Lost

I have always loved writing. For me, it has always been a way to process my thoughts – sound them out so I really understand how I feel about something. That’s why I started this blog. But before the days of blogging, I wrote the old fashioned way – on paper.

When I was in middle school, while everyone else was listening to my science teacher lecture on about a George Orwell futuristic society where people wouldn’t carry cash – they would have their money deposited directly into an account and they would use these cards to buy things and machines would subtract the money they would spend. Wait, it gets better. To communicate, people would carry these wireless things that they would talk into, just like in Star Trek. I know, the man was a genius! Anyway, instead of listening to those predictions day in and day out, I was the girl who sat in the back of the room writing poetry about it all. I will spare you the sharing of this attempted poetry because I wanted to share with you something I wrote last year, or perhaps the year before, that I thought was quite good. It truly captured how I was feeling at the time – and how I feel every year at this time. A perfect post describing the melancholy of May, the bittersweet of the endings and the beginnings, the nostalgia and the hope… All summed up in several pages jotted down in my journal in the days before the blog.

But I can’t find the notebook. It is lost. Pages full of my thoughts from To Do lists, to questions to ask the Doctor, to my menu plan for the week, to phone numbers and messages hurriedly scribbled in random spots. My worries, my goals, my future blog posts… Gone.

I can’t imagine where I might have left it. I used to carry it with me everywhere but for awhile it just sat on my desk because I don’t have a lot of time to write down every little sound-bite from my brain and what I do write, I keep on the laptop. But the other day, I had it with me because I knew I would have time to write but I didn’t want to be responsible for the computer since I have a habit of losing things. Ahem. Anyway, the only thing I can think is that wherever I was, is where I left the journal.

And today it struck me that if I left it in a public place, someone has probably picked it up and read it. Initially, I was horrified. Not that a total stranger would care what I had planned to make for dinner on some Tuesday in April of last year or what I needed to pick up at CVS, or how much Logan weighed at his last well child check – but those notes are mine! I feel so violated at just the mere thought of some stranger knowing my innermost thoughts and personal routines. Are you snickering yet? Imagine being worried about some face-less somebody reading words that I had hoped to upload onto my internet blog!

I feel the same way I did a few years ago when I met my aunt at a local restaurant for lunch and I brought my most recent photos of Dean, a toddler at the time. The pictures were all perfectly chronologically organized in a photo album – an album that I left at the restaurant (I think) never to be seen again. That’s right - pictures of my precious baby handled by some stranger and probably carelessly dumped into the garbage can. Of course, I was able to buy a new photo album and get the pictures redeveloped, but still.

In this case, I probably can‘t rewrite that piece about May, a bit of writing that was as true when I wrote it as it is right now this minute. And that is what I truly feel I have lost here. With many of my posts, I have felt that I did not quite convey what I was truly thinking and feeling. With a few, I was almost there, but fell short. This, I guess, is a skill that comes with time and you (1blueshi1) have been quite encouraging. “Keep on, keeping on,” you said and that I’ll be grateful that I do. I hope you are right. And if there are any other faithful lurkers out there, this is a great time to de-cloak yourself and let me know you have been reading. I could really use the encouragement right about now.

Saving the World - one click at a time

Because I am lazy, I like to think I can make the world a better place by simply using my computer. And I can. Check out my side bar where you can click on a search engine that plants trees. That's right - the more you use it, the more trees get planted somewhere where trees are needed. And you can click to help pay for mammograms for women who are underinsured. In fact, that same site helps the environment, feeds hungry children and finds home for pets. One stop clicking. And you know about Free Rice, right? You play a word game and the more you play, the more rice is donated.




So go ahead - click away for a good cause. Let me know of other lazy ways to save the world!

Some Enchanted Evening

My sister just emailed me pictures of my niece heading off to her senior prom. Her senior prom. She looks gorgeous, of course, and so much more comfortable than I did just a mere twenty years ago. Seeing the pictures launched me straight into nostalgia and I had to dust off the old photo album from my own "glory days." And so here I am, a rare photo of myself - a twenty-year-old photo of myself with my high school boyfriend. Oh look, I actually cropped him out of the picture. It's like he's not even there - just like he made me feel that night. But I'm not bitter, after all, I've had twenty years to let it go. I mean, I didn't let a little thing like getting dumped the night of the prom taint my memory of it at all. I hope my niece has a more enchanted evening than I did.

My House is a Metaphor for my Life

The other day, my husband asked me a simple question. “How much money do we have in our checking account?” This is a question that I can typically answer in one keystroke but this time, it just wasn’t that easy. Trying to answer that one question was more like opening a Pandora’s Box of ATM receipts, deposit slips and bill statements – all stowed in several piles but with each pile spread around like kitty litter around the cat box. I dove into each mound of paper like I was playing “Go Fish” only to come up without a match and having to draw again.

There are few places left in my house to put things out of Logan’s reach – or at least make it harder for him to reach and buy me some interception time. We have one stretch of kitchen counter, the buffet table in the family room and the closets. Wait a minute, scratch the closets – he can open all the doors now. The problem is that these spaces are becoming uncontrollably cluttered. They have become the default homes for the laptop computer, bills to be paid, business receipts, school memos, the camera, art supplies, sharp things, etc. The delicate balance of organization that used to be a source of pride for me has disappeared, presumably under that stack of folded laundry. Things are getting lost, or restacked, or carried off to an undisclosed location and the disorganization is driving me to distraction. But pruning back the piles as if they are overgrown hedges takes TIME. It’s not just the piles themselves but also the question of the items’ rightful homes. The top of the desk is too accessible to little hands and if I file them away in the drawer, will they be un-filed only moments later? Does the overflowing recycling bin really need to be where I have to see it? And since obviously, it is no longer safe to stow the coffee grinder in the same drawer where it has lived for the last five and half years, where should we put it?

In short, what Flylady would call my “Hot Spots” have turned into raging infernos and the only thing I have to tame the blaze is a spray bottle of lighter fluid. Minutiae that once had it’s own space and time – chores that were routine are now special events. Too much time and effort are required for anything more basic than the daily schlepping of dishes, toys and laundry. What, you might wonder, makes it so hard suddenly? It seems too easy to blame the third child – blame the fact that there is simply more of everything to do. Adding to the extra laundry and To Do’s is the complication that comes with a little person who has no impulse control or sense of safety. He also has his own ideas of what he wants to do and how he wants it done. (And did I mention that he does not sleep?) It’s frustrating because sometimes I am stuck wondering why it has been so hard to incorporate this busy toddler into our house full of little kids.

And then I have flashbacks of feeling this way once before – probably about three years ago when Jess was a toddler. That was about the same time that I left my job and became a full-time stay-at-home mom. Then too, I wondered if I’d ever get my groove back. Once I figured out that it wasn’t just about the house being messy, that it was about me trying to redefine my role, I was able to enjoy my new lifestyle. When I stopped working, I assumed that I would finally have more to time to do the things that I wanted to do for myself and my family. It took a long time to learn that just being a mom and doing all the things that I had always done for my family was enough. And eventually I incorporated that new role into my sense of self and found that I hadn’t lost my self at all – not even under that pile of folded clothes.

So when will the balance be restored to the Force? Perhaps when we have a Democrat in the White House again, I’m not sure. But if memory serves, it will probably happen slowly, in small ways each day, until I can’t remember how hard it has been. Small changes here and there (like more sensible locations for some items or locks for cabinet doors) will help fuel the mental energy it will take to make larger ones. And until then, I’ll settle for a few minutes to sweep up one or two of those piles. As I’ve said before, it doesn’t take much to make Mom happy. A full cup of coffee and a clean kitchen counter is sometimes all I need to make my world right. Now, has anyone seen the remote?

Where's the Post?

I know there is a post in here somewhere, with all the thoughts swishing around in my head. But I’m trying hard to make sense of it all. At the same time, I am trying to understand why I am wasting so much emotional energy on this one issue when it is in fact, not entirely my issue. Here’s the situation: I have a friend/client, who after three years, is suddenly having a problem with what I am charging for her child’s care. I could give you all the details so that you fully understand (and then you could explain it to me) but I’m not sure that would help. Besides, there is the whole anonymity thing. While I am a closet blogger, anyone who actually knows me and stumbles upon my blog, will know that I am the author. And that may not be the worst thing to happen here but still. The truth is that in order to tell the whole story, I would struggle too much with balancing the pettiness that I am feeling with the compassion that I should be feeling. I can’t begin to pretend to understand all that this person is coping with – I do not live her life. But I can say that I am surprised by this recent development and wondering how to proceed.

An obvious approach would be to ask where all of this is coming from using my honest and heartfelt words because I find it hard to believe it is really about the money. But I am afraid this will open up more than I am bargaining for since the last time I had a problem with this particular client, I chose the high-road approach. It felt like the right thing to do at the time but all my unresolved feelings about that came flooding back to the surface the second I opened her offending email message.

I could defend my fee, explain the complicated calculations I used to arrive at that number and blabber on about fair-market value and that is less than what she’d be paying a babysitter… I could point out all the ways that I have been accommodating to her needs in the past – discounting her tuition, looking the other way when she is late, taking her child when I am closed to others…

I could take the high road again – ask her what she thinks a fair price is and renegotiate, because I don’t want to quibble about money. It’s a weird game of chicken really. Who will give in first to drop the subject of $30?

Mainly, I am just annoyed. You see, I am a lazy person by nature, and I like things to be simple and easy. And things have not been simple or easy and I often get stuck in the “Why is this so hard?” rather than moving on to a solution. I get really bothered by anything that seems simple to me actually being harder than it needs to be. An example would be washing the kitchen floor (simple task) but with a toddler (harder than it needs to be). This is just how I am. And this issue is one more thing that is being harder than it needs to be. Instead of moving on, I am just really irritated with the complication. And you can probably guess, I’m not so great with confrontation.

So which is it? Am I the bigger woman or am I going to indulge in a little self-righteousness?

Edited to add: I know you are just dying to hear how this all turned out so here it is. We spoke, she apologized for making her anxiety mine, I said we would look at the numbers again, we hugged, we’re good.

Take Back The Girl

I don’t think it takes much to make women happy. I know this because one time I was on an elevator with a four-year-old girl. She stood there holding her father’s hand with one foot extended out in front of her. She was smiling at her pink and shiny plastic shoes as she slowly twisted her foot back and forth. “New shoes?” I asked. “Oh yes,” she said breathlessly. “And they make me so happy!” It is that simple, I thought, as I got off the elevator. Some small gesture, either a pair of shoes or a new shade of lipstick, is sometimes all it takes to make you feel, well, worth it. The problem for me lately is that I have stopped investing in those little things and have begun to proverbially let myself go.

First of all, let me start by explaining that I have never been a “girly-girl” kind of girl. Sure, I look back at pictures and say things like, “Wow, that was a cute outfit” or “What was I thinking with the hair?” But mainly I was not one to spend hours primping and fretting in front of mirror. Maybe I should have, but that is a different post. In my teen years, it could not be said that I was oozing with style. I never had a penchant for designer labels or fashion accessories. I had a few vintage pieces of clothing that I loved and outside of the misguided perm (Dude, it was the 80’s), I think I did all right. At least I thought that at the time and that’s what counts. During the college years, I was thrilled to no longer be donning the standard issue plaid wool uniform and spent whatever money I could on thrift store finds and men’s clothes (most of which were plaid, go figure). I guess the standard term might have been “preppy.” I was no fashionista but I did manage to blend.

During my first post-graduation job I loved “dressing up” for work in my long skirts and ankle boots. I spent my pittance of a paycheck on clothes that I considered classic and hard working. Most of these outfits lasted me all through graduate school. But my paying job as a preschool teacher meant coming home with snot smeared on my shirts and paint handprints on the seat of my pants. Skirts were worse because I often didn’t even notice who or what was being wiped on them as I passed. My internships at the hospital were no easier on the clothes since I worked with children there as well. My clothing is where my worry over my looks stopped – there simply was no money for expensive haircuts and premium make-up.

As the years passed, I was able to invest more money in better haircuts but didn’t bother spending too much on work clothes. Most of the dresses that I preferred to wear came from Target, which was livin’ large for me at the time. As I became more confident in myself career-wise, I became more interested in comfort and practicality in my clothing. I needed to be able to move freely (only sensible shoes for me) and I could not risk being heart-broken if my favorite item was stained by paint or blood or you-don’t-want-to-know-what-else. I was dressed-up if I remembered to put earrings in. If I were wearing stockings, well, I was probably on my way to a job interview.

By my early 30’s, I had two kids and the foregone conclusion that I was simply sexier with clothes on than off (provided said clothes were at least clean). Under my clothes are my merit badges of motherhood – c-sections scars, stretch marks and a few (or 20) extra pounds. On the outside, my clothes hold the tell tale signs of being a mom – snail trails of snot, dirty footprints from holding a toddler, and dribbles of food. I wear jeans or yoga pants, t-shirts and running shoes. The circles under my eyes are darker than my hair. I don’t often wear jewelry of any kind. I haven’t had my hair cut since December. Because of terrible eye allergies and hormone-hell induced acne, I no longer wear make-up of any kind. And while I am fully disclosing the extent of my maternal neglect, I’ve just been to the dentist for the first time in over five years.

All of this has taken its toll on my self-esteem. I would very much like to be kidnapped by a sorority and become their charitable mission. Or maybe you can nominate me for What Not To Wear? Or maybe I should just start spending some more time here or here. I’d like to go shopping and buy a shirt that does not have the preschool’s logo on it. I’d like to find someone to cut my hair that will cut it the way that I ask him/her to and not make me look like a country music singer or some early 80’s icon. And I’d like a pair of shoes that have not been chewed by the dog. I’d like to see my reflection in the mirror and recognize myself. I’d like to post a picture of myself that actually reflects my self-image. I’d like to TAKE BACK the girl in me.

It’s not about reclaiming youth. I love who I am today more than who I was 20 years ago. This is about taking time for Me, time to take care of myself. Then hopefully, I’ll feel better about how I look. It’ll be small steps. After all, letting myself go took years so I can’t be expected to get my girl back immediately. I started with a trip to one of those professional bra fitters to get a bra that fits, I mean, really fits. This is one piece of clothing that I will happily spend money on – they are not called foundation garments for nothing. A supportive, correctly fitting bra is what keeps my breasts from getting caught in the zipper of my jeans. I will not compromise on this one.

As I have mentioned before, I have spent A LOT of time at the dentist in the last few weeks so my smile is finally getting the attention it deserves. This weekend, I will go through my closet and remove any item that is older than my oldest child. Next week, I’ll call the dermatologist to revisit the whole acne issue. And today, I have booked a babysitter. I’m not sure how I will spend that time but it will be ALONE. I may even go get a haircut. I’ll let you know.

Spring is a time for renewal and I declare this spring “TAKE BACK THE GIRL” season. Go get a manicure or a massage. Go shopping and try on fancy dresses. Maybe your happiness can be found in a pair of these or maybe a bottle of this. Spread the word and tell me how you are taking back your girl.

Add to the List of Things to Buy

The bad news first: the beloved family friend, known as the digital camera, is broken. Dropped one too many times, I guess. It finally just gave up after five and a half years of devoted service. Next to the coffee maker and the computer, this is the one device I use daily.

Now the good news: the digital camera is broken. That's right - an opportunity to hemorrhage large amounts of cash. I mean, a chance to upgrade to a nice new camera. Whoo hoo!

But until then, I have asked that my children not do anything cute. Nothing noteworthy that I might want to remember or commemorate by taking a picture and finding it years later in the basement of my computer that is iphoto. No developmental milestones or other feats of growth. No first haircut. No blowing of dandelion puffs into the wind. No admiring yourself in the mirror with your puckered lips and half-closed eyes while you brush your own hair - the same way you look when you are blowing a dandelion puff.

No reading books to your younger brothers while they gaze up at you with those worshipping looks on their faces. And did I just catch you dancing to a song that you are singing to yourself because you think no one is watching? No more snuggling with the dog, who is at his sweetest when he is being snuggled by own of his boys. And no walking down the path in the woods with that dog at your side and the sun filtering through the trees to create halos on both your heads. And absolutely no hugging and kissing of your siblings instead of the usual wrestling that occurs. Please, not that!

I hope we can all hold out until the new camera arrives.