Several times a month (week?) Scott will step on something small and brightly coloured and most notably, Not Away, and say "That's it! We have too much shit in here! We're getting rid of it! Now!" Of course, you'll remember that I love conflict, so you might expect that I would jump in with a clear and coherent defense of said object, pointing out that it is, in fact, the only reason to hope our children might read/play an instrument/cure cancer (we only acquire educational toys, it goes without saying).
But no. Every time I just drop my head and sigh. Yep. I hate 'em too.
Other friends with children seem to embrace to the Toy. They have several, many even. They seem to enjoy the acquisition, the variety, the abundance. God love 'em, some of them actually seem to enjoy playing with them. Together. With their children. I was at a toy party last week and could only bring myself to purchase a book because the catalogue seemed to be just a collection of small pieces to lose and make me angry. Sure, they were going to teach my children to count, match, see patterns and choose sexual partners wisely (at the right time, of course), but good gravy, do they have to be so... many-pieced? Ugly? I get cranky just thinking about it.
We've started talking about Christmas presents. Well, I have. And in the spirit of full disclosure, I should probably confess two things before going any further. One, I am cheap and hate spending all that money at once not because anything is needed, but just because The World says If You Love Them, You Will Show It With Your Purchases On This One Day Of The Year. While You Celebrate God With Us. And two, as perhaps hinted at in number one, I have some theological issues about Big New Amazing! gifts being exchanged as a way to celebrate Christmas. But those are posts for another day.
Given the disclosure above, you are right if you assumed that Christmas present discussions are a bit fraught. Not with conflict (surprise!) but with a shared un-enthusiasm, for Scott also dislikes the gift orgy, although for different reasons. We don't actually exchange gifts with each other, just stockings of underwear and soap and a few miscellaneous treats. We've often considered the year's holiday to a hot, sunny spot our gift to each other. But of course, kids complicate things and so last year there was the tree-aplenty to greet us Christmas morning with Toys! and Fun! and Wow! for everyone. When we talked about it last night, I realized that probably our first attempts were where I want us to get back to as a family: seeing the gift we give at Christmas as an opportunity to revel in God With Us, which is so deeply experienced in our togetherness and therefore choosing to give ourselves time together, however that works out.
And so maybe this is my first moment of parenting against the stream of our culture. I feel the push-back when I see the flyers for toy stores and know that the children my children spend time with have homes filled with plastic (and non-toxic, wooden) diversions that they love and my children are going to have new underwear, a new book and maybe a new activity-creator (think tennis racquet, bike, ice skates, life jackets and crayons) but not so much on the trains and trucks and collectable doll front. Just because I hate them. The toys, not the kids. To be clear.
I love our play kitchen that Grandpa made for Auntie Barb back in 1960-something. I love the dog that walks that Uncle Bri made and the big huge elephant from Uncle Andy. The dress-up clothes that Auntie Anna got at Value Village rock. But the rest? I could throw the rest away and never miss them. And I suspect the kids would not miss them either.
I worry though. I worry that I'll be depriving them of the opportunity to find out they're science-lovers or artists or truck drivers because they didn't get to explore their own selves through play, which is, of course, their job.
And to be clear, this is not about being Anti-Consuming or Pro-Something Impressive. It's about being cheap and annoyed by things that I don't enjoy myself. I've got 60ish sleeps to get it worked out and decide what part of my own toy-hating I'll be imposing on my small people.
Anyone see it more clearly than I do?
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
A Few Good Women
There is no shortage of deficits in my life. No deficit of deficits I suppose. The writing you find here is often an ode to a deficit most days, an investigation into what current want or need is making me miserable. A wandering through the fields of Not Enoughness.
But I am rich beyond all measure in one particular direction: Good Friends. Not a day goes by that one of the women in my life makes my life just a tiny bit better, just by showing up. On Facebook, by email, on the phone, over coffee, in the yard, at the park... somewhere, somehow, someone is reminding me that God must secretly like me best. I know the smartest, funniest, wisest, kindest, catty-est, snarkiest, giving-est, genuine-est women around. It shocks me. Shocks me that I know them, shocks me more that some of them seem to like me back.
You reading this know that you are one of those women. If you write, your writing has fed me and left me feeling less alone in the world. If you phone, your timeliness has made me remember that somehow the Creator of the whole planet is also watching my small heart. If you've visited, your presence has been my comfort and my joy.
Thank you. Each of you. And especially you.
But I am rich beyond all measure in one particular direction: Good Friends. Not a day goes by that one of the women in my life makes my life just a tiny bit better, just by showing up. On Facebook, by email, on the phone, over coffee, in the yard, at the park... somewhere, somehow, someone is reminding me that God must secretly like me best. I know the smartest, funniest, wisest, kindest, catty-est, snarkiest, giving-est, genuine-est women around. It shocks me. Shocks me that I know them, shocks me more that some of them seem to like me back.
You reading this know that you are one of those women. If you write, your writing has fed me and left me feeling less alone in the world. If you phone, your timeliness has made me remember that somehow the Creator of the whole planet is also watching my small heart. If you've visited, your presence has been my comfort and my joy.
Thank you. Each of you. And especially you.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Streams
I have a lot of things I could say a lot about and yet when Time makes itself available for the writing down of these things, none makes itself known. This is infuriating. But I will just type and type and see where we end up.
One thing that happened today was that thankfulness failed me. I was in a beautiful home that houses two small children and all the furniture matches and there is a place for everything and everything is the right thing and it belongs and nothing that doesn't belong is there. Oddly, I really like this family, and like being with them, so my go-to Judge and Resent isn't actually appealing. So while in their bathroom, taking in the tidy and appealing and appropriate bath toys, I tried being thankful for something to take the edge off my envy and self-disdain. I tried to be thankful for a house that is warm and comfortable. I tried being thankful for a house that we can afford. I tried being thankful for a husband who can do so much to keep our home beautiful. I tried... but trying is useless, isn't it? I needed a genuine dose of straight-up thankfulness and none could be conjured. So instead, I've just tried to ignore envy and drown it in Thin Mint Cookies.
Another thing that I realized this week that has been a bit life-changing is that I really like being angry. I love conflict and arguing and feeling righteous and right. I married someone who also loves this and this is why we have such a good marriage. I don't think I always think it's a good marriage, but the truth is that we both love conflict and so there is a lot of it in our home. There are obvious downfalls, but the upside is that very little gets left to simmer or rot. If we had found partners that did not love conflict, we would have been a lot lonelier I think. As it is, we both get given (plenty of) opportunity to dip into that (cess)pool of anger and swim around often, feeling it's Energy and Power and probably some kind of endorphin experience. It would be better for our hearts (in every way), if we could get our endorphins from excercise, but alas, 'tisn't so.
Now before my Ode to Anger and Conflict gets carried away, having realized that more often than not I was being angry purely for the pleasure of it rather than because of any objective need for it, I further realized that probably I needed to explore ways to shortcircuit the system, if only for the sake of my children's future children (do you like how I've already given up on them?). I asked the supersmart psychologist guy I know about what might be the emotional-intensity-equivalent to anger so that I could start swapping it out, but he was useless and just asked me if I knew. Stupid psychologists.
Of course, it turned out that I did know. The only experience that seems to please as much as anger is laughing. In marriage, this is difficult because... well, mostly because Scott doesn't laugh as easily as the children do. I think he's probably a bit jaded and/or over-used to the material. But with the kids, I have discovered that if I notice myself getting angry in time, I can switch over to getting funny and it's like a little miracle. The kids laugh, I laugh and on we go. My children are no more compliant now than they were a week ago, but I am way less unpleasant and feel a tiny bit better about the content of their future counselling sessions.
I know that having announced this discovery, I have jinxed it, and within 48 hours I'm going to lose my sh*t and yell cursewords in the grocery store or something. But I wanted to write it down: write down that I realized something new about me, and write down that I can still adapt and make adjustments. I take good news where I can find it.
Finally, this week I discovered that I love hockey even more than I used to: I blame the Olympics.
One thing that happened today was that thankfulness failed me. I was in a beautiful home that houses two small children and all the furniture matches and there is a place for everything and everything is the right thing and it belongs and nothing that doesn't belong is there. Oddly, I really like this family, and like being with them, so my go-to Judge and Resent isn't actually appealing. So while in their bathroom, taking in the tidy and appealing and appropriate bath toys, I tried being thankful for something to take the edge off my envy and self-disdain. I tried to be thankful for a house that is warm and comfortable. I tried being thankful for a house that we can afford. I tried being thankful for a husband who can do so much to keep our home beautiful. I tried... but trying is useless, isn't it? I needed a genuine dose of straight-up thankfulness and none could be conjured. So instead, I've just tried to ignore envy and drown it in Thin Mint Cookies.
Another thing that I realized this week that has been a bit life-changing is that I really like being angry. I love conflict and arguing and feeling righteous and right. I married someone who also loves this and this is why we have such a good marriage. I don't think I always think it's a good marriage, but the truth is that we both love conflict and so there is a lot of it in our home. There are obvious downfalls, but the upside is that very little gets left to simmer or rot. If we had found partners that did not love conflict, we would have been a lot lonelier I think. As it is, we both get given (plenty of) opportunity to dip into that (cess)pool of anger and swim around often, feeling it's Energy and Power and probably some kind of endorphin experience. It would be better for our hearts (in every way), if we could get our endorphins from excercise, but alas, 'tisn't so.
Now before my Ode to Anger and Conflict gets carried away, having realized that more often than not I was being angry purely for the pleasure of it rather than because of any objective need for it, I further realized that probably I needed to explore ways to shortcircuit the system, if only for the sake of my children's future children (do you like how I've already given up on them?). I asked the supersmart psychologist guy I know about what might be the emotional-intensity-equivalent to anger so that I could start swapping it out, but he was useless and just asked me if I knew. Stupid psychologists.
Of course, it turned out that I did know. The only experience that seems to please as much as anger is laughing. In marriage, this is difficult because... well, mostly because Scott doesn't laugh as easily as the children do. I think he's probably a bit jaded and/or over-used to the material. But with the kids, I have discovered that if I notice myself getting angry in time, I can switch over to getting funny and it's like a little miracle. The kids laugh, I laugh and on we go. My children are no more compliant now than they were a week ago, but I am way less unpleasant and feel a tiny bit better about the content of their future counselling sessions.
I know that having announced this discovery, I have jinxed it, and within 48 hours I'm going to lose my sh*t and yell cursewords in the grocery store or something. But I wanted to write it down: write down that I realized something new about me, and write down that I can still adapt and make adjustments. I take good news where I can find it.
Finally, this week I discovered that I love hockey even more than I used to: I blame the Olympics.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
Diversion
T had her first swimming lesson today. We call it swimming school to make up for the fact that I didn't put her in preschool. She is a bit desperate for a teacher.
The anxiety is (mostly) all mine and I did all my best coping: called ahead to make sure she was registered and in the right class (apparently I was scarred by *not* being registered once? why, oh why all this crazy), arrived early to scope the scene, found the cool "we're not too eager" spot to hang out and watch until it was our turn, said hello to the other small people and their big people and narrated almost the entire experience to both T & N the entire time. Talking out loud makes me feel better.
T was good right up until the teacher announced that they were going to go take a shower. This clearly threw her for a loop for not in one single TV episode about school, discussion about school or book about school, has there ever been a shower. Frankly, it kind of weirded me out too, but whatever, we're cool, we roll. Carrying my almost 2-year on one hip, I walked my big girl to the pool-side shower where she dutifully submitted to the warm water spray but safe to say 'reluctance' was the key body-language message. I was already trying to figure out how I would roll up my pants and hold N while all-the-while coaching T on joining in. As Miss Iona walked them down the stairs into the water, she turned back one last time and held out her hand to T. I slipped her hand over and walked to the viewing area in about 3 steps and in she went! Lesson One down.
It's so good to wait 'til parents are ready for these big transitions.
After half an hour of face in water, kicking and jumping and floating and splashing and laughing (!) and not ever looking over at me, out she came. As we changed back into street clothes, I tried the debrief: "So, I saw you floating. How was it?" "I don't want to talk to you about that." Nice. I would be more upset if I didn't remember quite clearly saying about the same thing to my own mother about just about everything. Even now, I say it to Scott if he asks about my day at the wrong moment.
On our way out to the car, we headed downstairs and she looked up at me and said, "I did so good." "Yeah, you did." "Yep, I was straight-up fine! Straight-up fine."
She's so awesome.
The anxiety is (mostly) all mine and I did all my best coping: called ahead to make sure she was registered and in the right class (apparently I was scarred by *not* being registered once? why, oh why all this crazy), arrived early to scope the scene, found the cool "we're not too eager" spot to hang out and watch until it was our turn, said hello to the other small people and their big people and narrated almost the entire experience to both T & N the entire time. Talking out loud makes me feel better.
T was good right up until the teacher announced that they were going to go take a shower. This clearly threw her for a loop for not in one single TV episode about school, discussion about school or book about school, has there ever been a shower. Frankly, it kind of weirded me out too, but whatever, we're cool, we roll. Carrying my almost 2-year on one hip, I walked my big girl to the pool-side shower where she dutifully submitted to the warm water spray but safe to say 'reluctance' was the key body-language message. I was already trying to figure out how I would roll up my pants and hold N while all-the-while coaching T on joining in. As Miss Iona walked them down the stairs into the water, she turned back one last time and held out her hand to T. I slipped her hand over and walked to the viewing area in about 3 steps and in she went! Lesson One down.
It's so good to wait 'til parents are ready for these big transitions.
After half an hour of face in water, kicking and jumping and floating and splashing and laughing (!) and not ever looking over at me, out she came. As we changed back into street clothes, I tried the debrief: "So, I saw you floating. How was it?" "I don't want to talk to you about that." Nice. I would be more upset if I didn't remember quite clearly saying about the same thing to my own mother about just about everything. Even now, I say it to Scott if he asks about my day at the wrong moment.
On our way out to the car, we headed downstairs and she looked up at me and said, "I did so good." "Yeah, you did." "Yep, I was straight-up fine! Straight-up fine."
She's so awesome.
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Plagiarism
A friend wrote a note to a group of us, asking for thoughts about her realization that perhaps she wasn't so much angry all the time, as disappointed. I replied that I could hardly answer her, being self-involved as I am, but did have some related thoughts I could share. As I typed away, I found myself realizing that what I was typing was truer than I had planned and wondered what on earth I should do with all this thinking.
So of course, I'm pasting here for the review of my own friends, in the hopes that you, Faithful Readers, may have some insights to share.
So of course, I'm pasting here for the review of my own friends, in the hopes that you, Faithful Readers, may have some insights to share.
Friend -Looking forward to being solved by you...
My own epiphany on this topic came this week: I linger in my anger and rage and disappointment because I like it so much. I love the energy and superiority these particular feelings provide - I just feel so good about myself when I am so angry and disappointed with just about anybody! (including me by the way, cause how awesome is it to be so much better than so many others because I'm the kind of person who knows myself so well?!)
So my own project is to find out if there are any other feelings or experiences that might be suitable replacements for anger and disappointment. They would have to match or exceed the pleasure and the intensity. I'll confess, my hope isn't high for my own transformation, but I think I owe it to the people I live with to try. Because as awesome as it is for me, I have just enough other-awareness to know it is poisoning their souls.
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