy, never-leaving-the-basement, self-absorbed kind of way. But in the way that allows you to treat yourself kindly, to forgive your own human sins, or to coax yourself out of a less than ideal circumstance.
Have you ever sincerely examined the real issues of your life and wondered what a true friend would say to you? She (or he) would never call you a fat loser pig for indulging in some raw cookie dough. Still, this is our own self-dialogue. A real pal would never tell you that you are too imperfect to apply for that management position within your company. Yet, “Loser, Underachiever, Slacker” repeats through your head like an evil twin every time you think of making that long trek to the Human Resources Department to examine this amazing possibility. Would you ever in a million years say those same belittling things to someone you truly cared for? No….and neither would I. If you are engaging in this destructive behavior, stop it this minute. I mean it…done….finished! Just as I am hollering this loving advice to you, I will listen to it myself.
I am not perfect, my husband is not perfect and my kids are not perfect. Hell, the world is not perfect -- just ask the mother of a slain child or a sexual assault victim or someone losing their precious home to foreclosure. The key is to deal with the circumstance you have been presented with and be kind to yourself as you work through it to the best of your ability. Patience, too, will be key.
Yep - Live Your Best Life, just as the Big O says. And start that journey with the kindness you always reserve for others and heap it upon yourself. Believe me, you can never have too many BFFs ~ ~ even if the biggest, bestest one is looking right back at you in the mirror.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Life Is Too Short
2009.…so this is it? Not bad so far. As always, I am a bit behind the curve on this whole “New Years Resolution” deal. But I have given the concept great thought this time around and things will really change this year. Not just because Barack Obama will be taking office (can I hear an “AMEN”??) or that Kayla will be leaving the nest this summer or that economy will continue to keep all of us on edge. Yes, those things are sure to be in the 2009 cocktail of our life, but the real change has come from a shifting of our collective mindset and the way we are viewing our currently unstable world.
To that end, there is no New Years Resolution list. In it’s place, here is my “Life Is Too Short To…” list.
Life is too short…To not really get to know your neighbors and make them a substantial part of your life. These are the people that will grow old with you, that will notice if you have not picked up your newspaper, that will watch over your house as you head to your father’s funeral, that will cut your lawn should you fall ill. To not make the very best of these relationships is downright foolish.
Life is too short…To carry around regret. Regret is a wasted emotion that benefits no one and taints past memories. For the most part, people do the very best they can given the circumstances of that moment in their life. Be nice to yourself and move on.
Life is too short…
To hold onto anger. The person you are cursing, that did you wrong, that hurt your feelings or stepped on your toes has moved on with their life. Do you really think that they give you a second thought? Your anger does not affect their day-to-day movements and only acts like a weight around your own soul. Let it go. You do not need to even make peace with the other person or let them know that you have chosen to put the past behind you. Make it a silent gift to yourself.
Life is too short…
To ignore a teachable moment with your children. When your kids ask you a question, give them a real answer in place of a quick or easy answer. This applies not only to your preschooler or third grader, but will prove to be just as important to you teenager or young adult. Take a deep breath, take your time and really explain why Grandpa died or why we can’t afford the latest cell phone this time around or why underage drinking is a poor personal choice. If you give a comprehensive, real answer the first time you are asked you are also less likely to field similar questions in the near future.
Life is too short…To put your marriage on the back burner. Scott & I go away (just the two of us!) about 3 or four times a year. Usually it is just to a nice hotel or resort within a few hours drive from our house. Once there, we may explore the town, go bowling, head to a museum or just stay put in the hotel for 3 full days. People always ask why we do this or what exactly we are doing on these excursions. Obviously, there is a bit of passion that we indulge in (seriously, what is better than hotel sex?!), but mostly we do a whole lot of talking. Not the kind of chit chat we have at home over dinner, or the drive-by conversations we have as one of us is rushing out the door. Those talks are primarily business in nature…”Did you pick up Bradley’s medication?”, “Don’t forget ballet class is tonight”, “Your brother called last night” or “We’re out of toilet paper”. No, these weekend talks are long, drawn out real conversations. We’ll sit at a bistro and talk endlessly about where we want to go on our next vacation. We’ll walk along the beach, holding hands, dreaming together about the boat we want to buy. We’ll lay in bed, reminiscing about all the goofiness from our childhood. Or we will drive around some small town, wondering aloud why someone would chose to live in this particular TinyTown, USA, especially when there is no McDonalds, Walgreens or Starbucks within 100 miles. It is a blessed few days that sustains us and keeps us endlessly connected. I highly recommend just such a weekend for you and your special someone.
To that end, there is no New Years Resolution list. In it’s place, here is my “Life Is Too Short To…” list.
Life is too short…To not really get to know your neighbors and make them a substantial part of your life. These are the people that will grow old with you, that will notice if you have not picked up your newspaper, that will watch over your house as you head to your father’s funeral, that will cut your lawn should you fall ill. To not make the very best of these relationships is downright foolish.
Life is too short…To carry around regret. Regret is a wasted emotion that benefits no one and taints past memories. For the most part, people do the very best they can given the circumstances of that moment in their life. Be nice to yourself and move on.
Life is too short…
To hold onto anger. The person you are cursing, that did you wrong, that hurt your feelings or stepped on your toes has moved on with their life. Do you really think that they give you a second thought? Your anger does not affect their day-to-day movements and only acts like a weight around your own soul. Let it go. You do not need to even make peace with the other person or let them know that you have chosen to put the past behind you. Make it a silent gift to yourself.
Life is too short…
To ignore a teachable moment with your children. When your kids ask you a question, give them a real answer in place of a quick or easy answer. This applies not only to your preschooler or third grader, but will prove to be just as important to you teenager or young adult. Take a deep breath, take your time and really explain why Grandpa died or why we can’t afford the latest cell phone this time around or why underage drinking is a poor personal choice. If you give a comprehensive, real answer the first time you are asked you are also less likely to field similar questions in the near future.
Life is too short…To put your marriage on the back burner. Scott & I go away (just the two of us!) about 3 or four times a year. Usually it is just to a nice hotel or resort within a few hours drive from our house. Once there, we may explore the town, go bowling, head to a museum or just stay put in the hotel for 3 full days. People always ask why we do this or what exactly we are doing on these excursions. Obviously, there is a bit of passion that we indulge in (seriously, what is better than hotel sex?!), but mostly we do a whole lot of talking. Not the kind of chit chat we have at home over dinner, or the drive-by conversations we have as one of us is rushing out the door. Those talks are primarily business in nature…”Did you pick up Bradley’s medication?”, “Don’t forget ballet class is tonight”, “Your brother called last night” or “We’re out of toilet paper”. No, these weekend talks are long, drawn out real conversations. We’ll sit at a bistro and talk endlessly about where we want to go on our next vacation. We’ll walk along the beach, holding hands, dreaming together about the boat we want to buy. We’ll lay in bed, reminiscing about all the goofiness from our childhood. Or we will drive around some small town, wondering aloud why someone would chose to live in this particular TinyTown, USA, especially when there is no McDonalds, Walgreens or Starbucks within 100 miles. It is a blessed few days that sustains us and keeps us endlessly connected. I highly recommend just such a weekend for you and your special someone.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Okay, People, Let's Move This Along
My family can’t multi-task, dammit. It is driving me a little bit crazy. The other day I was stirring oatmeal on the stove with my right hand while unloading the silverware from the dishwasher with my left hand. If I had an extra hand or could manipulate my toes like a primate, I can guarantee I would be accomplishing some third mundane task as well. And try as I might, I can’t seem to get these other 4 people in this house to MOVE IT ALONG. Even Misty The Wonder Dog poops a bit slowly for my liking. Sniffing for the perfect spot to unload your business -- is this really necessary? Honestly, I don’t know what my big hurry is ~ ~ step it up so that I can get what, exactly, accomplished? Living in a house as rambunctious as our feels like shoveling snow in the midst of a blizzard. For every juice box I retrieve from the kitchen table, two more will materialize. For every 2 socks I save from Bradley’s floor, 6 more will appear. For every newspaper section I retrieve from….oh, wait….that’s me, the newspaper reader. But you get my point.
Scott The Amazing Husband is just about the worst, as far a slow moving goes. He is laid back, nearly to a fault. It’s funny, what I just adored about him as we were dating -- easygoing, even tempered, punctilious -- is driving me just nutty about right now. Come on, buddy, get a little fire in your belly! Must it take 3 minutes to back the car out of the driveway? Move it, move it, move it! The more I bitch, the more he intentionally begins to act like a two toed sloth walking uphill backwards while blindfolded. This sort of passive aggressive behavior amuses only him. Needles to say, he absolutely can not multi-task. If I ask him a series of question…”Hey, how about chicken for dinner? And ya wanna watch that Bruce Willis movie tonight? Oh, did you get the mail yet?”…his response is a predictable “Uh huh”. Excuse me?! Uh Huh to WHAT? So I have to back up, slowly enunciate each question and patiently await his slow and deliberate response. I…..am….Scott…responding… so…..very….slowly…until…I….drive…you…insane.
Good grief, by the time all syllables leave his slow motion lips I could care less about the damn chicken and I am out the door to get the mail myself.
They did some sort of multi-tasking study awhile back and the results seems to show that doing many things at once does not expedite all tasks, but actually takes more time overall. Poppycock. I don’t buy it. Maybe this scenario works if both tasks are complex, but in my Stay At Home Mom world, many tasks are just simply banal and repetitive. Laundry….every day. Cooking…three times a day. Pick up miscellaneous junk in every room of the house…daily. Drive people here, there and everywhere…all the time. So if I can do more than one thing at once, why wouldn’t I? Ya know, I am not exactly doing brain surgery in this house ~ more like brain draining. I just try to keep these dawdling single-taskers dressed, fed and healthy. Oh, and happy too. I didn’t mention that? Really? Yes, that is at the top of the list ~ happy, happy, joy, joy. Even if it means pouring bowls of cereal while calling my Mother on the phone while picking up Polly Pockets with my oh so limber toes.
Scott The Amazing Husband is just about the worst, as far a slow moving goes. He is laid back, nearly to a fault. It’s funny, what I just adored about him as we were dating -- easygoing, even tempered, punctilious -- is driving me just nutty about right now. Come on, buddy, get a little fire in your belly! Must it take 3 minutes to back the car out of the driveway? Move it, move it, move it! The more I bitch, the more he intentionally begins to act like a two toed sloth walking uphill backwards while blindfolded. This sort of passive aggressive behavior amuses only him. Needles to say, he absolutely can not multi-task. If I ask him a series of question…”Hey, how about chicken for dinner? And ya wanna watch that Bruce Willis movie tonight? Oh, did you get the mail yet?”…his response is a predictable “Uh huh”. Excuse me?! Uh Huh to WHAT? So I have to back up, slowly enunciate each question and patiently await his slow and deliberate response. I…..am….Scott…responding… so…..very….slowly…until…I….drive…you…insane.
Good grief, by the time all syllables leave his slow motion lips I could care less about the damn chicken and I am out the door to get the mail myself.
They did some sort of multi-tasking study awhile back and the results seems to show that doing many things at once does not expedite all tasks, but actually takes more time overall. Poppycock. I don’t buy it. Maybe this scenario works if both tasks are complex, but in my Stay At Home Mom world, many tasks are just simply banal and repetitive. Laundry….every day. Cooking…three times a day. Pick up miscellaneous junk in every room of the house…daily. Drive people here, there and everywhere…all the time. So if I can do more than one thing at once, why wouldn’t I? Ya know, I am not exactly doing brain surgery in this house ~ more like brain draining. I just try to keep these dawdling single-taskers dressed, fed and healthy. Oh, and happy too. I didn’t mention that? Really? Yes, that is at the top of the list ~ happy, happy, joy, joy. Even if it means pouring bowls of cereal while calling my Mother on the phone while picking up Polly Pockets with my oh so limber toes.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Living With The WHENS
Are you suffering from a case of the ‘whens’? You know…My love-life will improve when I lose weight. I will get a more satisfying job when I finish my degree. Things will feel more peaceful when the kids leave home. You keep waiting for the ‘when’ to hit, but what are you doing in the meantime?
The other day it occurred to me that I had nothing big I was looking forward to…no ‘when’ hanging out there. My marriage is great, the three kids okee dokee, dog hasn’t yet puked on the good furniture, I’ve made peace with my stay-at-home situation, Scott’s business is taking off. I am still looking forward to small joys, like Christmas or our next vacation or paying off the mortgage. But nothing big is looming in my future. What then if there is no ‘when’?
When I was 15 I wanted to be 16 so I could drive. When I was 16 I wanted to be 18 so I could vote. When I was 18 I wanted to be 21 so I could drink. When I was 21 I wanted to be 23 so that my schooling would be behind me. After that I looked forward to engagements and marriages and children and new homes. Done. Done. Done. Done. Perchance I should now create a new ‘when’, force fates hand if you will. Perhaps I should look to fill someone else’s soul, since my is good…for now (seriously, with teenagers stability can be elusive). Volunteering, mentoring, rekindling old friendships, tending to elderly neighbors. This will be the real pathway to peace and happiness ~ looking outside of yourself. More than likely, once you start on that journey what you thought you were looking for will suddenly surround you. Maybe it is already there…have you opened your eyes?
If you are in the middle of a ‘when’, you need to take steps get you to your goal. Someone once said that the difference between a dream and a goal is a plan ~ so true! But what actually happens is that people sabotage their own ‘when’ by not taking steps to get them there. The reason? What if the ‘when’ is not ‘the end’…what if you lose weight and your love-life still sucks? What if you finish your degree and you still can’t find an amazing job? What if the kids finally leave home and all you are left with is empty rooms and an even more empty marriage? It’s like we force ourselves to have these distant goals knowing that they will never arrive and knowing that this void will insulate ourselves from doing any real introspection. Instead, you create a fantasy life that will never exist knowing that you can lie to yourself about how you will get there. If you are keeping an eye on the distant future, who is minding the present? In the same was that we admonish people for dwelling on the past, we should exercise caution when eyeballing the future.
I don’t have the answer to any of this. Sure, my life is pretty remarkable right now but I know that can change in a heartbeat. I am okay right here, right now…even with no ‘when’ looming. No meditation, no psychoanalysis, no narcotics (hmm…wouldn’t rule that out, though) ~ just a pure acceptance of this life I have. Even I am pretty astounded at the thought of this. And should a ‘when’ fall into my lap when I’m not looking, you’ll be the first to know.
The other day it occurred to me that I had nothing big I was looking forward to…no ‘when’ hanging out there. My marriage is great, the three kids okee dokee, dog hasn’t yet puked on the good furniture, I’ve made peace with my stay-at-home situation, Scott’s business is taking off. I am still looking forward to small joys, like Christmas or our next vacation or paying off the mortgage. But nothing big is looming in my future. What then if there is no ‘when’?
When I was 15 I wanted to be 16 so I could drive. When I was 16 I wanted to be 18 so I could vote. When I was 18 I wanted to be 21 so I could drink. When I was 21 I wanted to be 23 so that my schooling would be behind me. After that I looked forward to engagements and marriages and children and new homes. Done. Done. Done. Done. Perchance I should now create a new ‘when’, force fates hand if you will. Perhaps I should look to fill someone else’s soul, since my is good…for now (seriously, with teenagers stability can be elusive). Volunteering, mentoring, rekindling old friendships, tending to elderly neighbors. This will be the real pathway to peace and happiness ~ looking outside of yourself. More than likely, once you start on that journey what you thought you were looking for will suddenly surround you. Maybe it is already there…have you opened your eyes?
If you are in the middle of a ‘when’, you need to take steps get you to your goal. Someone once said that the difference between a dream and a goal is a plan ~ so true! But what actually happens is that people sabotage their own ‘when’ by not taking steps to get them there. The reason? What if the ‘when’ is not ‘the end’…what if you lose weight and your love-life still sucks? What if you finish your degree and you still can’t find an amazing job? What if the kids finally leave home and all you are left with is empty rooms and an even more empty marriage? It’s like we force ourselves to have these distant goals knowing that they will never arrive and knowing that this void will insulate ourselves from doing any real introspection. Instead, you create a fantasy life that will never exist knowing that you can lie to yourself about how you will get there. If you are keeping an eye on the distant future, who is minding the present? In the same was that we admonish people for dwelling on the past, we should exercise caution when eyeballing the future.
I don’t have the answer to any of this. Sure, my life is pretty remarkable right now but I know that can change in a heartbeat. I am okay right here, right now…even with no ‘when’ looming. No meditation, no psychoanalysis, no narcotics (hmm…wouldn’t rule that out, though) ~ just a pure acceptance of this life I have. Even I am pretty astounded at the thought of this. And should a ‘when’ fall into my lap when I’m not looking, you’ll be the first to know.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
No Time To Write - Rehashing Old Writings
The Wall (Originally Written October 2007)
Last night my daughter hit the wall. Not “hit the wall” as in exhaustion in the midst of a marathon or an inability to continue due to obstacles. I wish. No, she literally hit the wall. Scott (hubby) and I, along with 4 year old Paige, were making an emergency run to the local department store. We had picked Paige up at day care just 10 minutes prior and I could not stand one more moment of my baby suffering in ill-fitting shoes. This kid outgrows shoes like a growing teenage boy. So even though the lights still flickered on her pink princess shoes, I determined that they just didn’t fit right. When my now-14 year old, Bradley, was this age the determining factor for when to get new shoes was when the red super-hero lights quit their incessant blinking with every hop, skip and jump. Not so with Paige. So we made the emergency run to the store. We were walking along the three of us, Scott and I deep in conversation. Conversation that now escapes me but likely focused on his compl ete intolerance to shopping in general and his massive distaste for the particular big-box store we were moseying up to. I, too, am not a fan of the big-box store but I am, in fact, a fan of saving money. That said, about once a month we suck it up and march into the local Massive Savings R Us and stock up on the essentials of life such as shampoo, aluminum foil, garbage bag and, oh lest we forget, the super-size box of plain milk chocolate bars that hubby seems addicted to. But this journey to Massive Savings R Us was for the ill-fitting shoes. And just as we were about enter the gleaming clear doors of the store, Paige ran smack into the brick wall. Face first. Blood was spewing, tears were streaming (both hers and mine) and hubby looked uncharacteristically panicked. “What happened?!” we implored. It appears that 4 year old Paige just wanted to see what it was like to walk with her eyes closed. The thought that a brick wall may jump in the way of her little experiment never cros sed her pre-school mind. So there we were, creating a scene right in the front of the store. I have a natural aversion to embarrassment, something that Scott does not share, and wanted to brush this off and keep moving along. Run to the bathroom, grab a wet paper towel and continue on our money saving mission. Hubby saw this as an opportunity to run the other way, but as far as I can recall I blocked his path and told him to “Buck up, buddy!”. Honestly, once we mopped up the blood (while shopping, by the way) and assessed the swollen lip, she really was okay. In the comfort of our family room hours later we went back to analyze the entire scene. How did this happen? Should we have been watching her? We were, in fact, watching her the whole time, but never would have guessed that she would allow herself to smack into a wall. We saw it coming, but clearly she did not. How often does this happen with our kids? Hubby and I have three (the aforementioned 4 year old Paige, 14 year old Br adley, plus 16 year old Kayla) and we always see things coming before they do. All three kids continue to be astonished by this, as if we possess some magical power that allows us to see into their future. But at what point do we stop warning them of impending danger? With the teenagers we seem to just continue the warnings when it comes to the big and bad. Drugs, sex, cheating in school, smoking, that sort of thing. But when it comes to the more mundane, we seem to throw in the towel at some point. If Kayla wants to wear sweatpants with black heels (imagine!!), should we warn her that she will look like a fool? If Bradley wants to wear tennis shoes two sizes too big, do we tell him that he looks like a clown or leave that to his pals? My instinct is to warn them - - “Stop, you look ridiculous!” - - but hubby is more a fan of just letting their peers shape their behavior and shame them into straightening up. This isn’t a matter of letting them express themselves with a goth look or a punk look or something of that ilk. This is more just a general inability to pull together a decent look. And it is not just the way they look. It may be Kayla singing at top volume in public, or Bradley making endless farting sounds. These aren’t the standard dangers, this isn’t the wall they are about to hit, but if they move forward like this they will be embarrassed or, more importantly, embarrass me! Maybe that is what this is all about, ME. It affects me, it embarrasses me, it is a reflection on me. If they don’t care why should I? Oh, but I do. I care. If they hit the wall, if the blood flies, if I am scrambling for the wet paper towel, and trying to make it all right have they learned their lesson? Late in the evening of The Wall Incident, Paige was all cleaned up and dressed in her pink princess jammies (yes, everything with her follows the pink-princess theme). We were watching television and vaguely watching as she played around us. And then we saw it. Paige walking a round, again, with her eyes closed “just to see what it was like”. Lesson not learned.
Last night my daughter hit the wall. Not “hit the wall” as in exhaustion in the midst of a marathon or an inability to continue due to obstacles. I wish. No, she literally hit the wall. Scott (hubby) and I, along with 4 year old Paige, were making an emergency run to the local department store. We had picked Paige up at day care just 10 minutes prior and I could not stand one more moment of my baby suffering in ill-fitting shoes. This kid outgrows shoes like a growing teenage boy. So even though the lights still flickered on her pink princess shoes, I determined that they just didn’t fit right. When my now-14 year old, Bradley, was this age the determining factor for when to get new shoes was when the red super-hero lights quit their incessant blinking with every hop, skip and jump. Not so with Paige. So we made the emergency run to the store. We were walking along the three of us, Scott and I deep in conversation. Conversation that now escapes me but likely focused on his compl ete intolerance to shopping in general and his massive distaste for the particular big-box store we were moseying up to. I, too, am not a fan of the big-box store but I am, in fact, a fan of saving money. That said, about once a month we suck it up and march into the local Massive Savings R Us and stock up on the essentials of life such as shampoo, aluminum foil, garbage bag and, oh lest we forget, the super-size box of plain milk chocolate bars that hubby seems addicted to. But this journey to Massive Savings R Us was for the ill-fitting shoes. And just as we were about enter the gleaming clear doors of the store, Paige ran smack into the brick wall. Face first. Blood was spewing, tears were streaming (both hers and mine) and hubby looked uncharacteristically panicked. “What happened?!” we implored. It appears that 4 year old Paige just wanted to see what it was like to walk with her eyes closed. The thought that a brick wall may jump in the way of her little experiment never cros sed her pre-school mind. So there we were, creating a scene right in the front of the store. I have a natural aversion to embarrassment, something that Scott does not share, and wanted to brush this off and keep moving along. Run to the bathroom, grab a wet paper towel and continue on our money saving mission. Hubby saw this as an opportunity to run the other way, but as far as I can recall I blocked his path and told him to “Buck up, buddy!”. Honestly, once we mopped up the blood (while shopping, by the way) and assessed the swollen lip, she really was okay. In the comfort of our family room hours later we went back to analyze the entire scene. How did this happen? Should we have been watching her? We were, in fact, watching her the whole time, but never would have guessed that she would allow herself to smack into a wall. We saw it coming, but clearly she did not. How often does this happen with our kids? Hubby and I have three (the aforementioned 4 year old Paige, 14 year old Br adley, plus 16 year old Kayla) and we always see things coming before they do. All three kids continue to be astonished by this, as if we possess some magical power that allows us to see into their future. But at what point do we stop warning them of impending danger? With the teenagers we seem to just continue the warnings when it comes to the big and bad. Drugs, sex, cheating in school, smoking, that sort of thing. But when it comes to the more mundane, we seem to throw in the towel at some point. If Kayla wants to wear sweatpants with black heels (imagine!!), should we warn her that she will look like a fool? If Bradley wants to wear tennis shoes two sizes too big, do we tell him that he looks like a clown or leave that to his pals? My instinct is to warn them - - “Stop, you look ridiculous!” - - but hubby is more a fan of just letting their peers shape their behavior and shame them into straightening up. This isn’t a matter of letting them express themselves with a goth look or a punk look or something of that ilk. This is more just a general inability to pull together a decent look. And it is not just the way they look. It may be Kayla singing at top volume in public, or Bradley making endless farting sounds. These aren’t the standard dangers, this isn’t the wall they are about to hit, but if they move forward like this they will be embarrassed or, more importantly, embarrass me! Maybe that is what this is all about, ME. It affects me, it embarrasses me, it is a reflection on me. If they don’t care why should I? Oh, but I do. I care. If they hit the wall, if the blood flies, if I am scrambling for the wet paper towel, and trying to make it all right have they learned their lesson? Late in the evening of The Wall Incident, Paige was all cleaned up and dressed in her pink princess jammies (yes, everything with her follows the pink-princess theme). We were watching television and vaguely watching as she played around us. And then we saw it. Paige walking a round, again, with her eyes closed “just to see what it was like”. Lesson not learned.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Mommy Wars
It is a Monday evening and I am sitting in the lobby of the local dance studio. Our darling princess, Paige, is behind closed doors learning first position and piroutte, her giggling rising above all the other ballerinas. Because Scott has to work late, I sit alone with my nose buried in Sandra Lee’s autobiography (highly recommend), pretending to read as I secretly eavesdrop on the surrounding moms and their conversations. They are engaging in what Scott and I call the “Mommy Wars”. If you have ever sat at a PTA event or been on the sidelines of a third grade soccer match you know exactly what I am talking about. Each mother tries to outdo the next…”We feel so sorry for our Claire’s teacher - she is at the next reading level and Mrs. Smith has no choice but to teach her the first grade book” [read: my kid is smarter than your dyslexic moron] or “Little Dalton is just exhausted because just every single weekend on of his little Cub Scout pals is asking for another sleepover” [read: my angel is super popular compared to your buck-toothed little monster] or “We just call her Skinny Minny - all she want to eat is veggies these days” [read: listen, tubby, keep your pork rind eating plus sized six year old away from my supermodel-in-training]. As I listen to them pile on the crap, I wonder if they know how they sound. They don’t sound proud -- they sound pathetic. The image the project is one where they have to explain away their kids with some positive spinning explanation. Just like in a job interview…”What is your biggest fault?”, they ask. “Well,” as you pause for dramatic effect, “I guess I am just something of a perfectionist”. These same moms that spend an hour convincing you how accomplished and valued their kid is can be seen twenty minutes later admonishing them to the point of tears for not hugging little Madison bye-bye. God forbid our kids don’t live up to our own Freud inspired crazy expectations of them. All these kids ever really learn is that they can never please mommy & daddy unless they act as their own personal mini-me robot. Then they wonder why kids rebel 5 or 6 years down the line? Not me.
When I enrolled Bradley in Middle School the nice cardigan enrobed woman at the first table told me that he had been selected for “Challenge English” and “Challenge Science”. Wow, I thought, that sucks but at least he will get the extra helps he needs. It was truly not really upsetting to me. I moved on to the rest of the registration process, saddened but not disappointed…paying for school lunches, picking up the gym uniform, getting the locker combination and at the last table that we parents were herded to, they had to do a final review of the kids class schedule before we could leave. They looked up and down intently at the class schedule I had thrust towards them and I muttered, “Yeah, ‘challenge’ classes”. She looked up at me, broadly smiled and said, “You do know that Challenge Classes are part of the honors and gifted program…right?”. Hell no, I didn’t know that! I get it now -- ‘challenge’ because they are harder than the rest of the classes. DUH! Until that moment I did not really know that this mop haired kid was gifted. I had just allowed Bradley to be Bradley, and look what happened. He is now an amazing 15 year old and still in Honors and AP level classes at the local high school. Not because I engaged in the mommy wars - not because I held out huge expectations for him - not because he was pushed and prodded. But just because this kid is organically intelligent. Be clear, though - I support him, I encourage him, I provide academic oversight but not direction, we expose him to challenging concepts (get it…“Challenge“!) So, I bury my head back in the Sandra Lee biography (did I mention what a fab book this is??) and let the warring continue around me. When my little Paige comes flying out of the studio, her hair a mess and too busy jabbering to her mommy to hug her ballerina friends goodbye -- I don’t fix her hair, I don’t force her to hug a friend goodbye and I don’t make her stop talking. Paige will just be Paige and she will always know that her parents love her no matter what.
When I enrolled Bradley in Middle School the nice cardigan enrobed woman at the first table told me that he had been selected for “Challenge English” and “Challenge Science”. Wow, I thought, that sucks but at least he will get the extra helps he needs. It was truly not really upsetting to me. I moved on to the rest of the registration process, saddened but not disappointed…paying for school lunches, picking up the gym uniform, getting the locker combination and at the last table that we parents were herded to, they had to do a final review of the kids class schedule before we could leave. They looked up and down intently at the class schedule I had thrust towards them and I muttered, “Yeah, ‘challenge’ classes”. She looked up at me, broadly smiled and said, “You do know that Challenge Classes are part of the honors and gifted program…right?”. Hell no, I didn’t know that! I get it now -- ‘challenge’ because they are harder than the rest of the classes. DUH! Until that moment I did not really know that this mop haired kid was gifted. I had just allowed Bradley to be Bradley, and look what happened. He is now an amazing 15 year old and still in Honors and AP level classes at the local high school. Not because I engaged in the mommy wars - not because I held out huge expectations for him - not because he was pushed and prodded. But just because this kid is organically intelligent. Be clear, though - I support him, I encourage him, I provide academic oversight but not direction, we expose him to challenging concepts (get it…“Challenge“!) So, I bury my head back in the Sandra Lee biography (did I mention what a fab book this is??) and let the warring continue around me. When my little Paige comes flying out of the studio, her hair a mess and too busy jabbering to her mommy to hug her ballerina friends goodbye -- I don’t fix her hair, I don’t force her to hug a friend goodbye and I don’t make her stop talking. Paige will just be Paige and she will always know that her parents love her no matter what.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
I Want My Own Life
Who was it that that opined, "I vant to be alone?". Garbo, right? Greta Garbo. She certainly had the right idea. I, too, just want to be alone. Don't get me wrong, I really do love me family. Immediate family, extended family, even the family dog. But being pulled in so many directions at the same time is really and sincerely wearing on me. When they want me...kids, husband, mother, the aforementioned dog...no one else will do. They need ME. I knew this going into marriage and parenthood and probably at my core I am happy to be so integral to everyone's life. But still -- if I am consumed to taking care of the world, who is taking care of me? In the last week or so the members of my family are getting sick one by one by one. Nothing life threatening, just some sort of chest cold, head cold, sinus infection deal. the sort of early fall illness that reminds you here in the Chicago area of who we dread 50% of our seasons. They lay on the couch and bark out orders for orange juice or magic meds. Clutching a box of tissue in one hand and an empty juice glass in the other, you can't help but cater to their pathetic needs. It's just what a Mommy does.
I glared at Bradley yesterday, taking a sick day from Larkin High School, and mused, "Now, who will take care me when I fall ill??". Because he was desperate for juice and a bit loopy from cold meds he claimed that the family would all rally 'round me. PUHLEASE! When I was pregnant with Paige and ordered to bed-rest, that didn't even seem to happen. I know they have the best of intentions, but everything still falls to Mom. Scott in particular is an amazing husband who would do literally ANYTHING that I want. But what I truly want is for him to read my mind and know instinctivly what I need. No one has to tell ME how to take care of THEM. Ya know?
When we moved into our new 2-story house 5 years ago the kids were amazed by the magic chute. Throw dirty clothes down there and VOILA...48 hours later crisp, clean clothing tucked into your dresser. DAMN IT, I NEED A MAGIC CHUTE! I can't tell you how many times I have pleaded to get a wife of my own! And when Scott and I bicker, nothing even bordering on divorce talk, I warn him, "Oh no you don't, mister! You are not leaving me alone with these kids...this house...the puking dog. You just buck up and we're gonna get this on track". And we do, we always do. That is what marriage and a partnership is all about.
So as I awaken this morning, my own throat scratchy, head foggy, a tickle lingering in the back of my throat I will do what I have always done -- just take care of myself. Just after I take this little nap...
I glared at Bradley yesterday, taking a sick day from Larkin High School, and mused, "Now, who will take care me when I fall ill??". Because he was desperate for juice and a bit loopy from cold meds he claimed that the family would all rally 'round me. PUHLEASE! When I was pregnant with Paige and ordered to bed-rest, that didn't even seem to happen. I know they have the best of intentions, but everything still falls to Mom. Scott in particular is an amazing husband who would do literally ANYTHING that I want. But what I truly want is for him to read my mind and know instinctivly what I need. No one has to tell ME how to take care of THEM. Ya know?
When we moved into our new 2-story house 5 years ago the kids were amazed by the magic chute. Throw dirty clothes down there and VOILA...48 hours later crisp, clean clothing tucked into your dresser. DAMN IT, I NEED A MAGIC CHUTE! I can't tell you how many times I have pleaded to get a wife of my own! And when Scott and I bicker, nothing even bordering on divorce talk, I warn him, "Oh no you don't, mister! You are not leaving me alone with these kids...this house...the puking dog. You just buck up and we're gonna get this on track". And we do, we always do. That is what marriage and a partnership is all about.
So as I awaken this morning, my own throat scratchy, head foggy, a tickle lingering in the back of my throat I will do what I have always done -- just take care of myself. Just after I take this little nap...
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
And Then My Heart Stopped
I heard someone say once that having a child is like having your heart reside outside of your body. If I could recall who specifically said it, I certainly would give them proper attribution. At this point I really can not think of much of anything except the never ending health problems of my 15 year old baby. By all accounts Bradley was just a normal, mouthy, tall, cute and funny kid until the summer of 2006. He was complaining of leg pain which I primarily chalked up to "growing pains". I had read an article that firmly indicated that this truly does exist as a concept, so I told Bradley to shake it off. So it went for several days until my mother called me at work one day stating that Bradley could barely walk to the bathroom. Uh oh. As soon as I got home I took one look at the leg and it was considerably larger than the other. Be clear, Bradley was 13 at this point and I was no longer in the habit of inspecting his every limb. That sort of behavior begins to pass as soon as your kid hits elementary school. Regardless, he could not bear weight on his leg and a pained look would not fade from his blue eyed face. Fast forward a bit...trip to the pediatrician, admission to the hospital, and a diagnosis of an infection in the leg. The likely culprit was an infected toenail which Bradley has further infected with a dip into a tainted Michigan lake on a family getaway. Just as the infection seemed under control a clot developed in this leg. Life seemed to move in fast forward at this point, which included an emergent ambulance ride to Children's Memorial Hospital in Chicago for further specialized care. Even thinking of it now, it seems so very surreal. A bit more fast forwarding...the illness eventually seemed to resolve itself, but during the course of the next two years the leg remained swollen. We were told that this was par for the course, but we were also told that blood clots in kids is so rare that a firm treatment plan and expectation for the future was hard for the MDs to wrap their arms around. We take him again to the pediatrician just last week and this is when things take a shift. This doctor thinks that the swelling in the leg is unrelated to the clot and that there may be a completely alternative diagnosis (this is, of course, in addition to the blood clot and not in lieu of it). In rapid succession this guy start spewing words at me like Hematology, genetic disorder, Geneticist, possible kidney issues, adrenal cancer and more than I can care to remember. I frantically tried to take notes, but I could barely keep the pen in my hand or my thoughts in focus. And this is where we stand today -- between that trip to the pediatrician and the visit to the Hematologist this Friday. Bradley is depressed and frightened. Terror and concern and panic do not even seem to be large enough words for what I am feeling. I am overwhelmed and I am scared. Don't tell Bradley, though, as I am supposed to be the strong one. However, I feel weak and vulnerable. I feel like Mommy can not fix it all. I want answers, yet I want to plug my ears like a 5 year old and create another reality in my mind. This blessed little boy...little man...is still my baby.
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