I remember Christmas as such an exciting and joyful time as a kid... Parties and presents and pretty dresses... My mom saying yes to things she usually said no to, like cookies or playing games with me at the kitchen table or letting me help her bake. Seeing cousins and aunts and uncles we didn't normally see, and spending more time with the grandparents.
And then there was the magical, mystical quality of it all...
Waking up on Christmas morning, padding downstairs where the lights on the tree were still on to see a huge mound of presents in the place where I left my empty stocking the night before. A mound of presents left by a fat guy who came down my chimney...? All in return for some hot cocoa and a couple of cookies? Which, incidentally, was an idea that I bought into for a really, really, really long time.
And I really liked going to church only on Christmas Eve because they did the candle thing and even as a little kid, I thought that was really pretty and peaceful. Plus I knew that when we got home, there was a party at our house and we would get to open a present and then it wasn't long until Santa would come!
When I think of Christmas in childhood, I think of joy, peace, excitement, love.
What I never felt as a child during Christmas time was...stressed out.
As an adult...
I returned home from a workshop in Texas on December 3rd. I was weary from the work and the travel and so glad to be home. I walked through the gate and into the airport sighing with relief and thought to myself, Ah. Denver. I'm so glad I don't have to go anywhere until... Crap. Two weeks. Seriously? Less than two weeks. I have to leave for Michigan in less than two weeks?!!! Are you kidding me?! I haven't bought one present or baked one thing! How could this be?!
Christmas time is so... stressful.
Do I have enough time to order that for her? Can I get it in that size? Did you deliver this to that person? Did you buy them a ____? Do we have enough money to pay for the gas? Are we at your family's house for the same amount of time we are at mine? What are my brothers going to make fun of me about this year? How much poop am I going to have to clean out of the car seats? Is she going to like this? They have everything. What kind of a gift can I even buy them?...
And all of these things always seems to sneak up on me.
So, this year, after realizing I had less than two weeks until we got in a car to go visit family... I made a list. I checked it twice. And on the second check, I simply crossed out a bunch of stuff that I could skip (or do after Christmas) and attempt to keep my sanity. I didn't bake anything. Seriously. Not. One. Thing. I didn't buy my kids presents. Seriously. The Sunday before we left for Michigan I filled up their stockings with cool travel games to keep them busy in the car, but that was it. Then we went to see the Muppets as a family. Somehow we still have more toys and games than we know what to do with. I only took on one photo project that consisted of 8 pictures. And sin of all Must Do Christmas Tradition sins, I didn't send out Christmas cards or get our family pictures taken. (If you happened to notice not getting a Christmas card with a picture of our smiling family on it, now you know why.)
And still, even after eliminating all of those things from my list of things to do, the prevailing feeling was not joy, peace, excitement, or love. It was stress.
Granted, it was wonderful to see all of the family that we got to see. It was super fun to play Farkle with the families and go out for drinks with my brothers and sisters in law. It was awesome to watch my boys have so much fun with their cousins and grandparents.
But it seems as though I am finding more joy in normal life these days, more peace in the day to day, more excitement about my cup of delicious coffee in the morning, more love in the way Nolan asks every evening, "Nuggle, Mama? Nuggle?"
I used to be a self-proclaimed "Special Day Junkie." Now I love when my life is quiet and ordinary. Does that mean I'm getting old? Or wiser?
Regardless... Now that whirlwind of stress and chaos is over, it's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas around here... Joyful, peaceful, loving...just in time to take down the tree and all of the decorations.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Things I like about Texas
1. Micheal my brother lives there.
2. If a man has been anywhere in the general vicinity when I am getting into a vehicle with a piece of luggage, I have never been allowed to load it into that vehicle.
3. When I ordered fajitas and a margarita at the airport the other day, the woman asked me if my order was "for here or to go."
The End.
2. If a man has been anywhere in the general vicinity when I am getting into a vehicle with a piece of luggage, I have never been allowed to load it into that vehicle.
3. When I ordered fajitas and a margarita at the airport the other day, the woman asked me if my order was "for here or to go."
The End.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Things I like about the PNW
I like that everything is SO GREEN in the Pacific Northwest.
I like that when I'm there, I ALWAYS feel like curling up with a hot drink and a good book is a great idea, and I don't feel guilty if I spend a large amount of time curled up like that... because it's always rainy outside and cozy inside.
I like that the trees are HUGE.
I like that when the sun does come out, you're amazed at what is all around you, because when it's cloudy, you can't see it.
I like that three of my best girlfriends are there, and even though we haven't all been together in...years, when we went out for dessert one night and just sat down together, I felt like I was coming home. Like we met for dessert every Tuesday night to hang out and cry and laugh and be just us... just those silly college girls who are grown ups now, who still talk about boys and the hurt they cause, still talk about dreams and how they might reach them, still gush about the beauty in people, and the joy in the every day.
I like that the people are mountain, adventurey, Denverish people who can live without 300+days of sunshine a year.
I like that it feels... friendly. A little small town, but sophisticated and intelligent... I don't know, maybe it's that whole "I like to sit around coffee shops writing, talking, and acting intellectual" thing it's got going for it. I wonder if the fact that I like that culture makes me a snob. Or if it makes me one of those people who "likes to sit around coffee shops writing, talking, and acting intellectual." Even if I don't wear a beret or dress in all black.
I like that when I'm there, I ALWAYS feel like curling up with a hot drink and a good book is a great idea, and I don't feel guilty if I spend a large amount of time curled up like that... because it's always rainy outside and cozy inside.
I like that the trees are HUGE.
I like that when the sun does come out, you're amazed at what is all around you, because when it's cloudy, you can't see it.
I like that three of my best girlfriends are there, and even though we haven't all been together in...years, when we went out for dessert one night and just sat down together, I felt like I was coming home. Like we met for dessert every Tuesday night to hang out and cry and laugh and be just us... just those silly college girls who are grown ups now, who still talk about boys and the hurt they cause, still talk about dreams and how they might reach them, still gush about the beauty in people, and the joy in the every day.
I like that the people are mountain, adventurey, Denverish people who can live without 300+days of sunshine a year.
I like that it feels... friendly. A little small town, but sophisticated and intelligent... I don't know, maybe it's that whole "I like to sit around coffee shops writing, talking, and acting intellectual" thing it's got going for it. I wonder if the fact that I like that culture makes me a snob. Or if it makes me one of those people who "likes to sit around coffee shops writing, talking, and acting intellectual." Even if I don't wear a beret or dress in all black.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Things I like about Airports
1. It always feels exciting to go there. Even if you're just going to Texas.
2. When it's Christmas time, and I'm returning from a trip, it feels so.... Christmasy. So Joyful and Welcoming.
3. Watching people waiting for their loved ones to arrive... it is such a beautiful experience. I think I would enjoy coming to the airport to just people watch in the arrival area. When I come home from a trip when I parked at the airport, and I get off of the train, I always look for someone I know waiting for me at that arrival area. And I always get a little sad (I confess, sometimes I even get a bit teary-eyed) when there is no one there waiting for me. (Give me a break, I am usually coming home from a work trip where 4 hours of sleep is a good night's rest, and waking up at 4am is a normal experience.) Even when I know that no one will be there waiting for me, I still want to meet someone I love there and hug them hello. And the car hello when they pull up to the curb is still good, but it just isn't anywhere nearly as cool.
Every time I have flown home with the boys and Grammie Mel is waiting at the end of the hallway for us, I am overwhelmed with the beauty of this "reunion moment." She stands there past security calling out for Daniel, and Daniel runs as fast as his little legs will allow with his roller suitcase bouncing behind him. And they hug. And Daniel tells her about something silly, and they laugh. And then he jumps up and down for the next half hour that it takes to get the luggage and car seats and get to the car to see Papa Keys.
4. The smell of the curbside pickup arrival area. You know the spot that I'm talking about. Where you go after you get your luggage and someone drives by, loads you in the car and drives away? There is a smell there, and every single airport I've ever been to smells the same. Sometimes the experience is a bit different because of the season or place, but they all smell the same. And every single airport takes me back to one of two places. 1. The bus stop as a child. Waiting for the bus to pick me up or just getting dropped off, relieved to be home. 2. Waiting for my dad to pick me up from the airport to spend Christmas with the family.
Regardless, there is something so nostalgic to me in bus fumes. I know that's weird, but it makes me feel a little excited, a little nervous, a little relieved... Who'd a thunk? Bus fumes.
5. Most people are very much in need of a good laugh at the airport, because they're rushing or exhausted or listened to a child scream their whole flight. That makes it really easy for a joke to go over well, and smiling at other people for no particular reason is really well-received as well. I always like it when I have an easy audience.
2. When it's Christmas time, and I'm returning from a trip, it feels so.... Christmasy. So Joyful and Welcoming.
3. Watching people waiting for their loved ones to arrive... it is such a beautiful experience. I think I would enjoy coming to the airport to just people watch in the arrival area. When I come home from a trip when I parked at the airport, and I get off of the train, I always look for someone I know waiting for me at that arrival area. And I always get a little sad (I confess, sometimes I even get a bit teary-eyed) when there is no one there waiting for me. (Give me a break, I am usually coming home from a work trip where 4 hours of sleep is a good night's rest, and waking up at 4am is a normal experience.) Even when I know that no one will be there waiting for me, I still want to meet someone I love there and hug them hello. And the car hello when they pull up to the curb is still good, but it just isn't anywhere nearly as cool.
Every time I have flown home with the boys and Grammie Mel is waiting at the end of the hallway for us, I am overwhelmed with the beauty of this "reunion moment." She stands there past security calling out for Daniel, and Daniel runs as fast as his little legs will allow with his roller suitcase bouncing behind him. And they hug. And Daniel tells her about something silly, and they laugh. And then he jumps up and down for the next half hour that it takes to get the luggage and car seats and get to the car to see Papa Keys.
4. The smell of the curbside pickup arrival area. You know the spot that I'm talking about. Where you go after you get your luggage and someone drives by, loads you in the car and drives away? There is a smell there, and every single airport I've ever been to smells the same. Sometimes the experience is a bit different because of the season or place, but they all smell the same. And every single airport takes me back to one of two places. 1. The bus stop as a child. Waiting for the bus to pick me up or just getting dropped off, relieved to be home. 2. Waiting for my dad to pick me up from the airport to spend Christmas with the family.
Regardless, there is something so nostalgic to me in bus fumes. I know that's weird, but it makes me feel a little excited, a little nervous, a little relieved... Who'd a thunk? Bus fumes.
5. Most people are very much in need of a good laugh at the airport, because they're rushing or exhausted or listened to a child scream their whole flight. That makes it really easy for a joke to go over well, and smiling at other people for no particular reason is really well-received as well. I always like it when I have an easy audience.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
On Being a Cheerleader Part 2
I wrote in here a while ago about my BFF being a good egg, talking about how she is eager to give a compliment...a sincere compliment, and how that inspires me to want to blurt out the good things I see in others because it does a world of good for those who hear it.
Right now this BFF, Maryann, is doing something I can't and don't want to imagine. She is sitting by the man she loves, watching him die. He was diagnosed with cancer about a week and a half ago, given "weeks to live" a couple of days ago, and the day after that was told "it may just be days." Apparently this form of cancer is extremely rare, aggressive, and there are zero treatment options available.
The kicker of all of this is that as she sits there with his mom and dad, she writes a journal full of compliments on a website. She writes about her boyfriend, Tim, his strength and dignity in wrestling with death. She writes about hospice and the doctors and nurses, about how amazing and kind they are... She writes thank yous upon thank yous to people who have simply baked a pie or taken five minutes to write some kind words to Tim.
The other kicker is that Tim's mom, as she watches her son die, also writes about others' kindness, about the words from friends, from people she has never met... she writes about the "surprising sweetness" of being able to read the kind words of those love her son, the kind words we only write in the face of death.
I've been reading them too. Reading through the really cool things that others have to say about Tim. Reading through great tributes and thank yous and kind words and compliments, and I wonder, why do we wait until it might be too late for kind words?
The situation reminds me that there is no reason to keep kind words to ourselves. There is no reason to keep compliments and encouragement from others.
As always, I want to be like Maryann when I grow up. She is patient and kind and show tremendous strength in the most difficult situations.
I think maybe I will tell her that right now.
Right now this BFF, Maryann, is doing something I can't and don't want to imagine. She is sitting by the man she loves, watching him die. He was diagnosed with cancer about a week and a half ago, given "weeks to live" a couple of days ago, and the day after that was told "it may just be days." Apparently this form of cancer is extremely rare, aggressive, and there are zero treatment options available.
The kicker of all of this is that as she sits there with his mom and dad, she writes a journal full of compliments on a website. She writes about her boyfriend, Tim, his strength and dignity in wrestling with death. She writes about hospice and the doctors and nurses, about how amazing and kind they are... She writes thank yous upon thank yous to people who have simply baked a pie or taken five minutes to write some kind words to Tim.
The other kicker is that Tim's mom, as she watches her son die, also writes about others' kindness, about the words from friends, from people she has never met... she writes about the "surprising sweetness" of being able to read the kind words of those love her son, the kind words we only write in the face of death.
I've been reading them too. Reading through the really cool things that others have to say about Tim. Reading through great tributes and thank yous and kind words and compliments, and I wonder, why do we wait until it might be too late for kind words?
The situation reminds me that there is no reason to keep kind words to ourselves. There is no reason to keep compliments and encouragement from others.
As always, I want to be like Maryann when I grow up. She is patient and kind and show tremendous strength in the most difficult situations.
I think maybe I will tell her that right now.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Measuring Stick
There is a height chart at the door of Daniel's preschool, and every time we drop Daniel off and pick him up, Nolan has to measure himself. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Now, I am not sure if it is because I say, "Wow, look how big you are!" each time he measures himself, or if it is because there is just something in us that needs to measure ourselves.
If it's a combination of the two, then that brings up something interesting. We need to measure ourselves in order to be given the reassurance that we are growing in the right direction. Now, I've noticed that for some people, it doesn't necessarily matter if we get an external "Look how big you are!" But we do need to know where we stand. I do. I need to know where I am with everything. Don't you?
I find myself doing the same thing Nolan does at Daniel's preschool. Every day I assess my home. Failure. Ugly window treatments. Clutter. Laundry all over the house not put away. Dishes in the sink. Not put away. Goobers and crumbs on the floor. Toys. Toys. Toys... with no place to go. You are on the very bottom of the "beautiful home" measuring stick, Emily.
I find myself doing this with motherhood. Daniel was screaming at and beating up Nolan yesterday after Jeff left for work. When his time out ended and I asked him what was going on, if he was sad because Daddy was gone, he started to cry and said this, "I am sad because I miss Daddy and it makes me feel better to be mean to Nolan." Talk about a measuring stick. Talk about my childhood. I am sure I am to blame for this.
What a weird thing sibling rivalry is too... It's all about establishing a pecking order. Who is the favorite? Who is the best at this? Who is better at that? Amazing how it develops our personalities and puts up roadblocks for things. Amazing how there exists a measuring stick there too.
The worst thing about operating with a need for a measuring stick is that often I use other people's comments to be my measuring stick. Someone gives me a compliment on my shoes, eyes, smile, and suddenly I'm a few notches up on the physical attractiveness measuring stick.
I don't take the time to work out for a week. I look in the mirror and notice that I have been wearing sweats all week, trying to look like I'm going to work out, but really just wind up looking like a slobby SAHM who has let herself go... 6 notches down on the physical attractiveness measuring stick.
I conduct a training. Something intelligent somehow comes out of my mouth during the presentation. A teacher writes down a comment about how great I am as a presenter. Way up on the measuring stick...
A teacher makes a comment about how I made them feel excluded from the conversation or how the curriculum isn't this or isn't that (something I don't actually have a lot of control over..) but still... WAY down on the measuring stick.
And one part of the problem is that people are a horrible measuring stick. People are emotional and irrational sometimes. Not to mention that our opinions are all very different about what is funny or clever or inspirational. Our expectations of each other are all over the place. Not to mention that we can't define what makes a good_________, but we sure do judge each other when we think someone else is a bad_________. Right?
I can't always put into words what makes a good writer, good mother, good wife, good cook, good friend, good teacher, good presenter, and I can't think of myself as a good--any of those things. Unless someone else says that I am a good_________. And I can only try for a repeat performance when other people say, "Wow, you make great carrot soup." or "I really enjoyed your blog about________ the other day." And if someone says something good about my writing or my cooking, I keep cooking. I keep writing. I keep the things that push me up on the invisible measuring stick. I don't even attempt the things that push me down on that same invisible measuring stick. And yet, there are voices in my head pushing me down on that measuring stick. I don't need anyone else to push me down. I put myself there...
So... how come I can't just create my own measuring stick for myself and stop relying on what others say or seem to think?
Because I'm my own worst critic?
Because I have completely unrealistic expectations of myself and of others?
Because I'm completely unreliable with what I deem as good writing, good mothering, good... based on my feelings of the day?
How come I can't just get rid of the measuring stick?
How come others can't just raise my stats on the measuring stick?
How come I don't just raise others' stats on their measuring sticks?
I keep trying to do that. I keep trying to write little notes or say the good things I see in people to raise their invisible measuring stick status.
But then I get in a bad mood. No one raises my measuring stick status. I start new birth control and my hormones go crazy and I hate my life. I scream at my kids and send my own measuring stick status into the toilet. I get so wrapped up in my own failing plummeting invisible measuring stick status that I stop looking for others' good things to raise them up, and I look for their crap to push them down. Or I push myself down because I forget to look for their good. And...
Again, I am an unreliable measuring stick. What if I had a reliable measuring stick that didn't change? What if that reliable measuring stick didn't even care how I measured up? And if my measuring stick dropped in the toilet, He would still love me and take me in...
Huh... guess I do. What if I actually accepted at trusted that?
If it's a combination of the two, then that brings up something interesting. We need to measure ourselves in order to be given the reassurance that we are growing in the right direction. Now, I've noticed that for some people, it doesn't necessarily matter if we get an external "Look how big you are!" But we do need to know where we stand. I do. I need to know where I am with everything. Don't you?
I find myself doing the same thing Nolan does at Daniel's preschool. Every day I assess my home. Failure. Ugly window treatments. Clutter. Laundry all over the house not put away. Dishes in the sink. Not put away. Goobers and crumbs on the floor. Toys. Toys. Toys... with no place to go. You are on the very bottom of the "beautiful home" measuring stick, Emily.
I find myself doing this with motherhood. Daniel was screaming at and beating up Nolan yesterday after Jeff left for work. When his time out ended and I asked him what was going on, if he was sad because Daddy was gone, he started to cry and said this, "I am sad because I miss Daddy and it makes me feel better to be mean to Nolan." Talk about a measuring stick. Talk about my childhood. I am sure I am to blame for this.
What a weird thing sibling rivalry is too... It's all about establishing a pecking order. Who is the favorite? Who is the best at this? Who is better at that? Amazing how it develops our personalities and puts up roadblocks for things. Amazing how there exists a measuring stick there too.
The worst thing about operating with a need for a measuring stick is that often I use other people's comments to be my measuring stick. Someone gives me a compliment on my shoes, eyes, smile, and suddenly I'm a few notches up on the physical attractiveness measuring stick.
I don't take the time to work out for a week. I look in the mirror and notice that I have been wearing sweats all week, trying to look like I'm going to work out, but really just wind up looking like a slobby SAHM who has let herself go... 6 notches down on the physical attractiveness measuring stick.
I conduct a training. Something intelligent somehow comes out of my mouth during the presentation. A teacher writes down a comment about how great I am as a presenter. Way up on the measuring stick...
A teacher makes a comment about how I made them feel excluded from the conversation or how the curriculum isn't this or isn't that (something I don't actually have a lot of control over..) but still... WAY down on the measuring stick.
And one part of the problem is that people are a horrible measuring stick. People are emotional and irrational sometimes. Not to mention that our opinions are all very different about what is funny or clever or inspirational. Our expectations of each other are all over the place. Not to mention that we can't define what makes a good_________, but we sure do judge each other when we think someone else is a bad_________. Right?
I can't always put into words what makes a good writer, good mother, good wife, good cook, good friend, good teacher, good presenter, and I can't think of myself as a good--any of those things. Unless someone else says that I am a good_________. And I can only try for a repeat performance when other people say, "Wow, you make great carrot soup." or "I really enjoyed your blog about________ the other day." And if someone says something good about my writing or my cooking, I keep cooking. I keep writing. I keep the things that push me up on the invisible measuring stick. I don't even attempt the things that push me down on that same invisible measuring stick. And yet, there are voices in my head pushing me down on that measuring stick. I don't need anyone else to push me down. I put myself there...
So... how come I can't just create my own measuring stick for myself and stop relying on what others say or seem to think?
Because I'm my own worst critic?
Because I have completely unrealistic expectations of myself and of others?
Because I'm completely unreliable with what I deem as good writing, good mothering, good... based on my feelings of the day?
How come I can't just get rid of the measuring stick?
How come others can't just raise my stats on the measuring stick?
How come I don't just raise others' stats on their measuring sticks?
I keep trying to do that. I keep trying to write little notes or say the good things I see in people to raise their invisible measuring stick status.
But then I get in a bad mood. No one raises my measuring stick status. I start new birth control and my hormones go crazy and I hate my life. I scream at my kids and send my own measuring stick status into the toilet. I get so wrapped up in my own failing plummeting invisible measuring stick status that I stop looking for others' good things to raise them up, and I look for their crap to push them down. Or I push myself down because I forget to look for their good. And...
Again, I am an unreliable measuring stick. What if I had a reliable measuring stick that didn't change? What if that reliable measuring stick didn't even care how I measured up? And if my measuring stick dropped in the toilet, He would still love me and take me in...
Huh... guess I do. What if I actually accepted at trusted that?
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Natural Ability vs. Natural Affection...
According to Malcolm Gladwell, it takes 10,000 hours of anything to become an "expert" at anything. The study found no cases on either end. No people who could become experts prior to spending 10,000 hours doing something, and no cases of people who put in the time and effort of 10,000 hours who did not become experts and excell in their field.
This makes me wonder about whether God gives us a natural ability to do certain things, or simply a natural affection for those things.
I write because I love to think, and I think in language. I am not sure why I think in words, sometimes in poetry, but never, ever in images.
Jeff knows how to cut images together at certain speeds that make them intensely exciting or sad, knows how to put images and music together to create a video experience that I would never imagine. He mentioned that the entire control room at work was full of tapes that he had to go through in order to find the right clips to make the Rockies History video. The thought of sifting through video clips in order to find the right images to put together an entire history of an organization made me physically nauseous.
It is so foreign to me that someone could "think in images."
I mentioned this the other night and Jeff said, "I thought everyone thought that way."
And it makes me wonder how other people think. How do you think? In words? Images? Smells? Could you think in smells?
But I think we have these natural gifts, these ways of seeing, thinking, feeling that are God-given. We have no control over them.
But we don't naturally have skills. We have to learn how to use those natural tools to access the world/our thoughts/responses to the world in order to become experts in whatever field God has given us to love.
What I mean is that for as long as I can remember, if something really moves me, I stop thinking normally and suddenly think in poetry.
I have a natural affection for words. I involuntarily take what I see, hear, feel, smell, or taste and translate that into words, but... I wasn't born knowing how to do that. I had to learn that skill. I had to learn the words. I had to play with rhyming and capitalizing and not capitalizing and not rhyming, and turn this into a metaphor or use anaphora to make this idea stand out, but stop the anaphora here so that these other ideas intentionally melded into the beginning thought or... I had to learn all of those things to become a better poet. The poems I write now are much better than those that I wrote in 7th grade, and I had to learn how to do that. I didn't know I was learning because "studying" doesn't sound fun, but I studied and studied and studied, when I was in middle and high school, this craft of poetry by reading it and writing it constantly. Do I have my 10,000 hours in? Probably not. But I might be getting close.
The point is that I do that because I LOVE it. It challenges me and drives me to continue to play and challenge myself. I wouldn't do it if I didn't love it.
I wasn't born a writer. But I was born to love to write.
This makes me wonder about whether God gives us a natural ability to do certain things, or simply a natural affection for those things.
I write because I love to think, and I think in language. I am not sure why I think in words, sometimes in poetry, but never, ever in images.
Jeff knows how to cut images together at certain speeds that make them intensely exciting or sad, knows how to put images and music together to create a video experience that I would never imagine. He mentioned that the entire control room at work was full of tapes that he had to go through in order to find the right clips to make the Rockies History video. The thought of sifting through video clips in order to find the right images to put together an entire history of an organization made me physically nauseous.
It is so foreign to me that someone could "think in images."
I mentioned this the other night and Jeff said, "I thought everyone thought that way."
And it makes me wonder how other people think. How do you think? In words? Images? Smells? Could you think in smells?
But I think we have these natural gifts, these ways of seeing, thinking, feeling that are God-given. We have no control over them.
But we don't naturally have skills. We have to learn how to use those natural tools to access the world/our thoughts/responses to the world in order to become experts in whatever field God has given us to love.
What I mean is that for as long as I can remember, if something really moves me, I stop thinking normally and suddenly think in poetry.
I have a natural affection for words. I involuntarily take what I see, hear, feel, smell, or taste and translate that into words, but... I wasn't born knowing how to do that. I had to learn that skill. I had to learn the words. I had to play with rhyming and capitalizing and not capitalizing and not rhyming, and turn this into a metaphor or use anaphora to make this idea stand out, but stop the anaphora here so that these other ideas intentionally melded into the beginning thought or... I had to learn all of those things to become a better poet. The poems I write now are much better than those that I wrote in 7th grade, and I had to learn how to do that. I didn't know I was learning because "studying" doesn't sound fun, but I studied and studied and studied, when I was in middle and high school, this craft of poetry by reading it and writing it constantly. Do I have my 10,000 hours in? Probably not. But I might be getting close.
The point is that I do that because I LOVE it. It challenges me and drives me to continue to play and challenge myself. I wouldn't do it if I didn't love it.
I wasn't born a writer. But I was born to love to write.
Monday, November 7, 2011
A Blessing or a Curse?
Been thinking lately about giftedness.
Been struggling with what to do with Daniel and long-term schooling.
Wondering if I push him too hard to be more than he is.
Wondering if I just see his potential and fear his not arriving at that potential later on because the educational system in this country does not meet or exceed my standards, nor does it service the students the way it should.
Wondering if the reason I'm "sensitive" or that I "overreact" to things is because I, too, am "gifted" and grew up just understanding that I was "different." Not bad, just more... in tune to emotions... more in tune with what others feel and think... more curious at "the meaning of it all."
The reason I wonder is because of this article.
http://www.sengifted.org/articles_social/Lind_OverexcitabilityAndTheGifted.shtml
A new friend, a woman named Laura, that I met while I was traveling this week gave me this article, and it opened up a whole new world of understanding about my husband, my child, and my teenage years.
I remember talking to a friend in high school, saying, "You know, I just feel like I've never fit in. I have never felt rejected or pushed away or bullied or anything like that. I just... feel like I have always been in a different place."
And she said, "That's because you are."
"Huh?"
"My last two thoughts were, Did I remember a sports bra for practice? and I'm hungry. I wonder if I have 50 cents to go get a bag of Cheetos. What were your last two thoughts?
"Huh. Well, I was just wondering if I was prioritizing my life properly because I seem to spend too much time on my homework and when I look back on my life I will want to remember the great times I spent with my friends in high school, as opposed to spending so much time with my nose in a book. Because I think it will always come back to relationships being more important than the amount I study. And really, the whole point of life is people."
"See."
"What do you mean, 'See.'?"
"I mean, I'm thinking about Cheetos, and you're wondering about the meaning of life."
"Oh."
This conversation comes to mind because I have been trying to figure out why Daniel doesn't seem normal to me. Could it be that he wants to line everything up perfectly? Make perfect circles with the chocolate chips when he's helping me bake? Because he's teaching himself to read at age 3? Because he can see a word printed once the day before and I come downstairs to find it written all over a piece of paper?
And when Laura explained overexcitabilities caused by giftedness, Daniel made so much more sense.
And it makes me wonder about all of these beautiful things God gifts us with and that they come as blessings and curses.
The person who can intensely see and experience a sunset and translate that into a painting or poem or song or video or sculpture with ease conversely can't handle experiencing too much visual input.
A cook with the ability to distinguish the intricacies of flavor is also prone to overeating just to experience the flavors he/she loves to explore so much.
A person so smart and capable of thinking and thinking about thinking lives to think about things, but when there is no new input, no new thinking challenge, no problem to solve, he becomes depressed because his brain is bored...
Anyway, just what I've been thinking about. Reminds me of Spiderman. "With great power comes great responsibility." So true, so true.
Been struggling with what to do with Daniel and long-term schooling.
Wondering if I push him too hard to be more than he is.
Wondering if I just see his potential and fear his not arriving at that potential later on because the educational system in this country does not meet or exceed my standards, nor does it service the students the way it should.
Wondering if the reason I'm "sensitive" or that I "overreact" to things is because I, too, am "gifted" and grew up just understanding that I was "different." Not bad, just more... in tune to emotions... more in tune with what others feel and think... more curious at "the meaning of it all."
The reason I wonder is because of this article.
http://www.sengifted.org/articles_social/Lind_OverexcitabilityAndTheGifted.shtml
A new friend, a woman named Laura, that I met while I was traveling this week gave me this article, and it opened up a whole new world of understanding about my husband, my child, and my teenage years.
I remember talking to a friend in high school, saying, "You know, I just feel like I've never fit in. I have never felt rejected or pushed away or bullied or anything like that. I just... feel like I have always been in a different place."
And she said, "That's because you are."
"Huh?"
"My last two thoughts were, Did I remember a sports bra for practice? and I'm hungry. I wonder if I have 50 cents to go get a bag of Cheetos. What were your last two thoughts?
"Huh. Well, I was just wondering if I was prioritizing my life properly because I seem to spend too much time on my homework and when I look back on my life I will want to remember the great times I spent with my friends in high school, as opposed to spending so much time with my nose in a book. Because I think it will always come back to relationships being more important than the amount I study. And really, the whole point of life is people."
"See."
"What do you mean, 'See.'?"
"I mean, I'm thinking about Cheetos, and you're wondering about the meaning of life."
"Oh."
This conversation comes to mind because I have been trying to figure out why Daniel doesn't seem normal to me. Could it be that he wants to line everything up perfectly? Make perfect circles with the chocolate chips when he's helping me bake? Because he's teaching himself to read at age 3? Because he can see a word printed once the day before and I come downstairs to find it written all over a piece of paper?
And when Laura explained overexcitabilities caused by giftedness, Daniel made so much more sense.
And it makes me wonder about all of these beautiful things God gifts us with and that they come as blessings and curses.
The person who can intensely see and experience a sunset and translate that into a painting or poem or song or video or sculpture with ease conversely can't handle experiencing too much visual input.
A cook with the ability to distinguish the intricacies of flavor is also prone to overeating just to experience the flavors he/she loves to explore so much.
A person so smart and capable of thinking and thinking about thinking lives to think about things, but when there is no new input, no new thinking challenge, no problem to solve, he becomes depressed because his brain is bored...
Anyway, just what I've been thinking about. Reminds me of Spiderman. "With great power comes great responsibility." So true, so true.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
It's like Art, Not like Math...
Sometimes, in being a parent, a teacher, a wife, a writer... I think maybe if I can just put a squared plus b squared, it will be c squared.
The problem with that is that not all relationships are right triangles, so it doesn't really work. It seems that everything I do must be treated more like a sculpture. There are certain tried and true methods to chipping away at a piece of marble to get it to look the right way, but there will always be that point in which the rock falls at exactly the wrong angle or it seems as though the rock is just working against me. And sometimes, I need to break free from wanting it to go exactly the way that I want it and sculpt along with the way the rock may fall away as I chisel. I will do my best to use my tried and true methods, while attempting to let the 'chips fall as they may' at the same time.
The problem with that is that not all relationships are right triangles, so it doesn't really work. It seems that everything I do must be treated more like a sculpture. There are certain tried and true methods to chipping away at a piece of marble to get it to look the right way, but there will always be that point in which the rock falls at exactly the wrong angle or it seems as though the rock is just working against me. And sometimes, I need to break free from wanting it to go exactly the way that I want it and sculpt along with the way the rock may fall away as I chisel. I will do my best to use my tried and true methods, while attempting to let the 'chips fall as they may' at the same time.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
On Being Grateful...
Recently I posted about how I am going to try to be a better good-seer. Amazing things have been happening with this Good-Seeing Project.
What's so amazing, you ask? Well, I noticed that I unintentionally SEE more good in people than I thought I did. I SEE this person's beautiful eyes or outfit or kind heart or creativity, etc... But I don't often SAY anything about those cool things to the person with the beautiful eyes or heart.
I often proclaim myself as "filter-less," and many times this gets me in trouble. I blurt out truths the way I see them then realize that I have inadvertantly crushed another's spirit or made a joke that was funny to some and hurtful to others. Mostly, this filter-less personality suits me well, because I'd rather be honest than fake, but this "good-seeing" thing has my filter going wacky.
This seeing without saying became quite clear while I was traveling this week. For example, the flight attendant on my plane the other day was really beautiful and had an endearing smile. I noticed this the first time I walked by her on the plane, and I thought to myself, wow, she has such a kind smile. And then I realized that I could just tell her that. That there is no reason for me to hog this wonderful feeling. I should share with her that just her smile made me feel happy and warm and cared for. So I did.
It was a little uncomfortable. She blushed. But she was even more smiley and kind to the next people in line, and I think it's better to take down my filter when I see cool things in people. Don't I hope they see them in me? Doesn't it feel great when random people tell me cool things they see in me as opposed to thinking them and not saying them because it might be awkward? Sure, sometimes it IS awkward, but better an awkward compliment that just might turn a person's day around, just might spread joy to many others than to be afraid of being awkward. What are they going to do? Punch you in the face for telling them you like their shoes? Come on.
So, I tried to notice and comment even more as I was traveling, and I realized that from the moment I arrive at the airport, I am constantly in a debt of gratitude when I am "on the road." Think about it. In order for me to successfully get from DIA to my hotel in San Antonio, Texas for work, the travel agent must book my flight and hotel room. The ticket agent must give me my plane ticket. Someone else must lift and transport my 50 lb. suitcase. The pilot must safely take off, fly, and land the plane, and in order for him to do that, he needs to be in contact with the people in the control tower, who need to communicate and direct all of the planes coming in and out of DIA/ San Antonio. Then, someone needs to get my bags from the plane to the luggage merry-go-round. Then the car rental shuttle bus driver runs to get my 50 lb. bag for me, calls me "love," and refuses my tip. Then another man laughs at my jokes and puts my bags in the car that someone else made sure was cleaned, fueled up, and running smoothly before I ever even stepped into the parking lot. Still another team of people created googlemaps for my iphone so that I could get from the car rental place to my hotel without missing a turn. (And, of course, all of those people it took to create my iphone...)
You get the idea, right? Because that's JUST to get from DIA to my hotel in San Antonio, and it takes hundreds more to have gathered the information that I studied to present to my participants...
The more I thought about this, the more grateful I became. And the more fun I had with the people helping me out.
I made a joke with the gentleman who checked my bag at the gateway, and five other people laughed. I teased the pilot at the coffee stand at the airport; we laughed. I smiled my biggest smile and thanked my biggest thank you to the cranky coffee stand barista. Well, she didn't care, but at least I tried.
And I left realizing that while travelers are "weary," they are grateful for a smile and a laugh. I know I am when I am dead on my feet, which are usually cramped into cute red pumps and aching, at the end of an exhausting 3 day workshop.
Now that I know that I SEE the good, I'm making an effort to SAY the good. The more I SAY the good, the more I SEE the good, and the more grateful I am for it.
What's so amazing, you ask? Well, I noticed that I unintentionally SEE more good in people than I thought I did. I SEE this person's beautiful eyes or outfit or kind heart or creativity, etc... But I don't often SAY anything about those cool things to the person with the beautiful eyes or heart.
I often proclaim myself as "filter-less," and many times this gets me in trouble. I blurt out truths the way I see them then realize that I have inadvertantly crushed another's spirit or made a joke that was funny to some and hurtful to others. Mostly, this filter-less personality suits me well, because I'd rather be honest than fake, but this "good-seeing" thing has my filter going wacky.
This seeing without saying became quite clear while I was traveling this week. For example, the flight attendant on my plane the other day was really beautiful and had an endearing smile. I noticed this the first time I walked by her on the plane, and I thought to myself, wow, she has such a kind smile. And then I realized that I could just tell her that. That there is no reason for me to hog this wonderful feeling. I should share with her that just her smile made me feel happy and warm and cared for. So I did.
It was a little uncomfortable. She blushed. But she was even more smiley and kind to the next people in line, and I think it's better to take down my filter when I see cool things in people. Don't I hope they see them in me? Doesn't it feel great when random people tell me cool things they see in me as opposed to thinking them and not saying them because it might be awkward? Sure, sometimes it IS awkward, but better an awkward compliment that just might turn a person's day around, just might spread joy to many others than to be afraid of being awkward. What are they going to do? Punch you in the face for telling them you like their shoes? Come on.
So, I tried to notice and comment even more as I was traveling, and I realized that from the moment I arrive at the airport, I am constantly in a debt of gratitude when I am "on the road." Think about it. In order for me to successfully get from DIA to my hotel in San Antonio, Texas for work, the travel agent must book my flight and hotel room. The ticket agent must give me my plane ticket. Someone else must lift and transport my 50 lb. suitcase. The pilot must safely take off, fly, and land the plane, and in order for him to do that, he needs to be in contact with the people in the control tower, who need to communicate and direct all of the planes coming in and out of DIA/ San Antonio. Then, someone needs to get my bags from the plane to the luggage merry-go-round. Then the car rental shuttle bus driver runs to get my 50 lb. bag for me, calls me "love," and refuses my tip. Then another man laughs at my jokes and puts my bags in the car that someone else made sure was cleaned, fueled up, and running smoothly before I ever even stepped into the parking lot. Still another team of people created googlemaps for my iphone so that I could get from the car rental place to my hotel without missing a turn. (And, of course, all of those people it took to create my iphone...)
You get the idea, right? Because that's JUST to get from DIA to my hotel in San Antonio, and it takes hundreds more to have gathered the information that I studied to present to my participants...
The more I thought about this, the more grateful I became. And the more fun I had with the people helping me out.
I made a joke with the gentleman who checked my bag at the gateway, and five other people laughed. I teased the pilot at the coffee stand at the airport; we laughed. I smiled my biggest smile and thanked my biggest thank you to the cranky coffee stand barista. Well, she didn't care, but at least I tried.
And I left realizing that while travelers are "weary," they are grateful for a smile and a laugh. I know I am when I am dead on my feet, which are usually cramped into cute red pumps and aching, at the end of an exhausting 3 day workshop.
Now that I know that I SEE the good, I'm making an effort to SAY the good. The more I SAY the good, the more I SEE the good, and the more grateful I am for it.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Fertilizer---When life is like a pile of cow manure…
I used to live across the street from a dairy farm when I was a kid. I remember asking my mom what those huge stinky round covered tarps were. I could not believe it when she told me.
“That’s cow manure, honey.”
“What’s manure?”
“Cow poop.”
“Cow poop!?”
“Why is Mr. Heimerdinger saving it under those big tarps?”
“Well, he’ll use it to help his crops grow and other farmers will buy it from him to fertilize their fields.”
“He sells poop?”
“Yep.”
“Ew.”
But now that I think about it, what a brilliant, incredible design God created. Nothing is wasted. Everything that cow puts in his body either gets used as energy by the cow or gets crapped out and used by the earth to grow plants and provide food for people or animals.
God did this everywhere; look at the water cycle, the trees in the fall, the way the earth spins so that every part of the earth gets day and night. Nothing gets wasted.
Think about growing. What makes plants grow? What makes the soil have the right pH balance and all of that? Feces. Decaying organic matter. Worm poop. Used coffee grounds.
What if God made us the same way? What if God made our lives like that? What if God provides the manure of life to help us grow?
Think about the last time you changed something about your life. I’ll bet what motivated that change was something that my friend, Mike, calls “The Suck Factor.” Mike’s suck factor theory goes like this: We won’t change unless the amount our lives suck is greater when our lives stay the same than if our lives change.
So… the last time you changed something was when you figured ‘it’s going to continue to suck if I continue to do this, but if I change this, then it may not suck as badly.’
That's the way it is for me... I change and grow most when God 'fertilizes' me.
Oh poop... There's just so much to it.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Smear, Shmear...not on my bagel.
What is up with Einstein Bros. Bagels, or any bagel place for that matter, calling cream cheese, "schmear?"
Seriously.
I am not trying to be disgusting, but who can possibly put white goo on a bagel that has the same name as a yearly vag scraping?
Don't act like you don't have the same correlation in your brain whenever you go to the bagel place. You do. You just shove it down so that you can stomach it, because, let's face it, schmear is tasty. If it's called something else.
I frequent Einstein Bros. because they give me coupons twice a month for free bagels and free coffee. And their green chili bagel is super delicious. But I never, ever get a bagel schmeared with something. I like cream cheese. I probably would like all of their different schmears. But the fact that they are called "schmear" is an awful marketing move.
They even have a giant poster of a bald man scratching his head wearing a "Carpe Shmearem" apron with the caption, "So Many Shmears, So Little Time."
I just can't bring myself to think about where he's harvesting all of these shmears.
Gross.
Maybe we should start a petition to help them better market their cream cheese spreads.
Seriously.
I am not trying to be disgusting, but who can possibly put white goo on a bagel that has the same name as a yearly vag scraping?
Don't act like you don't have the same correlation in your brain whenever you go to the bagel place. You do. You just shove it down so that you can stomach it, because, let's face it, schmear is tasty. If it's called something else.
I frequent Einstein Bros. because they give me coupons twice a month for free bagels and free coffee. And their green chili bagel is super delicious. But I never, ever get a bagel schmeared with something. I like cream cheese. I probably would like all of their different schmears. But the fact that they are called "schmear" is an awful marketing move.
They even have a giant poster of a bald man scratching his head wearing a "Carpe Shmearem" apron with the caption, "So Many Shmears, So Little Time."
I just can't bring myself to think about where he's harvesting all of these shmears.
Gross.
Maybe we should start a petition to help them better market their cream cheese spreads.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
On Being a Cheerleader...
So, I just posted about my friend, Marz, being like my own personal cheerleader, and I realized, I have several of those in my life, and that characteristic of telling another person that they are really good at something is kind of hard to come by, and it's really hard to have without someone else's support....
What I mean to say is... When someone else sees something good in me, I am better able to see the good in others and say it out loud. When no one sees the good in me, I, not only see the negative in myself, I also see the negative things in others, even if there is mostly good.
And I have a few awesome "good-seers" for friends, like, Kelly Jones-Wagy, who makes me do stuff I wouldn't do unless she told me I could... like competing in a triathlon, which I now love and want everyone I know to compete in one with me. She's always telling me how awesome my kids are and how awesome of a writer I am and all this stuff that I doubt about myself and my abilities...
Or, Caroline, who is always begging me to put the work in to get published.
Or Kimi, who can't believe that I would 'just make bread from scratch.'
Or my neighbor, Ali, who can't believe I would 'just invite (her) over for dinner because (she) is a new neighbor and that's just so nice.'
Or Wandee who tells me I'm amazing for helping her when I come over to her house, eat her food, and glue on six ribbons to an insanely beautiful set-up of bird-house nests and decorations and ridiculously intricate cake details that she created. Or who calls me for the SOLE REASON of telling me that I looked amazing when she saw me earlier that day.... WHO DOES THAT?! Wandee does.
Or my sister-in-law, Lisa, who tells me every time she sees me that she applies the "What would Emma do?" method to her parenting, when I have never ever had to do many of the things she's had to do as a parent, and I'm sure I wouldn't handle them with nearly the grace and gratitude that she has...
Or my other sister-in-law, Melissa, who always tells me if my butt's smaller or my hair's cuter than last time she saw me when she is clearly way more hip and stylish in her 30s than I have ever been in my whole life.
And I could go on and on..
What a cool thing that I have so many cool women in my life that are such great "seers of good," "noticers of effort."
And yet, I am not a "seer of good" myself. Most of the time, I am telling myself how pathetic I am because I don't get the dishes or laundry done. (Newsflash, neither are ever done.) Or how incapable I am because I didn't call the doctor to reschedule this or get that chapter written or call that friend to tell her it was going to be okay or put that away or go on that hike in 5 years or finish that degree or make that child poop in the potty every time or...
And I think I'm not accomplishing anything because there is no clear beginning, middle, and end to anything I do currently. But... I guess, maybe I'm just in the middle of everything that I began a long time ago and there is no end in sight. This is really hard for me for some reason.
I am writing a book. I think I started it 3 years ago in my mind, and I have no idea when it will be finished.
I am working out. I will never be done working out, and the idea of "reaching a 'goal weight'" is nowhere in sight.
I am researching. I am not sure where it is going or what I am hoping to learn, but I'm reading and looking up stuff and learning new things.
I am parenting. The boys are not perfect. They are not awful. And what they are is not even an indicator of who I am, which is hard to understand.
I am working. I travel all over the "Great State of Texas" (Great is, of course, referring to size;) training teachers.
I am cooking. Generally 3 meals a day, 7 days a week.
I am cleaning... when I am not so angry about the fact that nothing ever stays clean, to actually go through with cleaning it.
I am writing poetry at least once a month when I remember to respond to the prompt Bill sends to me.
I am harvesting a garden.
I started a writer's group.
I am going to present to a group of MOPS moms in two weeks on my eventual book...
I am scheduling playdates.
I am volunteering at Danny's school.
I am being a nurse to an almost 2-year-old with a broken arm
I am planning two vacations and parties.
I am attempting to be a good wife, sister, friend, niece...
Could it be possible that I have completely unrealistic expectations for myself? Because I get mad at myself for dropping things or having to reschedule things or forgetting that I made that plan with this person or this didn't get cleaned or put away...
And I think I should be able to do it all... And I think everyone in my immediate circle either 1)IS DOING everything that I can't do a good job doing or 2) SHOULD BE ABLE to do everything that I expect myself to be able to do.
Weird. And totally not fair.
I guess, maybe the point is that I should be a better "good-seer" to others, and maybe my expectations will be more realistic, and my recognition of things deserving of a compliment or helping hand will be better. And that makes every relationship I have more positive and... more fun.
And I am always up for more fun.... Give me an "F"! Give me a "U"! Give me an "N"!...
(I started writing it and wanted to end at the "U", but then I realized I was asking for an "F-U." and that's just not good.)
I'm going to make a conscious effort to see more cool things in others, especially those who I usually have unrealistic expectations for.
Anybody up for trying this experiment with me?
What I mean to say is... When someone else sees something good in me, I am better able to see the good in others and say it out loud. When no one sees the good in me, I, not only see the negative in myself, I also see the negative things in others, even if there is mostly good.
And I have a few awesome "good-seers" for friends, like, Kelly Jones-Wagy, who makes me do stuff I wouldn't do unless she told me I could... like competing in a triathlon, which I now love and want everyone I know to compete in one with me. She's always telling me how awesome my kids are and how awesome of a writer I am and all this stuff that I doubt about myself and my abilities...
Or, Caroline, who is always begging me to put the work in to get published.
Or Kimi, who can't believe that I would 'just make bread from scratch.'
Or my neighbor, Ali, who can't believe I would 'just invite (her) over for dinner because (she) is a new neighbor and that's just so nice.'
Or Wandee who tells me I'm amazing for helping her when I come over to her house, eat her food, and glue on six ribbons to an insanely beautiful set-up of bird-house nests and decorations and ridiculously intricate cake details that she created. Or who calls me for the SOLE REASON of telling me that I looked amazing when she saw me earlier that day.... WHO DOES THAT?! Wandee does.
Or my sister-in-law, Lisa, who tells me every time she sees me that she applies the "What would Emma do?" method to her parenting, when I have never ever had to do many of the things she's had to do as a parent, and I'm sure I wouldn't handle them with nearly the grace and gratitude that she has...
Or my other sister-in-law, Melissa, who always tells me if my butt's smaller or my hair's cuter than last time she saw me when she is clearly way more hip and stylish in her 30s than I have ever been in my whole life.
And I could go on and on..
What a cool thing that I have so many cool women in my life that are such great "seers of good," "noticers of effort."
And yet, I am not a "seer of good" myself. Most of the time, I am telling myself how pathetic I am because I don't get the dishes or laundry done. (Newsflash, neither are ever done.) Or how incapable I am because I didn't call the doctor to reschedule this or get that chapter written or call that friend to tell her it was going to be okay or put that away or go on that hike in 5 years or finish that degree or make that child poop in the potty every time or...
And I think I'm not accomplishing anything because there is no clear beginning, middle, and end to anything I do currently. But... I guess, maybe I'm just in the middle of everything that I began a long time ago and there is no end in sight. This is really hard for me for some reason.
I am writing a book. I think I started it 3 years ago in my mind, and I have no idea when it will be finished.
I am working out. I will never be done working out, and the idea of "reaching a 'goal weight'" is nowhere in sight.
I am researching. I am not sure where it is going or what I am hoping to learn, but I'm reading and looking up stuff and learning new things.
I am parenting. The boys are not perfect. They are not awful. And what they are is not even an indicator of who I am, which is hard to understand.
I am working. I travel all over the "Great State of Texas" (Great is, of course, referring to size;) training teachers.
I am cooking. Generally 3 meals a day, 7 days a week.
I am cleaning... when I am not so angry about the fact that nothing ever stays clean, to actually go through with cleaning it.
I am writing poetry at least once a month when I remember to respond to the prompt Bill sends to me.
I am harvesting a garden.
I started a writer's group.
I am going to present to a group of MOPS moms in two weeks on my eventual book...
I am scheduling playdates.
I am volunteering at Danny's school.
I am being a nurse to an almost 2-year-old with a broken arm
I am planning two vacations and parties.
I am attempting to be a good wife, sister, friend, niece...
Could it be possible that I have completely unrealistic expectations for myself? Because I get mad at myself for dropping things or having to reschedule things or forgetting that I made that plan with this person or this didn't get cleaned or put away...
And I think I should be able to do it all... And I think everyone in my immediate circle either 1)IS DOING everything that I can't do a good job doing or 2) SHOULD BE ABLE to do everything that I expect myself to be able to do.
Weird. And totally not fair.
I guess, maybe the point is that I should be a better "good-seer" to others, and maybe my expectations will be more realistic, and my recognition of things deserving of a compliment or helping hand will be better. And that makes every relationship I have more positive and... more fun.
And I am always up for more fun.... Give me an "F"! Give me a "U"! Give me an "N"!...
(I started writing it and wanted to end at the "U", but then I realized I was asking for an "F-U." and that's just not good.)
I'm going to make a conscious effort to see more cool things in others, especially those who I usually have unrealistic expectations for.
Anybody up for trying this experiment with me?
Friday, October 7, 2011
My BFF is a Good Egg.
My best girl friend has two cats, two dogs, and two chickens. I have no animals in my house. At all. At least, not on purpose.
My best girl friend has no children. I have two.
My best girl friend is single. I am most definitely, without a doubt, married.
My best girl friend enjoys pretty much every activity and supports every cause I used to support in my pre-mommy life. I don't think I actively pursue any cause except my children's appropriate up-bringing, and I don't consistently do anything I used to love and live to do.
Some days I am envious of the life she has. I miss hiking and playing in the mountains. I miss eating vegetables for dinner without someone else wondering, "Uh, no meat?". I miss having the time and energy to devote to reading and creating and spending an hour over coffee in the morning with a good book or a journal...
I remember when I thought being a stay at home mommy would afford me that time.
I remember when I thought being a stay at home mommy would afford me the time to do everything I ever wanted to do.
It's funny, those things that make us friends. Things like mutual interests (in the case of Marz and I) good conversation, good coffee, mountain adventure, travel, good books, creativity... What's more interesting is what makes two people stay friends. I still love all of those things, but I only experience one of them on a regular basis-- good coffee. (Yes, I "travel" a lot for work, but since it's always to Houston and I can't stand Houston, it doesn't really count.) And let me tell you, I LOVE my coffee time. But what is it that makes two people stay friends?
Marz and I are very similar creatures. We're both the youngest of 4. We both love to be silly. We both love adventure. We both love to create and look at beautiful things.
When Marz and I first met, we were in "the same place in life." First year in college. First time away from home and independent, etc.
Now, we are seemingly on two completely different planets when it comes to "places in life" and yet, if someone handed me an all expenses paid vacation for one to go anywhere for a week, even though she just left, I would go visit her.
And we never talk on the phone. We don't write many long emails or letters.
But she knows exactly how I take my coffee, and I didn't stress out for even half a second when I didn't have time to clean the bathroom before she came over.
These, to me, are two of the characteristics of an everlasting friendship. 1. A deep understanding of another person's needs and having the ability to meet them. 2. Unconditional acceptance of another person's true self.
This is why friendships last or don't... at least mine.
Even though Marz and I are in pretty different places in our lives, we are still best friends. 12 years later. And she still brings out the best in me. I am more fun when she's around. I'm more inspired. I'm a better writer. I'm more efficient. I like my kids more. I like my husband more. I like Colorado more.
And I don't know if it's because she's like my own personal cheerleader and says things like, "It's amazing that you even have a garden and grow your own tomatoes." (When she basically has an entire vegetable farm, complete with fruit trees and a chicken coop, in her backyard.) or "Wow, your kids hiked 3 miles without complaining or whining." (When she was the one singing them songs or making up games for Daniel to be entertained and modeling an excited and grateful attitude the entire 4 1/2 hours it took to hike about 3 miles and not really get to any actual destination.)
All I know is that she reminds me of one of the coolest and most creative times of my life, and when I hang out with her, I am inspired to be more like her. Except, I don't think I want to own my own chickens, even if they do make great eggs.
My best girl friend has no children. I have two.
My best girl friend is single. I am most definitely, without a doubt, married.
My best girl friend enjoys pretty much every activity and supports every cause I used to support in my pre-mommy life. I don't think I actively pursue any cause except my children's appropriate up-bringing, and I don't consistently do anything I used to love and live to do.
Some days I am envious of the life she has. I miss hiking and playing in the mountains. I miss eating vegetables for dinner without someone else wondering, "Uh, no meat?". I miss having the time and energy to devote to reading and creating and spending an hour over coffee in the morning with a good book or a journal...
I remember when I thought being a stay at home mommy would afford me that time.
I remember when I thought being a stay at home mommy would afford me the time to do everything I ever wanted to do.
It's funny, those things that make us friends. Things like mutual interests (in the case of Marz and I) good conversation, good coffee, mountain adventure, travel, good books, creativity... What's more interesting is what makes two people stay friends. I still love all of those things, but I only experience one of them on a regular basis-- good coffee. (Yes, I "travel" a lot for work, but since it's always to Houston and I can't stand Houston, it doesn't really count.) And let me tell you, I LOVE my coffee time. But what is it that makes two people stay friends?
Marz and I are very similar creatures. We're both the youngest of 4. We both love to be silly. We both love adventure. We both love to create and look at beautiful things.
When Marz and I first met, we were in "the same place in life." First year in college. First time away from home and independent, etc.
Now, we are seemingly on two completely different planets when it comes to "places in life" and yet, if someone handed me an all expenses paid vacation for one to go anywhere for a week, even though she just left, I would go visit her.
And we never talk on the phone. We don't write many long emails or letters.
But she knows exactly how I take my coffee, and I didn't stress out for even half a second when I didn't have time to clean the bathroom before she came over.
These, to me, are two of the characteristics of an everlasting friendship. 1. A deep understanding of another person's needs and having the ability to meet them. 2. Unconditional acceptance of another person's true self.
This is why friendships last or don't... at least mine.
Even though Marz and I are in pretty different places in our lives, we are still best friends. 12 years later. And she still brings out the best in me. I am more fun when she's around. I'm more inspired. I'm a better writer. I'm more efficient. I like my kids more. I like my husband more. I like Colorado more.
And I don't know if it's because she's like my own personal cheerleader and says things like, "It's amazing that you even have a garden and grow your own tomatoes." (When she basically has an entire vegetable farm, complete with fruit trees and a chicken coop, in her backyard.) or "Wow, your kids hiked 3 miles without complaining or whining." (When she was the one singing them songs or making up games for Daniel to be entertained and modeling an excited and grateful attitude the entire 4 1/2 hours it took to hike about 3 miles and not really get to any actual destination.)
All I know is that she reminds me of one of the coolest and most creative times of my life, and when I hang out with her, I am inspired to be more like her. Except, I don't think I want to own my own chickens, even if they do make great eggs.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Monsters vs. Uncle Kenny
Monsters-- 1 dislocated elbow with possible fracture before the age of 2.... worried that I will be on a first name basis with all of the doctors at Children's Hospital before too long because of his complete disregard for safety.
Uncle Kenny-- Dislocated shoulder in high school, had more stitches than I can count, broken back, broken arm because he thought he could fly like Superman...
Monsters-- Gets away with everything because he makes his mama laugh.
Uncle Kenny-- Gets away with everything because he makes everybody laugh.
Monsters-- Stops everything and pumps his fist when he hears the U of M fight song.
Uncle Kenny-- Loves U of M Football.
Monsters-- Has a million nicknames.
Uncle Kenny-- Has a million nicknames.
Monsters--has a squishy nose.
Uncle Kenny-- has a squishy nose.
Monsters-- 97th percentile in height, 90th in weight for his age group
Uncle Kenny---...Let's just say they have similar body types.
Monsters--Loves to sit on the couch and watch football.
Uncle Kenny-- Loves to sit on the couch and watch football.
Monsters-- Wakes up in the morning or from nap and says, "Jooose." (Juice)
Uncle Kenny-- Used to wake up every morning and say, "Jooose."
Not sure whether he's so much like Kenny Nolan because he is named Nolan or if we just named him the right name cause we knew before he was born. Whatever the case may be, it is starting to freak me out that Nolan and Kenny Nolan are so much alike.
Uncle Kenny-- Dislocated shoulder in high school, had more stitches than I can count, broken back, broken arm because he thought he could fly like Superman...
Monsters-- Gets away with everything because he makes his mama laugh.
Uncle Kenny-- Gets away with everything because he makes everybody laugh.
Monsters-- Stops everything and pumps his fist when he hears the U of M fight song.
Uncle Kenny-- Loves U of M Football.
Monsters-- Has a million nicknames.
Uncle Kenny-- Has a million nicknames.
Monsters--has a squishy nose.
Uncle Kenny-- has a squishy nose.
Monsters-- 97th percentile in height, 90th in weight for his age group
Uncle Kenny---...Let's just say they have similar body types.
Monsters--Loves to sit on the couch and watch football.
Uncle Kenny-- Loves to sit on the couch and watch football.
Monsters-- Wakes up in the morning or from nap and says, "Jooose." (Juice)
Uncle Kenny-- Used to wake up every morning and say, "Jooose."
Not sure whether he's so much like Kenny Nolan because he is named Nolan or if we just named him the right name cause we knew before he was born. Whatever the case may be, it is starting to freak me out that Nolan and Kenny Nolan are so much alike.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Quiet+ Happy+ Kids+ Out of Mom's Sight= TROUBLE
I'm not sure when I will learn that quiet children playing upstairs does not mean that I can accomplish something in the rest of the house. A while back, it was too quiet upstairs, and Nolan was nowhere to be found. I looked and looked, and suddenly I heard a sound like a little mouse in Daniel's toy bin. This is what I found:
No big deal, just kinda cute, but trapped in a baseball toy bin.
But there have been times when poop is involved and gets quietly smeared on as many surfaces as possible, even on surfaces I never knew were possible poop-receiving surfaces. Sneaky quiet poop smearing is the worst. Makes for an angry mama.
Yesterday, I hear giggling and giggling and giggling. I think the boys are just being silly in Daniel's room, and I run downstairs to throw a load of laundry in the washer. Then I hear a thud and more giggles. And a bigger crash and more giggles. And finally, as I'm calmly walking upstairs to see what mess these boys have caused, I hear Daniel yelling "Waaa Whooooa, Help us.... giggle giggle."
So I open up the bathroom door, take a step inside, slide completely across the bathroom floor waving my arms around in circles like I'm in a cartoon and fall flat on my butt. I look at the boys, and we all just about die laughing. We are laughing so hard no one can successfully stand, and the expectation I had of being completely ticked off by the mess I was going to have to clean up was erased in about a millisecond because of the hilarity of the three of us on this soap-covered floor. Here is some of the chaos:
I was super grateful that all we had to clean up was soap!
But... it reaffirmed my suspicions that Daniel will never be able to get away with anything. He will pay fully for every mistake he makes, every mess he creates, and he will continue to be a perfectionist because of it. There may have been a few times that he was too cute to punish-- like the time Jeff and my dad were installing new light fixtures in our kitchen, and they set the old round white one on a box on the floor. Daniel took one look at it, ran over to it, yelled, "Ball!!!" He had a huge grin on his face when he lifted it up over his head and threw it onto the kitchen floor. Shards of glass everywhere. He had been so proud of that "ball." But this is definitely not the norm for him.
Nolan, on the other hand, hardly ever gets into trouble because the darned kid just makes me laugh. Just like Uncle Kenny has always done. Especially when he's getting himself into trouble. Nolan is cute when he throws a fit. It is hilarious. He just pouts, and his whole body goes completely limp, and he flops on the floor. Or he smacks himself in the face repeatedly, which is just hilarious. And when he doesn't do what I'm asking him to do, it's usually because he's doing something cute like this:
Or this:
I don't know if I'll ever learn that quiet kids are "getting into trouble kids," but I have already learned that sometimes making a huge mess is just too much fun to be a punishable offence.
And... if you've never tried pouring an entire bottle of liquid soap on your bathroom floor. It's a hoot. You can borrow my toddler to dump it on your floor sometime.
Happy bubbling;)
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Fall Family Fun...
Fall is my favorite time of year. Every time I say something about how I love Fall, Jeff starts whining about how much better Summer is, and how Fall sucks. And it's just not true. Fall is wonderful, and I think I feel this way because my family was always more of a family in the Fall than any other time of year.
1. Football. Right now, Jeff is laying on the couch downstairs watching football on Sunday afternoon. Is there really any other thing that a man should be doing on a Sunday afternoon? There is something so very very homey and wonderful about a home in the fall on a weekend with a football game on tv. It just soothes my soul.
2. Apples, Apple Orchards, Pumpkin Patches, Family Fall Fun Day... I remember going to Keeney Apple Orchard with the Pittmans when I was a kid to pick apples. All of my brothers would whine about it, and I would too, but it was the best. Apple Cider and Doughnuts. Climbing trees and wearing hooded sweatshirts. My brothers bombing each other from their own respective trees with rotten apples...
So, even when I was in college, I knew that I wanted to have Fall traditions, so I would make my roommates go on Fall Fun Day Adventures with me. We would go pick apples at an orchard, hike through the ravines on GV's campus, and then we would bake. Apple crisp, apple cake, apple pie, apple pancakes...
And now, the Coloradohoos (Colorado Donehoos... get it?) are continuing with the Fall Family Fun by taking a Fall weekend getaway to the other side of the state. Last year, we went to an Apple Festival with our friends from Grand Junction. This year, it was a fun trip to Glenwood Springs for some cabin camping and Hot Springs soaking. Here are some pics:
1. Football. Right now, Jeff is laying on the couch downstairs watching football on Sunday afternoon. Is there really any other thing that a man should be doing on a Sunday afternoon? There is something so very very homey and wonderful about a home in the fall on a weekend with a football game on tv. It just soothes my soul.
2. Apples, Apple Orchards, Pumpkin Patches, Family Fall Fun Day... I remember going to Keeney Apple Orchard with the Pittmans when I was a kid to pick apples. All of my brothers would whine about it, and I would too, but it was the best. Apple Cider and Doughnuts. Climbing trees and wearing hooded sweatshirts. My brothers bombing each other from their own respective trees with rotten apples...
So, even when I was in college, I knew that I wanted to have Fall traditions, so I would make my roommates go on Fall Fun Day Adventures with me. We would go pick apples at an orchard, hike through the ravines on GV's campus, and then we would bake. Apple crisp, apple cake, apple pie, apple pancakes...
And now, the Coloradohoos (Colorado Donehoos... get it?) are continuing with the Fall Family Fun by taking a Fall weekend getaway to the other side of the state. Last year, we went to an Apple Festival with our friends from Grand Junction. This year, it was a fun trip to Glenwood Springs for some cabin camping and Hot Springs soaking. Here are some pics:
Top Bunk!!!
I never knew Doc Holliday died in Glenwood Springs, but it turns out he wanted some mountain gear and died while shopping for it.
Awe.
My "boss" demanded planking pics, so I one-upped and gave her an owling as well.
Jeff introduces Daniel's new friend to horse-manning.
After a soak in the hot springs.
September 24th at 5,800 ft. elevation.
Monsters.
Cookie Monsters Ice Cream face. Happy.
Happy Fall All!
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