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.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Long Night
I want to write tonight, but I am so f&cking tired. No good reason, except maybe the rain, and not getting to bed early enough and having kids wake up too early. Oh, and being stuck at home with two sick kids, the kind of sick that you really owe it to the world to keep to yourself because it's just annoying. Happily, not pukey, but ouchey and fevery and therefore cranky and clingy. And did I mention stuck inside.
This is not a recipe for good mothering.
Or good wife-ing either. Especially when marriage partner is tired and cranky and stressed, in at least equal degree to me. Our home wasn't so pleasant today.
If I were going to write tonight, I would write a bit about injustice and how we feel it so keenly and meet it out so freely. I am pissed at my husband for not (insert long list of unsaid hopes and expectations here) but have held an angry grudge all day for him not reading my mind, for him not giving into his own tired and cranky and stressed, for him not curing our children. I think that's probably some low-grade marital injustice. And both of us were too tired to rise above and so just glared and snarked until work mercifully gave us some space.
I would say that my deep thoughts about injustice were sparked in part by the book, The Help, which I just finished this weekend. A book that is lingering in the way good books do. I would write about how sure I am I would be the wrong character in that book, and would be an injusticer and how maybe I'm hoping it's true that we're all injusticers one way or another, and maybe we need to practice more grace or something since the injustice-making just seems inevitable.
It would have been so inspiring. If only Nate wasn't waking up because his whole self is so unhappy.
If only I had ... well, whatever it is that would keep me from being cranky about this too.
This is not a recipe for good mothering.
Or good wife-ing either. Especially when marriage partner is tired and cranky and stressed, in at least equal degree to me. Our home wasn't so pleasant today.
If I were going to write tonight, I would write a bit about injustice and how we feel it so keenly and meet it out so freely. I am pissed at my husband for not (insert long list of unsaid hopes and expectations here) but have held an angry grudge all day for him not reading my mind, for him not giving into his own tired and cranky and stressed, for him not curing our children. I think that's probably some low-grade marital injustice. And both of us were too tired to rise above and so just glared and snarked until work mercifully gave us some space.
I would say that my deep thoughts about injustice were sparked in part by the book, The Help, which I just finished this weekend. A book that is lingering in the way good books do. I would write about how sure I am I would be the wrong character in that book, and would be an injusticer and how maybe I'm hoping it's true that we're all injusticers one way or another, and maybe we need to practice more grace or something since the injustice-making just seems inevitable.
It would have been so inspiring. If only Nate wasn't waking up because his whole self is so unhappy.
If only I had ... well, whatever it is that would keep me from being cranky about this too.
Friday, September 17, 2010
A Blog-Off
My friend Rory is a writer. Maybe even a Writer. He has been known to write things that get me thinking, and we've been known to think in similar directions from time to time. Rory's a LOT older than I am, so I like to think of him as wise. Older and wiser.
But sometimes he's so dumb.
Yesterday he wrote a piece about how the future doesn't really exist and how thinking about what doesn't exist makes people unhappy and ... well, there was more. You should read it here. I mean, he is probably a Writer, even if he's wrong, and I know all my readers love a good Writer so if nothing else, it's a good bit of writing.
And if I'm honest, maybe not altogether wrong. But to be clear, definitely not right either.
So of course, I commented. As if I can ever not say something. And he replied, because of course, it's not like he can not say something back. He's like that - it's why I like him. Anyway, he says in his reply to me that he thinks that the opposite of what I said was probably true. In case you missed it, that translates from Writerese into Wrongo Bucko in regular English. He ended his email with, "I think the Buddhists thought would be that both are meaningless" (trans: The Buddhists are with me on this). I replied, very wisely I thought, "Buddhists are morons."
The high road is over-rated.
But as I am wont to do, I have been thinking about this for a few hours now, and it occurs to me that I think he and the Buddhists might be mistaken, for reals.
His post was pointing to the suffering that is brought by our desires, our wants, by living in What Lies Ahead instead of in What Is. So far so good. However, they (he?) go (goes?) further to say that What Lies Ahead does not actually exist and that "dwelling on what doesn't exist is a stupid idea".
Now I'm a tad Jesus-y. And Jesus was a here and now kind of guy, no way around that. Don't worry about tomorrow, he said. Doesn't today have enough trouble of its own? But he also said, I am preparing a place for you (i.e. it's not ready yet: it will be ready in the Future). In fact, he talked about the future a lot - Matthew 25 comes to mind. It was the promise of a future that made sense of his passion for the Now, for the kingdom of heaven on earth part. And in some kind of kooky time warp, the future was in fact already past, in that it was the Creator's great love that Came Before we did that made What Will Be - a future reconciliation with Them - the reason to be okay Now. Yikes. I may have sprained my brain.
Anyway, I wonder if the buddhist future-doesn't-exist-now-is-all-there-is is a privelege of okayness. Were there a lot of buddhist slaves in America? Are there a lot of buddhists in the Sudan? Because if your Now is suffering, the discipline of living in it and a derisive no-thank-you to What Will Be seems like cruelty. When our Right Now is kind of kick-ass, then maybe it's just greedy to hope for better still and so choosing to forego future thinking is more appealing? I don't know.
But I do know that a conversation like this always leaves me surprised by my real fondness for that wiley Jesus. I like a guy who could live in the crosshairs of Now and Then and find a way to make both necessary while acknowledging that neither mattered very much, except for the part where they're both crucial. A paradox. The collision of two opposites. I still feel at home here.
So probably Buddhists aren't morons. Probably Rory isn't Buddhist. Certainly he's not a moron.
But he is a Writer, so it's on friend. It's a Blog-Off.
But sometimes he's so dumb.
Yesterday he wrote a piece about how the future doesn't really exist and how thinking about what doesn't exist makes people unhappy and ... well, there was more. You should read it here. I mean, he is probably a Writer, even if he's wrong, and I know all my readers love a good Writer so if nothing else, it's a good bit of writing.
And if I'm honest, maybe not altogether wrong. But to be clear, definitely not right either.
So of course, I commented. As if I can ever not say something. And he replied, because of course, it's not like he can not say something back. He's like that - it's why I like him. Anyway, he says in his reply to me that he thinks that the opposite of what I said was probably true. In case you missed it, that translates from Writerese into Wrongo Bucko in regular English. He ended his email with, "I think the Buddhists thought would be that both are meaningless" (trans: The Buddhists are with me on this). I replied, very wisely I thought, "Buddhists are morons."
The high road is over-rated.
But as I am wont to do, I have been thinking about this for a few hours now, and it occurs to me that I think he and the Buddhists might be mistaken, for reals.
His post was pointing to the suffering that is brought by our desires, our wants, by living in What Lies Ahead instead of in What Is. So far so good. However, they (he?) go (goes?) further to say that What Lies Ahead does not actually exist and that "dwelling on what doesn't exist is a stupid idea".
Now I'm a tad Jesus-y. And Jesus was a here and now kind of guy, no way around that. Don't worry about tomorrow, he said. Doesn't today have enough trouble of its own? But he also said, I am preparing a place for you (i.e. it's not ready yet: it will be ready in the Future). In fact, he talked about the future a lot - Matthew 25 comes to mind. It was the promise of a future that made sense of his passion for the Now, for the kingdom of heaven on earth part. And in some kind of kooky time warp, the future was in fact already past, in that it was the Creator's great love that Came Before we did that made What Will Be - a future reconciliation with Them - the reason to be okay Now. Yikes. I may have sprained my brain.
Anyway, I wonder if the buddhist future-doesn't-exist-now-is-all-there-is is a privelege of okayness. Were there a lot of buddhist slaves in America? Are there a lot of buddhists in the Sudan? Because if your Now is suffering, the discipline of living in it and a derisive no-thank-you to What Will Be seems like cruelty. When our Right Now is kind of kick-ass, then maybe it's just greedy to hope for better still and so choosing to forego future thinking is more appealing? I don't know.
But I do know that a conversation like this always leaves me surprised by my real fondness for that wiley Jesus. I like a guy who could live in the crosshairs of Now and Then and find a way to make both necessary while acknowledging that neither mattered very much, except for the part where they're both crucial. A paradox. The collision of two opposites. I still feel at home here.
So probably Buddhists aren't morons. Probably Rory isn't Buddhist. Certainly he's not a moron.
But he is a Writer, so it's on friend. It's a Blog-Off.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
I Need A Better Friend
Are you cutting yourself some slack? Are you letting yourself be good at things you're good at, even if parenting doesn't seem like one of those things this month? If you were your best friend, what would you say to you? - www.askmoxie.org
So a person knows they probably need an intervention when reading the above quote makes said person burst into tears. I'm not entirely clear on what kind of intervention would be helpful, but my weepiness certainly points to the need for something.
I was with a gathering of women this morning, women I know 7-out-of-10 well. All mothers, all of our children there. I forgot to wear a bra. I don't know, it just happened. But it took a low-grade not-my-best day and magnified it into I Should Probably Quit For The Good Of All. My children played happily with all the other well-parented children of remember-to-wear-bra-mothers and I wondered if they might be better off with them on a longer term basis.
Almost-Friend E asked if I was working yet, and I confessed that sometimes I wondered if I should, but mostly I just wanted to figure out how to be a good mother first. She laughed because moms laugh at these things and I almost burst into tears because as I said it, I realized it was true - I'm really tired of sucking at what I do all day. She assured me that she only hears what a great mom I am and I agreed that my Awesome-Momness is actually pretty amazing. Probably top 10 good. But my bad parenting? Oh. My. Lord. It is awful. And it might be killing me.
I guess it comes as no surprise then, that I might have been a bit fragile when I found the above quote on my favourite mom-site this afternoon. It will be nice when the crying stops. Cause my best-friend-me is saying to my crying-at-the-computer-me, I have no fucking clue. I guess I can't get past the part about "letting yourself be good at things you're good at, even if parenting doesn't seem like one of those things". It's not like I'm not letting myself - it's more that there really isn't anything else I'm doing one way or the other. I mean, what else do I do? If I go to church, I'm still parenting. If I go shopping, I'm still parenting. I guess in the moments I get alone and go for coffee, I'm pretty good at drinking it. But you know, there's limited pleasure for me in being good at beverage management. And I guess I trip across the bit where if I were to work, it would just be defined as the time when I'm Not Parenting. If I had work that was meaningful to me and that I enjoyed, perhaps that would be okay, but since work has almost always only been an exercise in People Hating, it's hard to imagine the exchange being worthwhile.
To be clear, I am not needing to hear that I'm really, truly, a good parent. If you read this blog, you already know that deep in my heart, I know I'm a Good Parent. It's just that deep in my heart I know that I'm also a Really Bad Parent and I'm kind of tired of it. I'd take hints on how to numb the Feeling Bad part I guess...
Sunday, September 12, 2010
I'm a Junkie
It's probably good to know your weaknesses. That way you're not surprised when other people point them out and you can even prepare witty comebacks for the jabs people are certain to throw your way when faced with said weakness.
I may not have the healthiest worldview. I'm working on the comeback...
I do however, have some great weaknesses. Fear of jinxing, of course. That way too healthy self-esteem I've mentioned before. Scott probably keeps a list somewhere so I could fill this in a bit if you find it lacking. The point is, for the most part, I like my weaknesses. And I think I know the one I like the most: I'm a Belonging Junkie. I just love Belonging. I love it so much that I spend most of my days trying to build groups that I can belong to. Or, to which I can belong I guess.
Anyway, I realized the extent to which I'm addicted when the cancellation of the block party nearly undid me this afternoon. So sad was I at the prospect of not Belonging to my neighbourhood that I still hosted a Block Coffee in my (very small) livingroom, just to get a hit.
Now because I'm also a Universalist, in public I call this a weakness of mine, but am of course secretly convinced that it is in fact, a Human Weakness. Happily, neighbours are happy to oblige. While the collection that arrived for block coffee was mostly of the young parent variety, one couple with children in college came in. Mr. Neighbour placed a box of cookies on the table and said they'd only come by to say hello and thank me for organizing things but that they couldn't stay. Mrs. Neighbour stood beside-behind her husband and nodded - they could not possibly stay.
But of course they could! I insisted, just one cup of coffee. Just a quick chat with our new neighbours they hadn't met before. Just a minute longer. And stay they did. They edged closer to the grown-up table, even pulled up a chair. Eventually Mr. Neighbour even had a cup of coffee. Mrs. Neighbour didn't, but did chat with a couple of the others and compared soccer mom stories.
I said to Scott tonight, when it was all said and done, that they just needed to know they belonged. They were exactly who was supposed to be there because it wasn't a Mommy Coffee or a Jesus Coffee or a Cool Kid Coffee. It was a Block Coffee and they are the Block. This was the group they Belong To, just like me.
Just like me. I organize block parties every year just to have that feeling that I Belong with these people, that we are the In-Crowd in our town. I go to church and I Belong. I invite friends to coffee so that I Belong. I probably got married and had kids in an ultimate act of Belonging-Making.
And maybe I hope that the Secret Goodness of my Secret Weakness is that I sometimes make sure other people know They Belong Too.
Does that make me a dealer?
I may not have the healthiest worldview. I'm working on the comeback...
I do however, have some great weaknesses. Fear of jinxing, of course. That way too healthy self-esteem I've mentioned before. Scott probably keeps a list somewhere so I could fill this in a bit if you find it lacking. The point is, for the most part, I like my weaknesses. And I think I know the one I like the most: I'm a Belonging Junkie. I just love Belonging. I love it so much that I spend most of my days trying to build groups that I can belong to. Or, to which I can belong I guess.
Anyway, I realized the extent to which I'm addicted when the cancellation of the block party nearly undid me this afternoon. So sad was I at the prospect of not Belonging to my neighbourhood that I still hosted a Block Coffee in my (very small) livingroom, just to get a hit.
Now because I'm also a Universalist, in public I call this a weakness of mine, but am of course secretly convinced that it is in fact, a Human Weakness. Happily, neighbours are happy to oblige. While the collection that arrived for block coffee was mostly of the young parent variety, one couple with children in college came in. Mr. Neighbour placed a box of cookies on the table and said they'd only come by to say hello and thank me for organizing things but that they couldn't stay. Mrs. Neighbour stood beside-behind her husband and nodded - they could not possibly stay.
But of course they could! I insisted, just one cup of coffee. Just a quick chat with our new neighbours they hadn't met before. Just a minute longer. And stay they did. They edged closer to the grown-up table, even pulled up a chair. Eventually Mr. Neighbour even had a cup of coffee. Mrs. Neighbour didn't, but did chat with a couple of the others and compared soccer mom stories.
I said to Scott tonight, when it was all said and done, that they just needed to know they belonged. They were exactly who was supposed to be there because it wasn't a Mommy Coffee or a Jesus Coffee or a Cool Kid Coffee. It was a Block Coffee and they are the Block. This was the group they Belong To, just like me.
Just like me. I organize block parties every year just to have that feeling that I Belong with these people, that we are the In-Crowd in our town. I go to church and I Belong. I invite friends to coffee so that I Belong. I probably got married and had kids in an ultimate act of Belonging-Making.
And maybe I hope that the Secret Goodness of my Secret Weakness is that I sometimes make sure other people know They Belong Too.
Does that make me a dealer?
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
Put a Civil Tongue in Your Mouth
I am confused by people who say the good parts out loud. People who always say how much they admire their husbands, or who talk about their children's successes. People who love their jobs, or like their family's Christmas traditions. These people make me nervous. Not because I don't like pyjamas on Christmas Eve or because my children do not shine (they do!), but because of course, I'm a bit Greek-Chinese. If you act all positive, you're just daring the Force to prove you wrong. Or stupid.
Now is not the time to point out how this is in direct conflict with everything I believe about the world, the Creator, to say nothing of Scott and my recent Anniversa-Ganza Facebook Love-In. I have never pretended to be consistent.
This resistance to cheerleading enthusiasm for life has its cousin in a squinty cynicism. This is why I mock these guys and love these guys.
I won't lie - I like the laughs I get for saying the cynical parts. No quicker giggle-getter than confessing to use of the word mother-effer while parenting. They laugh, but they worry. They worry that I'm ruining my kids. They worry that I'm depressed. I like to think they worry that I might be right.
This would be where two recent posts collide: Not Me meets I'm A Universalist. I share this world of mine with friends who's kids get cancer, with friends who are lonely even though they're married and "have it all", with friends who got shitty parents and with friends who chose poorly and seem to be paying more for that bad choice than the rest of us do for ours. I know that Life Is Hard, even if it is not, Right This Minute, hard for me. And because I'm a Universalist, I'm pretty sure that if it isn't yet, it's going to be hard for you too.
The people who only talk about how Great It All Is make me nervous because I just don't believe it is. I mean, I know it's Good. All is Well. That's a for sure. But it isn't Great! Amazing! Wonderful! Because even if my world is all of those things Right This Minute, it sure as shit isn't for all the people I love and what kind of ass celebrates their own Fantastic! while their friends are pushing through Sucks?
But while swearing is good for a chuckle at the moms' bible study, it fails me because it makes light of the pain that I think is True here. And that's why I'm glad for the wiser men and women who write and think and share my world view, using better language.
In my recipe box, I have at the back about a dozen recipe cards with quotes that were really important to me about nine years ago. Some are things I think that I didn't want to forget I thought ("make decisions that affirm and confirm the presence and participation of God in my life" - that's good huh?); some are things friends and family have said ("You can either spend your energy making a decision or you can spend it living in the decision you make" - Thanks Dad!); others are gleaned from books and TV. In the garden this morning, my wandering mind tripped across the phrase "the insufficiency of all attainable" and knew it wasn't my own brilliance. Sure enough, there in the back of the recipe box, I found the quote and almost wept with the familiar comfort of it. Nine years later and it still moves me in its Truth. It is true, happy people, that life has lots of great and amazing and wonderful and fantastic. But never enough. That others know that too takes the edge of the loneliness.
Karl Rahner, quoted in Ronald Rolheiser's Against an Infinite Horizon:
Motherf-cker.
Now is not the time to point out how this is in direct conflict with everything I believe about the world, the Creator, to say nothing of Scott and my recent Anniversa-Ganza Facebook Love-In. I have never pretended to be consistent.
This resistance to cheerleading enthusiasm for life has its cousin in a squinty cynicism. This is why I mock these guys and love these guys.
I won't lie - I like the laughs I get for saying the cynical parts. No quicker giggle-getter than confessing to use of the word mother-effer while parenting. They laugh, but they worry. They worry that I'm ruining my kids. They worry that I'm depressed. I like to think they worry that I might be right.
This would be where two recent posts collide: Not Me meets I'm A Universalist. I share this world of mine with friends who's kids get cancer, with friends who are lonely even though they're married and "have it all", with friends who got shitty parents and with friends who chose poorly and seem to be paying more for that bad choice than the rest of us do for ours. I know that Life Is Hard, even if it is not, Right This Minute, hard for me. And because I'm a Universalist, I'm pretty sure that if it isn't yet, it's going to be hard for you too.
The people who only talk about how Great It All Is make me nervous because I just don't believe it is. I mean, I know it's Good. All is Well. That's a for sure. But it isn't Great! Amazing! Wonderful! Because even if my world is all of those things Right This Minute, it sure as shit isn't for all the people I love and what kind of ass celebrates their own Fantastic! while their friends are pushing through Sucks?
But while swearing is good for a chuckle at the moms' bible study, it fails me because it makes light of the pain that I think is True here. And that's why I'm glad for the wiser men and women who write and think and share my world view, using better language.
In my recipe box, I have at the back about a dozen recipe cards with quotes that were really important to me about nine years ago. Some are things I think that I didn't want to forget I thought ("make decisions that affirm and confirm the presence and participation of God in my life" - that's good huh?); some are things friends and family have said ("You can either spend your energy making a decision or you can spend it living in the decision you make" - Thanks Dad!); others are gleaned from books and TV. In the garden this morning, my wandering mind tripped across the phrase "the insufficiency of all attainable" and knew it wasn't my own brilliance. Sure enough, there in the back of the recipe box, I found the quote and almost wept with the familiar comfort of it. Nine years later and it still moves me in its Truth. It is true, happy people, that life has lots of great and amazing and wonderful and fantastic. But never enough. That others know that too takes the edge of the loneliness.
Karl Rahner, quoted in Ronald Rolheiser's Against an Infinite Horizon:
In the torment of the insufficiency of everything attainable we come to understand that here, in this life, all symphonies remain unfinished.
Motherf-cker.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Nope
Well, it turns out the whole, Life Is Also So Great thing was a bit ... short-lived. I think it might be Pre-PreMenstrual Syndrome. Like all that optimism should be my warning that I have 48 hours to secure my children, stow the valuables and phone a cleaning lady.
Suffice to say, it has been a bit dark around here.
I like knowing though, that the darkness isn't all real. I know it's partly real - I really am bothered by the lack of order in my home, the lack of structure in my days, the lack of energy in my little body. Real bothers. However the degree of apathy, lethargy and sullenness is about 18 degrees higher than required. I think probably some calcium and evening primrose oil would cure me. I'm just too annoyed and cheap to go find some.
The less real part, that part is comforting. Because knowing it isn't real makes it easier to believe that it isn't permanent either. I think it is one of the pleasures of my 30s actually, realizing that none of this is permanent. Or maybe one of the lessons of parenthood? I don't know - do either of my not-childrened but 30'd readers know of which I speak? To know that all that sucks is not for the ages, and that all that rocks is but tender grass... well, that is one perk of not having elastic skin.
Suffice to say, it has been a bit dark around here.
I like knowing though, that the darkness isn't all real. I know it's partly real - I really am bothered by the lack of order in my home, the lack of structure in my days, the lack of energy in my little body. Real bothers. However the degree of apathy, lethargy and sullenness is about 18 degrees higher than required. I think probably some calcium and evening primrose oil would cure me. I'm just too annoyed and cheap to go find some.
The less real part, that part is comforting. Because knowing it isn't real makes it easier to believe that it isn't permanent either. I think it is one of the pleasures of my 30s actually, realizing that none of this is permanent. Or maybe one of the lessons of parenthood? I don't know - do either of my not-childrened but 30'd readers know of which I speak? To know that all that sucks is not for the ages, and that all that rocks is but tender grass... well, that is one perk of not having elastic skin.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Objects in the Mirror Are Further Away Than They Appear
I don't like my period. I realize evolved, self-loving women embrace the rhythms of their body, celebrating each moon and delighting in the marvel that is Woman. I am neither evolved, nor self-loving. In this regard.
Unfortunately, I don't like ingesting hormones or installing plastics and/or metals in my insides either, so each month I get to Live Fully In The Natural Wonder of Woman. As any 7th grader can tell you, this means experiencing skin changes, mood changes and comfort changes.
For the last 24, 25 years, I have focused pretty exclusively on the Change To Bad: my bad skin, my bad mood and my massive discomfort. But this month, an epiphany - there may be a Change To Good. Or at least to the Not That Bad.
It started on Friday night, watching the football game. A BC Lions receiver fell onto signage and injured his throat. There was much writhing and serious trainer faces and grimmer player faces while the play-by-play crew tried to diagnose which terrible injury had felled this man. And I wept, for the fear he felt, for his wife and mother watching, for his children... for the fear they all must be feeling, watching helpless as his pain was televised for our entertainment.
On Sunday night, Scott and I went to the PNE as part of our Anniversa-Ganza. We walked the fairway and smelled the donuts and ... well, ate the donuts. We watched some highschoolers perform in a drumline, and I teared up. We shared a donair wrapped in red- and white-checked paper, and I teared up. We people-watched in the concert venue, and I smiled that warm Hallmark Television Special smile, thinking the best of this sea of humanity. We clapped and danced to Spirit of the West and I beamed my goodwill to the entire planet. All Was Well. So, So, Well.
As I drove to Park Royal this morning on a quick errand with Nate and found myself generously letting people in, and being extra courteous to all the mall grandmothers, I realized that my Good Will To All was probably a bit bigger than reality required. I thought back on my weekend and realized the whole world with its terrifying injuries and deep-fried goodness was probably not nearly as terrifying as I had experienced, nor were all those PNE-goers as awesome as I thought. As I checked my mirrors to change lanes and saw the warning about things being closer than they look, it occurred to me that this week things were actually further away than they looked. And suddenly I was a bit more evolved and self-loving.
If once every four weeks or so, I get to live in the World, Amplified Version and experience the Good as just a little bit better, then I think I'm okay with having to experience the Not So Good a little bit worse.
I'll let you know if the evolution lasts.
Unfortunately, I don't like ingesting hormones or installing plastics and/or metals in my insides either, so each month I get to Live Fully In The Natural Wonder of Woman. As any 7th grader can tell you, this means experiencing skin changes, mood changes and comfort changes.
For the last 24, 25 years, I have focused pretty exclusively on the Change To Bad: my bad skin, my bad mood and my massive discomfort. But this month, an epiphany - there may be a Change To Good. Or at least to the Not That Bad.
It started on Friday night, watching the football game. A BC Lions receiver fell onto signage and injured his throat. There was much writhing and serious trainer faces and grimmer player faces while the play-by-play crew tried to diagnose which terrible injury had felled this man. And I wept, for the fear he felt, for his wife and mother watching, for his children... for the fear they all must be feeling, watching helpless as his pain was televised for our entertainment.
On Sunday night, Scott and I went to the PNE as part of our Anniversa-Ganza. We walked the fairway and smelled the donuts and ... well, ate the donuts. We watched some highschoolers perform in a drumline, and I teared up. We shared a donair wrapped in red- and white-checked paper, and I teared up. We people-watched in the concert venue, and I smiled that warm Hallmark Television Special smile, thinking the best of this sea of humanity. We clapped and danced to Spirit of the West and I beamed my goodwill to the entire planet. All Was Well. So, So, Well.
As I drove to Park Royal this morning on a quick errand with Nate and found myself generously letting people in, and being extra courteous to all the mall grandmothers, I realized that my Good Will To All was probably a bit bigger than reality required. I thought back on my weekend and realized the whole world with its terrifying injuries and deep-fried goodness was probably not nearly as terrifying as I had experienced, nor were all those PNE-goers as awesome as I thought. As I checked my mirrors to change lanes and saw the warning about things being closer than they look, it occurred to me that this week things were actually further away than they looked. And suddenly I was a bit more evolved and self-loving.
If once every four weeks or so, I get to live in the World, Amplified Version and experience the Good as just a little bit better, then I think I'm okay with having to experience the Not So Good a little bit worse.
I'll let you know if the evolution lasts.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
I'm a Universalist
I seem to be in what I am choosing to call a Post Holiday Funk. A bit of a bleak outlook, a leaning to loneliness and worst-casing mixed with a hint of self-doubt. My working brain reminds me that I have just spent three days home alone with our two small children after 10 days of sharing the parenting gig with my very capable husband. To say nothing of the distance from laundry, morning glory and crayoned carpets. My addled brain is sure that it was only a holiday from the Truth and that in fact, life is inevitably yucky.
Yesterday, in a fit of self-care, I invited over all the neighbourhood moms for coffee and child-mixing. Being an extrovert, people are generally a cure for what ails me most days. Grown-up, humour-getting, full-sentence using people, to be clear. Of the eight or so moms on the list, two were free for this last minute hootenhanny and we spent more than two hours just being together while the small people played with the hose and the dirt and the wheeled things and generally entertained each other. It was so nice.
Except for the part where I kept thinking about the eight that weren't there. Sure, three were working, two had previously arranged playdates, one declined wanting to spend one of her last newborn-free mornings preparing the house and her own self for her third child, one may or may not still get email at the address I chose and one ... well, I haven't seen her since we got back, so maybe they're away? Certainly, Working Brain understands that they weren't available. Sadly, Addled Brain is pretty sure they were lying.
So of course, being so Wisely Self-Aware, I quickly realized that I think they are lying because there are very few things that would keep me from a coffee invitation with other people - work, rest, not getting the invitation? nope. I would be there because I *so* need these getting-togethers to keep it together. And if I wouldn't miss it, then of course they wouldn't miss it either. Unless they hated me. Hated me more than they hated being disconnected from other mothers of small children. And that would be a lot of hate.
Perhaps the flaw in this thinking is obvious to you? Because apparently it was about 10 hours un-obvious to me. It is possible, nay, probable, that they are not just like me. That on Wednesday morning, they didn't in fact need coffee and friends as deeply as I did. Oh and this isn't what I mean. Hmm, what am I trying to say? That it required almost other-wordly conciousness for me to remember that other people's lives are not in fact, about Me.
Ludicrous. Just straight up ludicrous. I am not sure what the cure is for this particular disability, but I'll be spending some time thinking about it. Because I'm pretty sure I'd be a tiny bit less bleak if I could remember this a bit more quickly next time.
Yesterday, in a fit of self-care, I invited over all the neighbourhood moms for coffee and child-mixing. Being an extrovert, people are generally a cure for what ails me most days. Grown-up, humour-getting, full-sentence using people, to be clear. Of the eight or so moms on the list, two were free for this last minute hootenhanny and we spent more than two hours just being together while the small people played with the hose and the dirt and the wheeled things and generally entertained each other. It was so nice.
Except for the part where I kept thinking about the eight that weren't there. Sure, three were working, two had previously arranged playdates, one declined wanting to spend one of her last newborn-free mornings preparing the house and her own self for her third child, one may or may not still get email at the address I chose and one ... well, I haven't seen her since we got back, so maybe they're away? Certainly, Working Brain understands that they weren't available. Sadly, Addled Brain is pretty sure they were lying.
So of course, being so Wisely Self-Aware, I quickly realized that I think they are lying because there are very few things that would keep me from a coffee invitation with other people - work, rest, not getting the invitation? nope. I would be there because I *so* need these getting-togethers to keep it together. And if I wouldn't miss it, then of course they wouldn't miss it either. Unless they hated me. Hated me more than they hated being disconnected from other mothers of small children. And that would be a lot of hate.
Perhaps the flaw in this thinking is obvious to you? Because apparently it was about 10 hours un-obvious to me. It is possible, nay, probable, that they are not just like me. That on Wednesday morning, they didn't in fact need coffee and friends as deeply as I did. Oh and this isn't what I mean. Hmm, what am I trying to say? That it required almost other-wordly conciousness for me to remember that other people's lives are not in fact, about Me.
Ludicrous. Just straight up ludicrous. I am not sure what the cure is for this particular disability, but I'll be spending some time thinking about it. Because I'm pretty sure I'd be a tiny bit less bleak if I could remember this a bit more quickly next time.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Not Me
A friend has to wait three months to find out if her child has relapsed. Another is waiting for a test to see if it's cancer this time. A Writing Friend just wrote about her experience with major depression.
Of course, I am writhing and waiting and hoping and praying along with them in their living this life they're living. But a not-too-secret part of me is just thankful that yet again, it's Not Me.
I had dinner with a long-time-ago friend and we spent the evening catching up on the almost 20 years that have elapsed. As he talked about what I thought were some less than ideal moments, I said in my most empathetic voice, "Ugh. Life is just hard sometimes huh?" And he looked at me with genuine confusion on his face and said, "No. No, not really. People say that and I never know what they mean." Now, while I was tempted to let him know all the things that were wrong with his life, I realized that probably he wouldn't find that helpful. But it did leave me wondering how a person can live in this world, even just semi-conciously, and not know that Life Is Hard.
And this is what I find hard, living next to people who's lives are hard Right Now: it is not if, just when and how the Hard Things will come. But the trick to good living is somehow balancing that truth against the other truth that Life Is Good. Because I think that peace (and maybe Jesus if you live that way) is probably hiding out at that intersection. If we can find a way to hang out at the corner of Hard and Good, maybe we do some good living there.
I am always tempted to walk down Hard Street to see if I can see what Hard Thing is coming my way. Some are easy to guess: probably people I love will die in the years ahead; chances are my children will struggle and get hurt; I doubt I've had my last Marriage Argument #42. But of course, the walk is wasted because those things will happen on their own terms, at their own time.
But for now, today, it is still Not Me. For which I am deeply thankful. Because when the time comes, I want to be able to remember Good has also been True.
Of course, I am writhing and waiting and hoping and praying along with them in their living this life they're living. But a not-too-secret part of me is just thankful that yet again, it's Not Me.
I had dinner with a long-time-ago friend and we spent the evening catching up on the almost 20 years that have elapsed. As he talked about what I thought were some less than ideal moments, I said in my most empathetic voice, "Ugh. Life is just hard sometimes huh?" And he looked at me with genuine confusion on his face and said, "No. No, not really. People say that and I never know what they mean." Now, while I was tempted to let him know all the things that were wrong with his life, I realized that probably he wouldn't find that helpful. But it did leave me wondering how a person can live in this world, even just semi-conciously, and not know that Life Is Hard.
And this is what I find hard, living next to people who's lives are hard Right Now: it is not if, just when and how the Hard Things will come. But the trick to good living is somehow balancing that truth against the other truth that Life Is Good. Because I think that peace (and maybe Jesus if you live that way) is probably hiding out at that intersection. If we can find a way to hang out at the corner of Hard and Good, maybe we do some good living there.
I am always tempted to walk down Hard Street to see if I can see what Hard Thing is coming my way. Some are easy to guess: probably people I love will die in the years ahead; chances are my children will struggle and get hurt; I doubt I've had my last Marriage Argument #42. But of course, the walk is wasted because those things will happen on their own terms, at their own time.
But for now, today, it is still Not Me. For which I am deeply thankful. Because when the time comes, I want to be able to remember Good has also been True.
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