I remember

I remember being a young girl and walking down my street with my friend, holding hands the whole time.  I have no idea how old I was, but I remember that we would always hold hands when we were walking together.  It wasn't just one friend, although I don't have many specific memories, but I remember holding hands with friends was just something that we did.  I also remember when it stopped.

One day, I was walking with one of my friends, who was a year older than me, across the street from my house.  We were close to the corner house on the opposite side of the street.  I remember exactly where we were.  I reached for her hand and she pushed my hand away.  I didn't understand.  I looked at her and she said something like "we don't do that". 

It had happened.  She had become aware of how holding hands looked to other people and it made her uncomfortable.  She didn't want to hold my hand anymore.  I felt sad, but somehow I understood.  I never reached for a friend's hand after that.

Fast forward to present day... I'm almost 41 now and I'm holding hands with friends again.  Who the fuck cares what other people think.  It's sad to think of what we give up as we are growing up because of all the fears of what others think, how others judge...  but it's never too late.  Hug a friend today.  Hold someone's hand and walk in public.  Life's too short.

Grace and forgiveness

It's what I give myself every single day now, several times a day.

Did I act selfishly?  Did I forget something?  Did I "do it wrong?" Could I have done that differently or better?

It doesn't really matter what the answer is to these questions.  If the answer is "yes", I give myself grace.  If it's "no", I give myself grace for being unsure and needing to double check.

Parenting is a real challenge, relationships can be difficult and communication skills are definitely not something that everyone has, so I give myself grace and forgiveness.  It helps me move on from one situation to another without having to dwell on what I might have done differently.  It gives me the chance to do it differently.  It makes me stronger.

When you pick on yourself for doing it "wrong", you tear yourself down.  It takes strength to improve and make changes.  Give yourself grace and forgiveness and give those around you a gift that they will cherish - a stronger, better you.

I wonder how everyone else does it...

Have you ever wondered how everyone else does it?  I mean, sometimes it seems that I have just enough time to do the laundry and the dishes on the weekends after working full-time, running the kids around, Dr. and dentist appointments, homework, balancing the checkbook, paying bills, exercise, grocery shopping, making phone calls... and God knows what else...

I find myself wondering "How does everyone else do it?"  How do people with three kids (or more!)do it when I only have two?  How do single parent households do it?  How do people who appear to be so-much-more-put-together do it?

I just can't get my head around it.  Right when I think things are running so smoothly - the trash is emptied, the floor is clean, the dishes are put away, and clothes are actually hanging in the rooms they belong in - I realize... CRAP... there's pink stuff growing in the toilet.  When was the last time I cleaned that toilet?  And then I look outside and see weeds all over the backyard hillside... CRAP... how long have THOSE been there?

The dogs need shots, and they need to be groomed, the car needs a smog check, my son needs a bigger bed, my daughter needs new jeans (didn't we just buy some?), the air conditioning needs to be serviced, the oranges on the neighbor's tree need to be picked if we want to enjoy them, my ipod earphones need to be replaced...  The list goes on and on...

And I just wonder...

How does everyone else do it?  And is there an easier way?

I'm just wonderin'...  I would love to know...One day...

What's in your backpack?

So, we each have a backpack.  Some of us choose a very elaborate, decorated backpack.  Some of us choose a very plain, solid colored backpack.  Some backpacks are large with very little content.  Some are small and ripping at the seams from being stuffed so full.  It’s really not important what size the backpack is, its color, its many pockets, buckles, strings, and zippers.  Each backpack holds inside of it some clues as to who we are.  These clues are little pieces of information about our life as we have lived it thus far.  In one backpack, there may be a memory of the loss of a parent; in another, a painful divorce.  Perhaps there’s a memory of the best vacation ever or of a passion-filled romantic experience.  There are names and places and people stuffed into these backpacks.  There are copies of documents such as medical reports, marriage licenses, divorce decrees, homeownership, birth certificates for ourselves and our children, lay-off notices, job promotions, bankruptcy filings, foreclosure notices, high school diplomas and college degrees - just to name a few.  We often carry our backpacks with us everywhere we go.  Sometimes we leave them unzipped so that others can view the contents.  We do this both purposefully and mistakenly.  We may be saying, “See who I am?”  “See what I’ve done?” and looking for acceptance for who we are and where we’ve been.  Some of us like to leave them zipped tight and constantly try to camouflage their size and weight.  We do this because we don’t trust others viewing what’s inside.  We don’t want to be judged by our past, especially the negative experiences.  Either way, the backpack is always there and everyone has one and everyone has their own personal way of dealing with what’s inside it.  I find myself in a place where I feel that I want to take my backpack off my shoulders and have it sit beside me.  I look at its size and shape and all of its pockets.  I see all of its zippers and how it’s been well worn and faded and how it so nicely protects what I keep inside.  I unzip the top and an “insufficient funds” notice from my bank pops out and lands on the ground in front of me.  I smile.  Ah, yes… one of those.  On a different day, maybe I would have rushed to crumple it up and stuff it back in the backpack.  I mean, that’s not something that I want others to see.   What would they think of me?  Would they decide that I can’t control my finances?  I can’t control my spending?  I’m not smart enough to keep track of the money in my checking account?  But in this place, this very wonderful place that I’m in, I see that my backpack is separate from me.  Sure, it contains clues about me.  Many of them would lead someone right to me, but many of them are just things that happened along the way, along my journey.  If you really want to see me, you would have to look past my backpack and into my eyes and breathe me in.  You also, would need to set your backpack to the side because I could not join you with it in the way.  You could not see me if I did not let you.  And in doing so I would see you as well.  This is connection.  This is where we put all of our judgments and stereotypes aside.  This is where thoughts do not form complete sentences.  They are reduced down to single word affirmations, like “Oh”, “Ah”, “Yes” and “Wow”.  And then the acknowledgements of “I see”, “I get it”, “I know”.

Where in the heck did I put that?

Have you ever gone looking for something like your sunglasses, only to find that they were on the top of your head tucked behind your ears?  Or maybe you went looking for your cell phone while you were leaving the house, only to realize that you were on it, so that's why you couldn't find it?

It's funny, because I have this sense, like my sunglasses being on my head (or maybe I'm even wearing them), that whatever it is I'm looking for is right here, on me, in me, with me, available to me if I would just pay a little bit more attention.

I have this feeling that something is missing, but once I find it I'm going to realize that it's been here all along.  Something that I've spent tons of time looking for...convincing myself that I have no idea where it is so I must keep looking.  And in looking for it, I've distracted myself so much so, that I don't even see it when I look in the mirror.  Like my glasses on top of my head... my focus is elsewhere on my reflection so I don't notice that they are RIGHT THERE.

I suppose that's why we need to always check in with other people and tell them what we're searching for... so they can help us see what we cannot.  That's what friends are for...to help us out of our head's a bit...and maybe even laugh about it.

Sexting?

I had an interesting conversation with my hairdresser recently.  I was talking about how my husband was out of town and how I had texted him several pictures and notes about what we (the kids and I) were doing throughout the day.  I found it interesting that the texts he responded to did not have to do with me.  I sent him pictures of my run, pictures of me with my friends, pictures of the trail and a picture of the leg of one of the men I was running with.  He fell on the trail and got all banged up.  This was the picture that my husband responded to... "Is he OK?" Hmmm...  Yeah, he's OK.

I sent him play-by-plays of my son's football game and a couple of sweet notes "from me to him"... He responded to the football game texts... his response was directly to my son. On my phone. Hmmm...

My hairdresser suggested that I send my husband a picture of myself, naked, and see if he responded to that one.
"Sexting?"
"Yes." She said.  "What?  I mean, you're married."
Uh... I don't know about that...Hmmm...

So, then, you know... I'm in the bathroom later that day and I've got my phone with me (most important calls come while you are in the bathroom - proven fact) and my phone has a camera on it... and...  Well, I just wasn't impressed with how my body parts looked on the phone, to tell you the truth.  Maybe it's because I'm holding the phone myself and the angle is off.  I don't know.  It just wasn't workin' for me.

And I was thinking... I bet if I DID send him a naked picture of myself - with my luck - he wouldn't have his glasses on and he'd pass the phone to a friend to ask him what it's a picture of...  Hmmm...  I bet he WOULD text me back if that happened.  Heck, I might even get a phone call.

Running is...

Therapeutic, better than walking, great exercise, a challenge, fun, painful, a way to meet people, a reason to get up in the morning, a great way to experience the outdoors  (beautiful trails), my "thing", how I take care of my body, a way to have goals,the best decision I made, inexpensive, a reason to buy cute take tops, great with an ipod, great without an ipod, a way to process my thoughts, something to talk about, the best hour (or so) of the day, the fountain of youth, incredible at night, fun in the afternoon, best with friends, great when you need alone time...something I hope I never have to give up... 

Air conditioning is for whimps

Yes.  The air conditioning is out in my car and it's been a warm week...

I must say, there is something very exhilarating about driving around in such beautiful weather, having the wind blow your hair all over the place and sweating from parts of your body that you just don't want to admit have sweat glands.

I'm being serious.  I really think it is exhilarating!

It brings back childhood memories.  My parents didn't have a car with air conditioning until I was in high school.  I remember when we got that car, I thought, "now this just isn't right."  There was something special about being the kind of family that didn't give in to the luxuries of life.  We knew how to really live - be one with the elements... Yeah.  There was just something wrong with driving around with the windows rolled up on a beautiful day.  Just wrong...

I'm really not in a rush to get the air fixed.  We'll see if that changes when summer comes along (I'd imagine I'll have it fixed by then), but for now - there's just something about it that makes me smile.  I've noticed other cars that have their windows down too.  I wonder if that's by choice or if their air conditioning is out too?  Since my window's down, I think maybe I'll yell across traffic and ask someone.  I'll let you know how that goes.

Assholes are full of shit

It seems like an obvious statement. But, as we all know, when faced with an asshole, sometimes we forget that what comes out of their mouth is the same as what comes out of a dog's butt.  It should be removed from the lawn (by the owner), put in a bag and thrown in the trash - never to be seen (or smelled) again.

I'm sorry, what did you say?  Come over here next to the toilet so I can make sure that it drops from your mouth, into the porcelain bowl, and I'll flush it and send it to where it belongs - along with the rest of the crap that gets deposited into this toilet.

Sometimes, assholes are tricky.  They type out their words and send them via email.  They're so full of shit it just seeps through their pores.  They have to get it out any way they can.  It'd be nice to have an email auto-response, "Sorry asshole, this email doesn't accept your shit."  Yeah, that'd be cool.

I have this friend who deals with an asshole on a regular basis.  Now, this isn't just some guy that occasionally acts like an asshole.  He's a full-blown ass (rather be an asshole than a full ass! He's both).
I type this post in her honor and for all the friends who must deal with the asshole, the crap, and the flies that hang around as a result.  Just a friendly reminder to only give the asshole the attention an asshole would need.  Think toilet, toilet paper, fly spray...  bidet (on a good day)... hemorrhoid cream.  Other than that, the asshole doesn't deserve anything else from you.  Eventually, he might wonder why everyone, like Pavlov's dog, immediately has to use the restroom when he enters the room.  Or not.  Because, well... he's an asshole.

My bags are packed

It was an awkward moment. 

My husband came out of the bathroom to find me standing at the edge of the bed, in front of the closet, with a suitcase sitting on the bed in front of me.

OK.  Don't freak out! It's actually a little funny... in a twisted kind of way...  Let's rewind the tape a bit.

My husband and I had an argument the night before.  You know, I don't think it was actually an argument... it was... it was a negative interaction.  Yeah,  a negative interaction - I'll go with that.  I didn't participate very well in this interaction.  I listened, but I didn't really comfort or apologize or... I was distracted and lacking energy, I think, to engage in the interaction (nice and vague here, I know).  Anyway, part of my distraction was that I was texting my sister and a friend throughout the evening (in between our interactions).  I tried to make sure I wasn't looking at my phone when he was talking to me, but he caught me texting a few times when he came in the room and, I think, maybe he misunderstood what I was doing...  Sometimes when my daughter texts her friends while or shortly after I talk to (yell at) her, I get a little paranoid that she is transcribing our conversation and sending it out to the world.  I wonder if he was having this experience...

Anyway, the texting with my sister was about her upcoming trip.  She was in need of an additional suitcase.  She wanted to borrow one of mine.  I told her "no problem", that I would bring one by her place tomorrow.

So, back to the awkward moment...  Both of us (my husband and I) pretty much woke up on the same side of the bed that we went to bed on (the grumpy side).  Our typical morning routine is that I use the bathroom first and then he goes in while I finish getting ready in the bedroom.   He went in the bathroom and I climbed up on the bed and got one of our suitcases down from on top of the closet and set it on the bed.  I then started pulling my clothes out that I was going to wear to work.  And then he stepped out of the bathroom.

"What's the suitcase for?"
"Oh, my sister wanted to borrow it."
Silence.
I looked up from what I was doing and he was staring at me with a strange look on his face.  I didn't get it at that point... so I said, "What?"  "Is that OK?"
Hesitation.
"Yeah, that's OK."
Then he took the suitcase off the bed, looked at me once more and carried it downstairs for me.  I continued to get dressed, not thinking much about  it.... and then... well, it occurred to me what it might have looked like... and I giggled a bit.  Whoops.

Ok, Ok... it's not funny.  But it kinda is... in a twisted kinda way... 

Grief

Sometimes a walk down memory lane can be so painful.

I find myself going through a grief process.  I'm looking forward and making changes.  I'm doing my best to live life every day.  Make every day count.  Touch lives, connect with people, be a good mother, enjoy my surroundings, love my friends and family, enjoy nature and have gratitude for what I have (and for what I don't have - sometimes you have to be thankful for those things you DON'T have to deal with).

And then, interestingly enough, as I take these steps forward, I find myself naturally turning my head to look behind me to see where I've been.  I can see where I stood still, where I sat down, where I went backward, and where I got lost.  I'd really like to reach back and show myself the right way.  I wonder where I would be today if I didn't get lost, if I didn't stand still, or if the people who were around me then were as supportive as the people I have around me now.

Fortunately, I have not had the experience of losing a parent, sibling, child or spouse.  My grief is really over lost opportunities and bad choices.  It's about the loss of my teenage self, my 20-something year old self, my 30-something year old self; because I can't get them back.  I have to keep moving.  There's a real sadness in that.  I can totally see how when you lose a loved one, part of the grief is not in the loss of what was, but in the loss of what will be because you have to move on. 

Well, you don't HAVE to move on.  You may keep living, but not take an active role in your life because you let the grief overcome you.  But that's not really a great choice.  It's one that will bring more grief and mourning later on...  either to you or those around you.

So, moving forward and experiencing emotional and spiritual growth has an element of "bitter-sweet" in it because there's no way that you can grow without becoming aware of where/when you weren't growing.  And then... it seems... that perhaps getting lost or stepping backward is a necessary part of moving forward.  And if it's behind you, then maybe you're through it, so you only have to go forward from now on.  Yeah, that'd be nice.

So, I'm experiencing some grief right now.  Apparently, there are 7 stages to grief.  I'm looking forward to the hope and acceptance stage...bring it on... please.

Could I get my ears pierced?

It sounds like a simple enough question. The answer should be simple too.  It's either "yes" or "no", right?

Perhaps it is just in my nature to make things more complex than they really are (or need to be), but having this question come from my son, not my daughter, made my ability to answer simply...very difficult.

If my daughter asked to get her ears pierced at age 12 (which is probably the age that she DID get her ears pierced), I wouldn't think much about it before saying "yes".  In fact, I did say "yes".  My only concern was whether or not she had the maturity to take care of her ears properly so they didn't get infected.

Several thoughts went through my head after my son asked to get his ears pierced and not one of them had to do with his ability to take care of his ears properly.  My first thought was, "Oh my God, you're dad would kill me if I say yes..." My inclination was to say "no" because he's 12 and he's a boy.  Gasp!  I wanted to say no just because he's a boy!  Is that wrong?  Am I sexist?  What does that say about me?  How do I tell him that if he was a girl, he could get the earrings.  Ack!  This is not good.  So, I had to buy some time.  I told him that I would get back to him on it.

I thought about it some more.  I remembered one of my daughter's little friends, at about age 11 or 12, coming over to our house with both of his ears pierced. I remember thinking, "that's interesting."  My daughter told me about his home life.  His parents were un-involved, he had an older brother that did what he wanted, and he was often home alone.  Hmmm... AND he has his EARS PIERCED.  Hmmmm....

I mentioned it to my daughter. I asked her what she thought of boys with their ears pierced and what she thought of that boy at that time.  She said that she knows several 16 year old boys with their ears pierced and she thinks it looks great.  She said that she thought boys who had their ears pierced when she was 12 (and they were 12) were a bit "scary".  They were "bad" boys.  Bad boys are great when you are 16,  but scary when you're 12 (yes, coming from my 16 year old daughter...).

So, maybe my reasoning isn't perfect, but I've decided to NOT let my son get his ears pierced for now.  I explained to him that I support his individuality and his style, but that he's too young to get piercings.  I explained that I DO look at it differently than I did with his sister, because other people look at it differently.  Many 12 year old girls have their ears pierced.  NOT so many 12 year old boys have their ears pierced.  Is this a good enough reason to say "no"? I believe it is.

It's an interesting thing to ponder.  I don't want my children to limit how they express themselves because of what other people think, but sometimes it's good to take into consideration how you appear to the world.  Truly, my son with or without earrings, makes no difference.  The earrings don't change who he is, what family he comes from or how he behaves.  But... he's 12 and he's beautiful, strong, friendly and so so sweet.  I'd rather have someone notice all of those things.  Save the earrings for later...