Andrew talked about this a couple of weeks ago on his vlog, that no matter how many square feet of living space we have, our kids always seem to follow us around the house and cram into whatever room we're in.
We picked this home for the reasons that it had enough bedrooms to accommodate our blended family of eight as well as the advantage of having a rec room in the basement for where the kids could all hang out together (read: GIVE US FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD). Yeah, sure, they hang out downstairs in the rec room from time to time to play gruesome murder video games or to have the occasional standoff at air hockey, but for the most part they're well, wherever we are. And yes, that includes the toilet.
Andrew and I were cooing at Callum while he was splashing in the bathtub (Callum, not Andrew) and then Freddy sauntered in to ask me to look over his math worksheets. Shortly after that Katie waltzed in to get me to sign her planner for school and then Ethan followed them both in to see what the fuss was about. So at one time we had six people all crammed into our bathroom, happily, which was nice, as nobody was fighting at that particular moment so we can't really complain. But STILL.
I just think it's so ironic that people search high and low for that perfect home with an added rec room or space to accommodate a play area for the kids but then once we're settled, that play area becomes cold and drenched in the cobwebs of un-use.
I guess it just proves that humans are created for communion, for connection. That as we grow older, through years of experience and pain and hurt we start to put up emotional barriers and isolate ourselves further into independence. Being alone is not how we are wired but instead how we are misfired. It's not right. It's off. And so we constantly yearn for that connection but with our arms protectively outstretched in a manner of stay away, not too close, and then before too long we are alone in our mancave or alone in our living room and we wonder why our children, our own primal beings follow us into the bathroom where they can just breathe in the air we breathe out.
And we wonder why. But we know. Because at the core of who we are, we want that too.
Showing posts with label perspective. Show all posts
Showing posts with label perspective. Show all posts
Friday, December 5, 2014
Friday, November 28, 2014
BFF: Heat Rises
We see a family counselor to help us with healthy family management and he told us that discipline without relationship can be destructive. That the relationship needs to be at the same level as the discipline level. The first level (babysitters, distant aunts, etc) is where kids get away with farts and saying "shut up" and eating whipping cream and chocolate chips for dinner. Instead of being banished to their rooms for such behaviour, they are allowed to stay up late watching movies with swear words. But in this level there is also not a whole lot of bonding, or relationship.
As the levels climb we find more long-term type relationships with more conflict, but more hugs (grandparents, close family and friends). Each decision these caregivers make regarding their relationship with the kids has an impact on their lives forever--not just the next hour and a half. So they invest more energy into helping them grow into healthy people, even if it means a little discipline here and there. This is where the kids are forced to eat their vegetables, where they're disciplined for talking back, and reprimanded for farting at the table. But it's also where the caregivers show up to soccer games in the wind and rain during the only free time they've had all week. It's where the kids know they're safe enough to cry and pour out their hearts.
The parents are found in the top levels. This is where we find the most love, and the most mess. Poopy diapers don't make us gag because in this level, love dulls the stink. It's in these parts where there is a divide between a stepparent and a biological parent but over time, this is also where the most growth happens. It's a delicate balance on a relational tightrope and one false move can cause a lot of pain. But as we wade through each mess together, if we handle it well, we become closer and closer.
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Nutella on the Light Switch
Do jerks know they're jerks? Like, when someone does something really awful and mean or stupid or lazy, do they know it whether or not they admit it? And let's say they deny it. They deny that they said something mean or did something stupid. Is it up to us to let them know that we know even if they won't admit it? Is it up to us to call them out? Because will they really be receptive to us? I say no. Because if they were receptive to us then they would be self-aware enough to know that acted like jerks in the first place.
Calling them out is a waste of time. Maybe it will make us feel better in the moment but it does nothing to change them or their behaviour. Only they are in charge of their choices; we can only control our reactions to them. If they're ever going to admit they screwed up it will be on their own clock, not ours. And ironically, by us calling them out, we tend to delay any chances of them changing anyway.
I have a guilty pleasure. I love it when Callum wakes up in the middle of the night to nurse because then I can come downstairs in the peace and quiet, sit at the table and have a snack. When he sleeps through the night, I'll wake up in the morning and feel a bit ripped off that I didn't get the chance to have that secret alone time. I usually have a bowl of cereal or some yogurt and granola but last night I had a plate of crackers and Nutella (chocolate hazelnut spread). This morning I went into the pantry to grab some stuff for breakfast and I noticed a smear of Nutella on the light switch and it made me think of what I was saying before about when people are jerks. That whatever we do, however we act and whatever we say always comes back around. We think just because we deny that we did anything wrong, that it must mean that we didn't do anything wrong. That if we eat Nutella in the dark, that when morning comes it will be as if it never happened.
But both always leave a mark.
Calling them out is a waste of time. Maybe it will make us feel better in the moment but it does nothing to change them or their behaviour. Only they are in charge of their choices; we can only control our reactions to them. If they're ever going to admit they screwed up it will be on their own clock, not ours. And ironically, by us calling them out, we tend to delay any chances of them changing anyway.
I have a guilty pleasure. I love it when Callum wakes up in the middle of the night to nurse because then I can come downstairs in the peace and quiet, sit at the table and have a snack. When he sleeps through the night, I'll wake up in the morning and feel a bit ripped off that I didn't get the chance to have that secret alone time. I usually have a bowl of cereal or some yogurt and granola but last night I had a plate of crackers and Nutella (chocolate hazelnut spread). This morning I went into the pantry to grab some stuff for breakfast and I noticed a smear of Nutella on the light switch and it made me think of what I was saying before about when people are jerks. That whatever we do, however we act and whatever we say always comes back around. We think just because we deny that we did anything wrong, that it must mean that we didn't do anything wrong. That if we eat Nutella in the dark, that when morning comes it will be as if it never happened.
But both always leave a mark.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Communion
Tonight's journal entry, bravely copied and pasted here for the world to see. I hope my writing helps you more than it hinders me. I hope my transparency inspires vulnerability and therefore love. That's my hope.
This is my safe zone, a place where I don't have to edit who I am and so tonight, with the candle's flames licking my eyes, glazed over from too little sleep and too much emotional drama, I put down my running shoes and instead, I write. Pearl Jam's "Garden" and a small cup of scotch keeps me warm, but my toes still tattle on the chill of adrenalin in my body.
Marriage is hard. Blended family life is harder. I am a strong woman, and even my own knees sway from time to time after a gust of whatthefuck passes through. I actually don't even know where to start except to say that if I learn anything from this season of my life, besides all the practical knowledge I'm stocking up on in regards to blended families, divorces, second marriages, stepkids, etc etc, it's that everyone has a story. Everyone has pain of some sort burbling below the surface. It's either old pain or new, scabbed over or fresh, but it's there.
And we have two choices: either go it alone, or go it with other(s). And although being alone certainly has its place in my life, I do know that I want love. I need connection. And that being closed off and pretending everything is perfect is not the way to get it.
This is. Being vulnerable and open and receptive. And no, I don't need a bunch of head-petting and casseroles, no. I just need to be heard. And then I want to hear you back, and then I want to run.
This is my safe zone, a place where I don't have to edit who I am and so tonight, with the candle's flames licking my eyes, glazed over from too little sleep and too much emotional drama, I put down my running shoes and instead, I write. Pearl Jam's "Garden" and a small cup of scotch keeps me warm, but my toes still tattle on the chill of adrenalin in my body.
Marriage is hard. Blended family life is harder. I am a strong woman, and even my own knees sway from time to time after a gust of whatthefuck passes through. I actually don't even know where to start except to say that if I learn anything from this season of my life, besides all the practical knowledge I'm stocking up on in regards to blended families, divorces, second marriages, stepkids, etc etc, it's that everyone has a story. Everyone has pain of some sort burbling below the surface. It's either old pain or new, scabbed over or fresh, but it's there.
And we have two choices: either go it alone, or go it with other(s). And although being alone certainly has its place in my life, I do know that I want love. I need connection. And that being closed off and pretending everything is perfect is not the way to get it.
This is. Being vulnerable and open and receptive. And no, I don't need a bunch of head-petting and casseroles, no. I just need to be heard. And then I want to hear you back, and then I want to run.
Friday, October 24, 2014
BFF (Blended Family Friday)
When most people find out that we have a blended family of eight, the first question they ask us is if our kids all get along. At first we felt pressured to not only lie and say yes, (ha!) but then to somehow force everyone to be happy together. But then we were like, wait. What? Do blood siblings of regular typical families all get along? I know two brothers who fought each other to the near-death while they were growing up and now they're in their forties and closer than ever. Andrew will tell you that he drove his sister nearly mad, taunting and antagonizing her, but was their family life a flop? No. Not at all!
Fighting is normal and expected in every family, however, there needs to be a foundation of love and respect, and that takes time. It also takes trial and error, hurt feelings and sore shoulders, but at the end of the day, each sibling needs to have the other one's back, in some capacity or another.
The more people in the family means more issues and more work, sure. But more people in the family also means more opportunities for learning, and more rewards. There are growing pains, but we can either focus on the word "growing" or the word "pain." I recently read somewhere that divorce doesn't really end family life; it just reorganizes it.
Fridays will be the days that I focus on our blended family. I'll write about everything from our struggles to our favourite recipes that feed a bazillion people for cheap.
Enjoy the show!
Fighting is normal and expected in every family, however, there needs to be a foundation of love and respect, and that takes time. It also takes trial and error, hurt feelings and sore shoulders, but at the end of the day, each sibling needs to have the other one's back, in some capacity or another.
The more people in the family means more issues and more work, sure. But more people in the family also means more opportunities for learning, and more rewards. There are growing pains, but we can either focus on the word "growing" or the word "pain." I recently read somewhere that divorce doesn't really end family life; it just reorganizes it.
Fridays will be the days that I focus on our blended family. I'll write about everything from our struggles to our favourite recipes that feed a bazillion people for cheap.
Enjoy the show!
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Hold Strong
Anyone who knows me knows about my eating habits; they are not pretty. I was a vegetarian in high school; I stayed away from meat and stuck with ketchup chips and chocolate bars. Not much has changed, except with the necessary addition of chicken wings and cheeseburgers.
However, from time to time when circumstances would force me to change my habits, I would collapse at the mercy of my nutritionist, Brenda, and she would save me. When my dad got diagnosed with colo-rectal cancer, Brenda set me up with a colon cleanse. When heavy doses of antibiotics threw my body into yeast-overload, she armed me with everything I needed to get my body back into balance.
Brenda has the most amazing skin. I stand there in her office, my armpits sweating, feeling pathetic and hopeless and she puts me at ease with her soothing voice, her radiant smile and most importantly, her knowledge of the human body. One of the tests she uses on me is what I call the "hold strong" test. If she wants to see if I'm lacking in say, vitamin C, she will put a bottle of it in my hand while my arm is flexed and she tells me to "hold strong" while she pushes down on my forearm. The theory is if I am needing the vitamin C, I won't be able to hold strong; my arm will give easily to her pressure. And if my body is all stocked up then my arm will not give. It will hold strong.
During the toughest time of my life I would have that phrase put into my mind and heart several times a day. Like, Suzy? Take this. Yes. Now hold strong.
Okay, I'm getting all choked up.
I will take whatever life chooses to put in my hands. And I'll hold it, I'll take it, I'll let it move through me and for me and against me like a cancer and a cure and then I will grow from it. I will survive it.
And the next time I am handed something hard to hold, I will be able to hold on that much stronger.
However, from time to time when circumstances would force me to change my habits, I would collapse at the mercy of my nutritionist, Brenda, and she would save me. When my dad got diagnosed with colo-rectal cancer, Brenda set me up with a colon cleanse. When heavy doses of antibiotics threw my body into yeast-overload, she armed me with everything I needed to get my body back into balance.
Brenda has the most amazing skin. I stand there in her office, my armpits sweating, feeling pathetic and hopeless and she puts me at ease with her soothing voice, her radiant smile and most importantly, her knowledge of the human body. One of the tests she uses on me is what I call the "hold strong" test. If she wants to see if I'm lacking in say, vitamin C, she will put a bottle of it in my hand while my arm is flexed and she tells me to "hold strong" while she pushes down on my forearm. The theory is if I am needing the vitamin C, I won't be able to hold strong; my arm will give easily to her pressure. And if my body is all stocked up then my arm will not give. It will hold strong.
During the toughest time of my life I would have that phrase put into my mind and heart several times a day. Like, Suzy? Take this. Yes. Now hold strong.
Okay, I'm getting all choked up.
I will take whatever life chooses to put in my hands. And I'll hold it, I'll take it, I'll let it move through me and for me and against me like a cancer and a cure and then I will grow from it. I will survive it.
And the next time I am handed something hard to hold, I will be able to hold on that much stronger.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Crackerjacks
When I was a little girl my mom and dad would take me to the Vancouver Canadiens baseball games and there, during particularly tense moments I'd hunch over, my tailbone digging into the plastic chair and I'd focus on my thumbnail, of all things. I'd lose myself inside of it, envisioning the pitcher whipping one right down the chute and then the batter whacking it out of the park. Weird, eh? Ya.
I have a strong will. I've always figured that if I wanted something bad enough that I would just get it. If I could only draw up every last drop of internal energy and squeeeeeeze it out as magic potion into whatever situation that needed it then I would be able to save it all, steering the wheel of the ship away from its demise. From time to time it would work as I envisioned it inside of my thumbnail; the good guys would hit a home run and win the game. But most of the time I have to face reality: I'm not God. And that sucks.
I'd like to say that if I was God, I'd run a perfectly painless world. But we all know that beauty comes out of ashes, flowers grow where dirt once was, and grace grows in the cracks. Right? A lot of the treasures in our lives exist because of the mistakes we first made. Our present situations, although at times uncomfortable, can be redeemed with Love. So maybe, just maybe, I could stop looking down at my own strong will and instead look up and just enjoy the game. Plus, I'm sure the people sitting closest to me would appreciate it if I stopped focusing on my thumbnail and passed the popcorn already.
I have a strong will. I've always figured that if I wanted something bad enough that I would just get it. If I could only draw up every last drop of internal energy and squeeeeeeze it out as magic potion into whatever situation that needed it then I would be able to save it all, steering the wheel of the ship away from its demise. From time to time it would work as I envisioned it inside of my thumbnail; the good guys would hit a home run and win the game. But most of the time I have to face reality: I'm not God. And that sucks.
I'd like to say that if I was God, I'd run a perfectly painless world. But we all know that beauty comes out of ashes, flowers grow where dirt once was, and grace grows in the cracks. Right? A lot of the treasures in our lives exist because of the mistakes we first made. Our present situations, although at times uncomfortable, can be redeemed with Love. So maybe, just maybe, I could stop looking down at my own strong will and instead look up and just enjoy the game. Plus, I'm sure the people sitting closest to me would appreciate it if I stopped focusing on my thumbnail and passed the popcorn already.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
SSBB
I took the kids to the pool last night and while we were piling our sweaty bodies out of the van, Katie and I said something at the exact same time, so she shouts out in a panic, "JINX ROOF!" and I'm all, "what?" and she's like, "if we say something at the same time and someone says 'jinx' first, I can reply with 'jinx roof' and then I win, and they can't speak until I say their name."
That is just way too much control for an nine year-old to possess. But it reminded me of when I was her age and the games we used to play. Not 'doctor' you sickos. We played Super Sonic Bounce Back.
When we were tucked into our tiny metal desks, being fed some bullshit about long division, one of us predictably got bored and stirred up some chaos. Notes were passed, a couple kids farted, and we could always count on some bully to call someone a name of some sort: "You're such a LOOOOO-ZERRRRR, Bobby!" or "How did you ever fit that McFat ass in that desk, Betty!"
Apparently I'm so old that my classmates names were Bobby and Betty. Awesome.
If Bobby and Betty were on their game, they would have anticipated the verbal assault and had written in permanent ink on their palms: "SSBB" so that when someone calls them an idiot, they could simply throw their hand in their opponent's face and point to the letters, proclaiming their own innocence: "Super Sonic Bounce Back! HA HA HA! Looks like your insult bounces off me and goes back to YOU! YOU'RE the idiot NOW!"
It's brilliant.
And it's totally how the real world works, but without the dirty hair and sticky fingers. Well, most of us anyway.
We treat people like shit and it always comes back around. It just does. Call it Karma, call it SSBB, call it John 3:16 but whatever you want to call it, it's always the same: the way we treat others will leave a mark on our own hearts whether we want it to or not. Our own poor choices will hurt others, for sure. But they will disable us. They don't just bounce back; they Super Sonic Bounce Back.
And there's not a single long division lesson on this earth that is more painful than that.
That is just way too much control for an nine year-old to possess. But it reminded me of when I was her age and the games we used to play. Not 'doctor' you sickos. We played Super Sonic Bounce Back.
When we were tucked into our tiny metal desks, being fed some bullshit about long division, one of us predictably got bored and stirred up some chaos. Notes were passed, a couple kids farted, and we could always count on some bully to call someone a name of some sort: "You're such a LOOOOO-ZERRRRR, Bobby!" or "How did you ever fit that McFat ass in that desk, Betty!"
Apparently I'm so old that my classmates names were Bobby and Betty. Awesome.
If Bobby and Betty were on their game, they would have anticipated the verbal assault and had written in permanent ink on their palms: "SSBB" so that when someone calls them an idiot, they could simply throw their hand in their opponent's face and point to the letters, proclaiming their own innocence: "Super Sonic Bounce Back! HA HA HA! Looks like your insult bounces off me and goes back to YOU! YOU'RE the idiot NOW!"
It's brilliant.
And it's totally how the real world works, but without the dirty hair and sticky fingers. Well, most of us anyway.
We treat people like shit and it always comes back around. It just does. Call it Karma, call it SSBB, call it John 3:16 but whatever you want to call it, it's always the same: the way we treat others will leave a mark on our own hearts whether we want it to or not. Our own poor choices will hurt others, for sure. But they will disable us. They don't just bounce back; they Super Sonic Bounce Back.
And there's not a single long division lesson on this earth that is more painful than that.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Magic Trick
On Victoria Day in May, our family of eight, along with Andrew's parents and friends went to the May Day parade in Fort Langley, an annual tradition for the Slane family. As usual, nothing went smoothly for us. Jeebuz turned up the rain dial to a '10' so that we all had to stand out in the torrential downpour for a solid two hours, with a baby. Soaked with cold rain and bad attitudes, we hung around and counted down the seconds until we could jump back into the heated van and fuck off out of there.
Although, Andrew said something that really resonated with me. He reminded me that I wouldn't feel this frustration a couple of days from then. Sticking it out in the chaos and rain and frustratingly bad attitudes would be difficult, yes, but it's short-lived and totally worth it in the big picture.
I know this phenomenon to be true in the running world. Running can sometimes hurt, a lot. But there's a mental muscle that builds endurance and it grows stronger because of the pain of it all. And proving this "big picture" mentality true time and time again helps me to translate it over into my other categories of life as well: family, teenagers, money issues, etc. That some days just absolutely suck. We get served legal papers, or someone gets lice. And in that moment it takes everything in us not to fake an injury and take a cab ride home but we learn that sticking it out, riding the wave, makes us stronger people, better parents, closer friends.
The only time that this phenomenon doesn't work is in Walmart lineups with no Coronas at home. Otherwise, it's golden.
Although, Andrew said something that really resonated with me. He reminded me that I wouldn't feel this frustration a couple of days from then. Sticking it out in the chaos and rain and frustratingly bad attitudes would be difficult, yes, but it's short-lived and totally worth it in the big picture.
I know this phenomenon to be true in the running world. Running can sometimes hurt, a lot. But there's a mental muscle that builds endurance and it grows stronger because of the pain of it all. And proving this "big picture" mentality true time and time again helps me to translate it over into my other categories of life as well: family, teenagers, money issues, etc. That some days just absolutely suck. We get served legal papers, or someone gets lice. And in that moment it takes everything in us not to fake an injury and take a cab ride home but we learn that sticking it out, riding the wave, makes us stronger people, better parents, closer friends.
The only time that this phenomenon doesn't work is in Walmart lineups with no Coronas at home. Otherwise, it's golden.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Time Warped
Kids don't appreciate a lot of things because most of the time, whatever their hearts desire end up on their laps on a silver platter. They don't see the progression from nothing to something. They don't comprehend the work and time and energy and money that it takes to get it there. It just appears.
They keep yelping in frustration from being stuck inside young bodies that so desperately want to grow up, imagining that their lives will become much more pleasurable with each passing year. But instead, what we all know happens, is the reality they face dictates a much bleaker outcome; the older we get, the harder life becomes.
No longer can we rollerblade our summers away. Watermelon stains on our shirts are no longer cute. Work and bills replace endless free time spent building forts, jumping on trampolines, and burning ants with magnifying glasses.
We can't wait to be old enough to have sex, drink, get married, and to have children. And depending on the order of those milestones, one might end up having crossing all four off the list in the same night.
As adults, have we learned anything in our wise old years? Because it seems that we keep putting aside our life right now in hopes for the "one day when" everything will be just right. One day when we have more money. One day when we move to a bigger house. One day when I look good in a bikini. One day when we have kids/the kids are older/the kids leave the house. One day when.
But it's the right now that matters because if we keep living for one day when then we will miss out on right now. Because our older selves tell our children to enjoy the freedom of their younger years. That one day they will be actually be paying $120/hour at a day spa to be "bored", that they would kill for a nap and be counting down the minutes until bedtime. So maybe we should all take our own advice: stop waiting until "one day when" and just live for right now. Besides, it's hard to get a watermelon stain on a bikini.
They keep yelping in frustration from being stuck inside young bodies that so desperately want to grow up, imagining that their lives will become much more pleasurable with each passing year. But instead, what we all know happens, is the reality they face dictates a much bleaker outcome; the older we get, the harder life becomes.
No longer can we rollerblade our summers away. Watermelon stains on our shirts are no longer cute. Work and bills replace endless free time spent building forts, jumping on trampolines, and burning ants with magnifying glasses.
We can't wait to be old enough to have sex, drink, get married, and to have children. And depending on the order of those milestones, one might end up having crossing all four off the list in the same night.
As adults, have we learned anything in our wise old years? Because it seems that we keep putting aside our life right now in hopes for the "one day when" everything will be just right. One day when we have more money. One day when we move to a bigger house. One day when I look good in a bikini. One day when we have kids/the kids are older/the kids leave the house. One day when.
But it's the right now that matters because if we keep living for one day when then we will miss out on right now. Because our older selves tell our children to enjoy the freedom of their younger years. That one day they will be actually be paying $120/hour at a day spa to be "bored", that they would kill for a nap and be counting down the minutes until bedtime. So maybe we should all take our own advice: stop waiting until "one day when" and just live for right now. Besides, it's hard to get a watermelon stain on a bikini.
Friday, May 16, 2014
Airing My Dirty Laundry
We've had a new washer and dryer since we moved into this house in January and it took me until today to realize that there's a "Normal" button on each unit. You see, every day we do at least one load of wash. At least. And each time I've mashed the stinky masses into the wash I've either been forced to choose "Quick Wash" or "Heavy Duty." Quick Wash is a 26 minute cycle while Heavy Duty sucks up an enormous amount of time: 1 hour, 18 minutes. So because I care more about being cheap than I do about being stinky and dirty, I have always chosen the "Quick Wash" button.
This is all not entirely unlike my life. Each time I've come to a fork in the road where the path to the left is "Normal" and the path to the right is "Complicated as Fuck, " I tend to not only swerve to the right but do it at lightening-speed, naked on a rope swing.
However, there are perks to not choosing "Normal." Quick Wash saves water and money despite leaving a few marks. Heavy Duty cleans up the stinkiest of laundry despite sucking up time and energy. Both are rewarding options yet both are not "Normal."
So today, for the first time ever, I noticed that right at the top of each dial in the twelve o'clock noon position is a "Normal" cycle button. I put the laundry through the normal wash cycle and then took it out and put it through the normal dry cycle.
And as predictable as ever, the clothes all got clean in the end.
This is all not entirely unlike my life. Each time I've come to a fork in the road where the path to the left is "Normal" and the path to the right is "Complicated as Fuck, " I tend to not only swerve to the right but do it at lightening-speed, naked on a rope swing.
However, there are perks to not choosing "Normal." Quick Wash saves water and money despite leaving a few marks. Heavy Duty cleans up the stinkiest of laundry despite sucking up time and energy. Both are rewarding options yet both are not "Normal."
So today, for the first time ever, I noticed that right at the top of each dial in the twelve o'clock noon position is a "Normal" cycle button. I put the laundry through the normal wash cycle and then took it out and put it through the normal dry cycle.
And as predictable as ever, the clothes all got clean in the end.
Friday, May 9, 2014
The Three-Legged Race
I spent a lot of my childhood alone. Not in a bad way, no, not at all. It was just the way my sisters and I were spaced out and how they left home early that gave me a lot of time to myself. I often joke about how I'm the youngest child, and a bit of an only child as well and so a product of extreme self-absorption. In fact, most of my writing begins with the word "I." It's all about Suzy. I admit it. I'm self absorbed. I.
But life doesn't work that way. If all I did was talk about myself then I guarantee that most of my friends and family would fuck right off and I'd be forever alone eating whole boxes of Eggo waffles in front of the TV watching Days of Our Lives. But we're created for communion with each other, for community. God must have a sense of humour to give humanity a hefty dose of narcissism with a starving hunger for relationship. It's like we walk around with billboards on our necks proclaiming, "I need you, but piss off!"
We try to do it on our own all the time, don't we? Even as toddlers we'd look up with a scowl at whoever might be helping us and we'd shriek, "I DO MYSELF!" And then we'd cut our finger or tie our shoelaces into 18 different knots.
My conclusion? Don't be alone so much. True, there are a bunch of us who are wired to be alone a little more than the average person but don't play that card so often that you lose out on community. In a three-legged race, two people move forward a lot slower than they would separately but they cross the finish line together. We fumble, we fall, and if we're lucky we might even wind up on top of each other in a heap of sweat and rope. There are grass stains and rope burns and sweat marks, but we all have them. Together. And that's all that matters.
But life doesn't work that way. If all I did was talk about myself then I guarantee that most of my friends and family would fuck right off and I'd be forever alone eating whole boxes of Eggo waffles in front of the TV watching Days of Our Lives. But we're created for communion with each other, for community. God must have a sense of humour to give humanity a hefty dose of narcissism with a starving hunger for relationship. It's like we walk around with billboards on our necks proclaiming, "I need you, but piss off!"
We try to do it on our own all the time, don't we? Even as toddlers we'd look up with a scowl at whoever might be helping us and we'd shriek, "I DO MYSELF!" And then we'd cut our finger or tie our shoelaces into 18 different knots.
My conclusion? Don't be alone so much. True, there are a bunch of us who are wired to be alone a little more than the average person but don't play that card so often that you lose out on community. In a three-legged race, two people move forward a lot slower than they would separately but they cross the finish line together. We fumble, we fall, and if we're lucky we might even wind up on top of each other in a heap of sweat and rope. There are grass stains and rope burns and sweat marks, but we all have them. Together. And that's all that matters.
Friday, December 20, 2013
Panty Lines
A long-time friend of mine posted a note on Facebook the other day that read, "One of the greatest freedoms in life is simply not caring what other people think of you." And it made me think.
I know what's she is saying here, I do, and I believe her heart is in the right place. But very few people, if any, can actually NOT care what other people think of us. It's like saying, "One of the greatest freedoms in life is simply not having to go to the bathroom anymore." It's like duh. No shit. Would it be nice? Sure. Is it going to happen? Not as long as we're living.
I've thought about this many, many, many times and I have tried, OH so hard to not care what people think of me. But if I truly didn't care, I'd probably wear full bum underwear under stretchy pants. And when I dropped Special "O" sauce onto my shirt out of my White Spot cheeseburger, I'd rub it in instead of change into something clean. And when I let one go in public, rather than duck behind one of my kids I'd puff out my chest, cup my hands around my mouth and holler, "THAT WAS MEEEEE, BAYBEEEE!!!"
I think what my friend was trying to say is what the doctor and theologian Gerald May once wrote, "self-acceptance is freedom." THAT is where the money is. And to take it even further, Anne Lamott writes in her new book Stitches: "they taught me that maturity is the ability to live with unresolved problems."
So to me, it makes much more sense to strive toward something attainable (such as self-acceptance) rather than something that is impossible to acquire: the skill of not caring what others think. And to accept Self means to accept us Just As We Are Right Now. Not when we're perfect, because that will never happen. But to accept the scar on my nose and my bad choices and my blotchy skin and my quick temper and bouts of emotional immaturity. And because I care about me, and because I care about my family and friends and how I view myself and hold myself up to the world, I hope that I continue this journey of learning and solving problems and resolving conflicts with a clean shirt and no panty lines.
I know what's she is saying here, I do, and I believe her heart is in the right place. But very few people, if any, can actually NOT care what other people think of us. It's like saying, "One of the greatest freedoms in life is simply not having to go to the bathroom anymore." It's like duh. No shit. Would it be nice? Sure. Is it going to happen? Not as long as we're living.
I've thought about this many, many, many times and I have tried, OH so hard to not care what people think of me. But if I truly didn't care, I'd probably wear full bum underwear under stretchy pants. And when I dropped Special "O" sauce onto my shirt out of my White Spot cheeseburger, I'd rub it in instead of change into something clean. And when I let one go in public, rather than duck behind one of my kids I'd puff out my chest, cup my hands around my mouth and holler, "THAT WAS MEEEEE, BAYBEEEE!!!"
I think what my friend was trying to say is what the doctor and theologian Gerald May once wrote, "self-acceptance is freedom." THAT is where the money is. And to take it even further, Anne Lamott writes in her new book Stitches: "they taught me that maturity is the ability to live with unresolved problems."
So to me, it makes much more sense to strive toward something attainable (such as self-acceptance) rather than something that is impossible to acquire: the skill of not caring what others think. And to accept Self means to accept us Just As We Are Right Now. Not when we're perfect, because that will never happen. But to accept the scar on my nose and my bad choices and my blotchy skin and my quick temper and bouts of emotional immaturity. And because I care about me, and because I care about my family and friends and how I view myself and hold myself up to the world, I hope that I continue this journey of learning and solving problems and resolving conflicts with a clean shirt and no panty lines.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Prison Food
Once in a while my dad and I like to hit up this little hole in the wall breakfast spot. We met there this morning and each ordered the Big Breakfast: 3 over-easy eggs, sourdough toast, 4 slices of bacon and a pile of hashbrowns. We proceeded to murder our food, leaving barely a trace of our crime, nearly wiping out our digestive systems with animal fat. My heartrate is still a bit elevated and it's nearly 12 hours later.
Are hashbrowns Canadian? Do people from other countries refer to them as fried potatoes? Jason used to call them hashBROWNS, putting the emphasis on the last syllable which drove me insane because I've always known them to be HASHbrowns. I could never let it go, either. He'd ask about hashBROWNS and I'd reply, "you mean, HASHbrowns?" I'm pretty sure it's not the final reason we pulled the plug but it may have been pretty darn close.
It's like that with everything, though. Right? Each person experiences life differently. Jake begged me to have a boy/girl sleepover tonight, lamenting that "all the other parents let their kids go." Now, obviously over my dead body is Jake going to any sort of co-ed sleepover within the next 40 years and naturally Jake began to lament his current condition, claiming that compared to most kids his age, he has way less freedom.
Thus began our discussion of perspective. What might feel like prison to him is in fact keeping him safe. Just because he feels the cold bars pressed against his face doesn't mean that he's locked up. That one day when he looks back at this moment, he will see himself standing on the freedom side of the bars, rather than the prison side. It's the danger that's locked up, not him.
I think he got it, as much as a 13 year-old boy can get it, for now.
It might taste like freedom. We can gobble up the hashbrowns, but who knows? One day we can look back and see that all we've really been eating is a bunch of fried potatoes.
Are hashbrowns Canadian? Do people from other countries refer to them as fried potatoes? Jason used to call them hashBROWNS, putting the emphasis on the last syllable which drove me insane because I've always known them to be HASHbrowns. I could never let it go, either. He'd ask about hashBROWNS and I'd reply, "you mean, HASHbrowns?" I'm pretty sure it's not the final reason we pulled the plug but it may have been pretty darn close.
It's like that with everything, though. Right? Each person experiences life differently. Jake begged me to have a boy/girl sleepover tonight, lamenting that "all the other parents let their kids go." Now, obviously over my dead body is Jake going to any sort of co-ed sleepover within the next 40 years and naturally Jake began to lament his current condition, claiming that compared to most kids his age, he has way less freedom.
Thus began our discussion of perspective. What might feel like prison to him is in fact keeping him safe. Just because he feels the cold bars pressed against his face doesn't mean that he's locked up. That one day when he looks back at this moment, he will see himself standing on the freedom side of the bars, rather than the prison side. It's the danger that's locked up, not him.
I think he got it, as much as a 13 year-old boy can get it, for now.
It might taste like freedom. We can gobble up the hashbrowns, but who knows? One day we can look back and see that all we've really been eating is a bunch of fried potatoes.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Cat Fight
Kylah had a soccer game in Abbotsford this morning right before Freddy's game at the same field which worked out quite nicely. Ethan, Freddy and I dropped Andrew and Kylah off at her game for her warm-up, and the three of us headed off to Tim Hortons for some breakfast.
I have had the worst pregnant-mama heartburn this side of the Mexican border and so therefore I go to bed hungry in hopes of warding off the horizontal food-burble. I am usually off-my-face starving in the morning but we were in a rush and I hadn't had the chance to eat anything and so by the time we pulled into the Tim Hortons parking lot I was ready to pick off and eat the dried bits of food stuck to the van seats.
Pulling into the parking lot, we noticed that the drive-through lineup was uncharacteristically long so we decided to go inside to get our food. They were out of sausage, so I ordered two bacon and egg sandwiches, some bagels and coffee. We waited through three Christmases for our food to be ready at which point they informed us that they have also run out of bacon. I decided to get my money back and get the hell out of there, but while I was doing the transaction, a lady in the back of the lineup yelled at the top of her lungs (red-faced, protruding forehead vein, balancing on a pair of crutches), "GET TO THE BACK OF THE LINE, BITCH!!!!!!" The whole place went silent. I spun on my heels and took two steps toward her and informed her that I was not budging, but that I was getting my money back for the food I ordered that they didn't have. Keeping her eyes fixed on me, she repeated again, "BITCH." I swear that the only reason she didn't come over and put her fist through my face was because a) she couldn't walk and b) she really wanted her doughnut.
The boys were behind me and knowing that they needed both their food and an intact human being to drive them back to the game, I decided to keep quiet. And where were all the cops, anyway? They're always there when we don't need them but as soon as I lose my bacon and get screamed at, they're nowhere to be found.
You never know who the bad guys are, you know? Like walking through the mall or sitting in a coffee shop. And in fact, we're usually totally wrong when we think we know who people really are. The guy in the trench coat could have just had a laundry day, and the lady living with 148 cats in the feline rescue house probably waxes her bikini line and insists on leather interior.
The other day I mistook a raccoon for a cat scurrying across the road, and this morning at Tim Hortons I mistook a doughnut-crazed woman for a sane person. Despite each animal's similarities, one will leave the other for dead in an instant. And probably all over a fight for some food scraps.
I have had the worst pregnant-mama heartburn this side of the Mexican border and so therefore I go to bed hungry in hopes of warding off the horizontal food-burble. I am usually off-my-face starving in the morning but we were in a rush and I hadn't had the chance to eat anything and so by the time we pulled into the Tim Hortons parking lot I was ready to pick off and eat the dried bits of food stuck to the van seats.
Pulling into the parking lot, we noticed that the drive-through lineup was uncharacteristically long so we decided to go inside to get our food. They were out of sausage, so I ordered two bacon and egg sandwiches, some bagels and coffee. We waited through three Christmases for our food to be ready at which point they informed us that they have also run out of bacon. I decided to get my money back and get the hell out of there, but while I was doing the transaction, a lady in the back of the lineup yelled at the top of her lungs (red-faced, protruding forehead vein, balancing on a pair of crutches), "GET TO THE BACK OF THE LINE, BITCH!!!!!!" The whole place went silent. I spun on my heels and took two steps toward her and informed her that I was not budging, but that I was getting my money back for the food I ordered that they didn't have. Keeping her eyes fixed on me, she repeated again, "BITCH." I swear that the only reason she didn't come over and put her fist through my face was because a) she couldn't walk and b) she really wanted her doughnut.
The boys were behind me and knowing that they needed both their food and an intact human being to drive them back to the game, I decided to keep quiet. And where were all the cops, anyway? They're always there when we don't need them but as soon as I lose my bacon and get screamed at, they're nowhere to be found.
You never know who the bad guys are, you know? Like walking through the mall or sitting in a coffee shop. And in fact, we're usually totally wrong when we think we know who people really are. The guy in the trench coat could have just had a laundry day, and the lady living with 148 cats in the feline rescue house probably waxes her bikini line and insists on leather interior.
The other day I mistook a raccoon for a cat scurrying across the road, and this morning at Tim Hortons I mistook a doughnut-crazed woman for a sane person. Despite each animal's similarities, one will leave the other for dead in an instant. And probably all over a fight for some food scraps.
Friday, October 11, 2013
"What's On Your Mind?"
You know how some people post their status on Facebook ten times a day? I have to admit, it's something I love to hate and hate to love. When I'm stuck in bed wearing fat pants looking like I just got washed up on the banks of the Fraser River, I like to read these statuses and imagine my life as:
"lunch at the Cactus Club in Langley"
or...
"on our way to the Justin Timberlake concert!!!"
I'd even take...
"stuck beside man doing hot farts on flight to Calgary."
I'm not picky.
Now, if I were to post my statuses on Facebook for a day it would go something like this:
"accidentally brushed my teeth with Katie's toothbrush"
and...
"made a healthy kale and avocado wrap for lunch and then ate food court Chinese food instead"
which would be followed by...
"mistakenly covered my stretching belly skin with a lotion that I am severely allergic to and am now covered in a rash."
Obviously, this is why most people don't post stupid stuff like that on Facebook, but rather nice, pleasant updates. Their children say the sweetest things, their jobs are rewarding, their skin glows with vegan health, and their significant other is selling his dirt bike collection to buy her diamond earrings and a Bikram Yoga membership.
Nobody wants to know that Katie screamed, "don't TOUCH ME!!!!!!!" when I tried to brush her hair or that I ate half a jar of nacho cheese dip only to find the lid covered in mold once I had polished off the last drop.
I know that I post nauseating lovey-dovey posts about how much Andrew and I love each other. And that I'll write about how much I love my kids on their birthdays. I paint my life (we all do) a certain way but I do it with the assumption that you all know me well enough by now to know that my life is not perfect. And not only is it not perfect, but that I thrive in the mess because that's where love is found, and that grace grows in the cracks, right? Grace grows in the cracks.
Andrew and I adore each other enough to make everyone around us a bit nauseous, but don't get the bucket yet because we are well aware of our imperfections. The two of us have been through more adversity in our two-plus years of togetherness than a lot of lifetimers. We've had our share of rashes and moldy nacho dip. We take great pictures, but we don't post the ones where he's sitting broken and defeated at the end of our bed with his head in his hands, or the one of me after I got a piece of my nose burned off from potential skin cancer. Or when we're in the hospital being told that we're losing our baby.
We all want everyone to like us, right? To think we're not fat and ugly and that we don't yell at our children or eat carcinogenic hydrogenated oil and drink crown and coke with hardly any coke in it. What we have to remember is that no matter what we do, even if our pictures are cute and our kids are lovely and our husbands are charming, there will be a whole bunch of people who think we're idiots. And we have to just accept that.
The only people who matter (in our lives) are the ones who stand next to us. They don't have to like us all the time. They can find us annoying and frustrating and downright maddening but they see our rashes and our mold and our tears and scars and they love us anyway. Right here, right now. Day in, and day out.
And for them...
"I am thankful."
"lunch at the Cactus Club in Langley"
or...
"on our way to the Justin Timberlake concert!!!"
I'd even take...
"stuck beside man doing hot farts on flight to Calgary."
I'm not picky.
Now, if I were to post my statuses on Facebook for a day it would go something like this:
"accidentally brushed my teeth with Katie's toothbrush"
and...
"made a healthy kale and avocado wrap for lunch and then ate food court Chinese food instead"
which would be followed by...
"mistakenly covered my stretching belly skin with a lotion that I am severely allergic to and am now covered in a rash."
Obviously, this is why most people don't post stupid stuff like that on Facebook, but rather nice, pleasant updates. Their children say the sweetest things, their jobs are rewarding, their skin glows with vegan health, and their significant other is selling his dirt bike collection to buy her diamond earrings and a Bikram Yoga membership.
Nobody wants to know that Katie screamed, "don't TOUCH ME!!!!!!!" when I tried to brush her hair or that I ate half a jar of nacho cheese dip only to find the lid covered in mold once I had polished off the last drop.
I know that I post nauseating lovey-dovey posts about how much Andrew and I love each other. And that I'll write about how much I love my kids on their birthdays. I paint my life (we all do) a certain way but I do it with the assumption that you all know me well enough by now to know that my life is not perfect. And not only is it not perfect, but that I thrive in the mess because that's where love is found, and that grace grows in the cracks, right? Grace grows in the cracks.
Andrew and I adore each other enough to make everyone around us a bit nauseous, but don't get the bucket yet because we are well aware of our imperfections. The two of us have been through more adversity in our two-plus years of togetherness than a lot of lifetimers. We've had our share of rashes and moldy nacho dip. We take great pictures, but we don't post the ones where he's sitting broken and defeated at the end of our bed with his head in his hands, or the one of me after I got a piece of my nose burned off from potential skin cancer. Or when we're in the hospital being told that we're losing our baby.
We all want everyone to like us, right? To think we're not fat and ugly and that we don't yell at our children or eat carcinogenic hydrogenated oil and drink crown and coke with hardly any coke in it. What we have to remember is that no matter what we do, even if our pictures are cute and our kids are lovely and our husbands are charming, there will be a whole bunch of people who think we're idiots. And we have to just accept that.
The only people who matter (in our lives) are the ones who stand next to us. They don't have to like us all the time. They can find us annoying and frustrating and downright maddening but they see our rashes and our mold and our tears and scars and they love us anyway. Right here, right now. Day in, and day out.
And for them...
"I am thankful."
Friday, September 27, 2013
Expectation
We saw the specialist yesterday and he showed us on his portable ultrasound machine where the blood clot still resides. The star of the show was moving about, opening and closing its mouth and flexing its wee little toes. The doctor flicked off the machine, leaned back in his chair and smiled at us. The panic in my chest certainly did not match his calm demeanor.
Andrew and I tag-teamed him with a gunfire of questions and concerns and his response can be summed up like this:
1) The baby is healthy and safe in its amniotic sac, and so we have nothing to grieve.
2) While most women with subchorionic hematomas (blood clots) go on to deliver full-term healthy babies, some do not. The blood can irritate the uterus and sometimes deliver the baby much too early.
3) There is nothing that we can do to control the blood clot (besides take obvious precautions). He looked at us in the eyes and told us to "let go." To stay connected to our baby just as we are connected to our other children, but to let go of the control that we really don't have. And to stop grieving something that hasn't even happened yet.
I guess they use the term "expecting" for pregnancy for a reason: we carry the baby and grow it and our accompanying body to gargantuan proportions until the baby is ready to breathe on its own. We expect these things, because this is how life most often plays out. Yes, there is tragedy, but it's not what *usually* happens. We don't cry in our cereal every morning, fearing the death of our 13, 11, 10, 8 and 7 year-olds (dear lord, that's a lot of kids), so why would we mourn the healthy person inside of me?
We shouldn't. We have our moments when our knees buckle in fear but we vow to hold on to the expectation that all six of our children will live, and be filled with our love.
Andrew and I tag-teamed him with a gunfire of questions and concerns and his response can be summed up like this:
1) The baby is healthy and safe in its amniotic sac, and so we have nothing to grieve.
2) While most women with subchorionic hematomas (blood clots) go on to deliver full-term healthy babies, some do not. The blood can irritate the uterus and sometimes deliver the baby much too early.
3) There is nothing that we can do to control the blood clot (besides take obvious precautions). He looked at us in the eyes and told us to "let go." To stay connected to our baby just as we are connected to our other children, but to let go of the control that we really don't have. And to stop grieving something that hasn't even happened yet.
I guess they use the term "expecting" for pregnancy for a reason: we carry the baby and grow it and our accompanying body to gargantuan proportions until the baby is ready to breathe on its own. We expect these things, because this is how life most often plays out. Yes, there is tragedy, but it's not what *usually* happens. We don't cry in our cereal every morning, fearing the death of our 13, 11, 10, 8 and 7 year-olds (dear lord, that's a lot of kids), so why would we mourn the healthy person inside of me?
We shouldn't. We have our moments when our knees buckle in fear but we vow to hold on to the expectation that all six of our children will live, and be filled with our love.
"Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get - only with what you're expecting to give - which is everything."
Katharine Hepburn
Sunday, September 8, 2013
The "F" Word
When Jason and I were first married we made a pact to never mention the word "divorce" and if we ever had to talk about it we'd refer to it as "the 'D' word." Looking back, and I can only guess, I'd say that our pact was fear-based rather than founded on the security of our relationship. Like how when we were kids, we'd ask Jesus to forgive our sins each and every night for fear of dying in our sleep and waking up naked at the judgement gates with our sins on the big screen. Was I sorry that by throwing Wes' pants into the pile of sawdust puke I'd be burning the bridges of friendship? No. I just wanted to make sure that me and my pants weren't being thrown into the fiery furnace.
Ignoring the urge to throw up and swallowing back the vomit won't stop the purge. Like, I thought I was done my morning sickness phase as the last time I threw up was about two weeks ago but just this morning my orange juice met porcelain. And I always believed with my whole heart that I wouldn't be a divorce statistic. I'm a non-conformist. Fifty percent of marriages end in divorces? Fuck that, not me! I dug my heels in, but into the wrong foundation.
Fear sucks.
I came into work yesterday with puffy eyes and cry-face. I told Bonnie through pathetic gaspy sobs that I had listened to Lee Ann Womack's song "I Hope You Dance" on the way to work bawling my eyes out, thinking about my kids. It's these lines that get me every time:
Ignoring the urge to throw up and swallowing back the vomit won't stop the purge. Like, I thought I was done my morning sickness phase as the last time I threw up was about two weeks ago but just this morning my orange juice met porcelain. And I always believed with my whole heart that I wouldn't be a divorce statistic. I'm a non-conformist. Fifty percent of marriages end in divorces? Fuck that, not me! I dug my heels in, but into the wrong foundation.
Fear sucks.
I came into work yesterday with puffy eyes and cry-face. I told Bonnie through pathetic gaspy sobs that I had listened to Lee Ann Womack's song "I Hope You Dance" on the way to work bawling my eyes out, thinking about my kids. It's these lines that get me every time:
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance.
Living might mean taking chances but they're worth taking,
Loving might be a mistake but it's worth making.
I think our biggest obstacle in life is fear. I really do. It's not death that kills us. I mean, ultimately death has the last word but it's fear that snuffs our life out before death can even touch us. We're so scared of failure that we don't even look up. We're all just heads down, hands tied behind our backs, two feet in the grave. As if by not looking up at the climb we can pretend that it doesn't even exist. Meanwhile, we're left behind while everyone else digs their heels into the side of the mountain to get to the top to enjoy the view.
I want our kids to shake off fear and face their mountains. Of course I don't want them to feel the pain of the climb. But even more so, I don't want them to miss out on the view at the top. If I truly want this for them then I need to be an example of a fearless leader. Trudging through uncharted territory, often messy with sawdust puke, we'll eventually get to the top. And then we'll all look back down at what we went through, and it will all seem so small from way up here.
So small from way up here.
I want our kids to shake off fear and face their mountains. Of course I don't want them to feel the pain of the climb. But even more so, I don't want them to miss out on the view at the top. If I truly want this for them then I need to be an example of a fearless leader. Trudging through uncharted territory, often messy with sawdust puke, we'll eventually get to the top. And then we'll all look back down at what we went through, and it will all seem so small from way up here.
So small from way up here.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Hey, How's it Going?
I went through this phase in University where I put a huge emphasis on authenticity to the point where I sacrificed manners and social skills in the name of "being real." One of the things I hated was when people used the question "how's it going?" as a greeting rather than an honest inquiry. And so I rebelled against it and whenever someone would ask me that, I'd stop and just start totally going into my life story to see their reaction. They'd get all squirmy and I'd get all smug, as if I taught them some sort of lesson in authenticity.
However, I've since matured, partly because I found myself without a whole lot of friends but mostly because it didn't feel good to not care. Don't get me wrong--I value sincerity. I recognize the goodness of being real, of acknowledging and giving validity to our feelings and moods as they ebb and flow through our days. But sometimes, just sometimes, we need to get over ourselves and give a fuck about someone else.
Being human means to be absorbed with Self. Exercising the muscle of Other is exactly that: an exercise. It doesn't come naturally. It's work. It makes us sweat and it often smarts. And sometimes the very last thing on earth that I ever want to do is care about whatever person is in my face in that moment and it takes every ounce of my energy to lift that weight and care. But each time I do, (and I often don't!) I feel better.
When I was younger, I'd whine to my mom about not wanting to go to church that day and my mom would always tell me that this is the best time to go--when I don't feel like it. That I will be doubly rewarded (an extra cookie in Sunday School?) if I forced myself to go. I'm not sure if this ideology deemed true each time but there's something to be said about doing things that you don't feel like doing.
Statistically, a smile, even if it's forced, produces happy chemicals in the brain and our bodies can't help but feel a bit happier! Maybe if we forced ourselves to look up and smile, even when we don't feel like it, we'd find our emotional muscles to be stronger and more efficient.
I'm sure you're angry and resentful and have every good and valid reason to unleash your assholery on the cashier/son/daughter/ex/dog/annoyingpersontalkingtooloudontheircellinthestarbucksline, and God knows they have no idea how hard your life has been and they most certainly haven't ever had a struggle in their lives. But just keep doing what you're doing. Leave the bar of Other on the ground in the weight room and see what happens. If it's the same thing that happened to me, you'll look up in the gym mirror and see nobody around you and your heart will be small and cold and flabby. Or, you can let go of Self and pick up the Other bar and join the rest of the world in all our glorious messes.
Because where there are messes, there are people. And where there are people, there is Love.
However, I've since matured, partly because I found myself without a whole lot of friends but mostly because it didn't feel good to not care. Don't get me wrong--I value sincerity. I recognize the goodness of being real, of acknowledging and giving validity to our feelings and moods as they ebb and flow through our days. But sometimes, just sometimes, we need to get over ourselves and give a fuck about someone else.
Being human means to be absorbed with Self. Exercising the muscle of Other is exactly that: an exercise. It doesn't come naturally. It's work. It makes us sweat and it often smarts. And sometimes the very last thing on earth that I ever want to do is care about whatever person is in my face in that moment and it takes every ounce of my energy to lift that weight and care. But each time I do, (and I often don't!) I feel better.
When I was younger, I'd whine to my mom about not wanting to go to church that day and my mom would always tell me that this is the best time to go--when I don't feel like it. That I will be doubly rewarded (an extra cookie in Sunday School?) if I forced myself to go. I'm not sure if this ideology deemed true each time but there's something to be said about doing things that you don't feel like doing.
Statistically, a smile, even if it's forced, produces happy chemicals in the brain and our bodies can't help but feel a bit happier! Maybe if we forced ourselves to look up and smile, even when we don't feel like it, we'd find our emotional muscles to be stronger and more efficient.
I'm sure you're angry and resentful and have every good and valid reason to unleash your assholery on the cashier/son/daughter/ex/dog/annoyingpersontalkingtooloudontheircellinthestarbucksline, and God knows they have no idea how hard your life has been and they most certainly haven't ever had a struggle in their lives. But just keep doing what you're doing. Leave the bar of Other on the ground in the weight room and see what happens. If it's the same thing that happened to me, you'll look up in the gym mirror and see nobody around you and your heart will be small and cold and flabby. Or, you can let go of Self and pick up the Other bar and join the rest of the world in all our glorious messes.
Because where there are messes, there are people. And where there are people, there is Love.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Drop Back In
No matter our social status, height-to-weight ratio, or the presence (or not) of a unibrow, each one of us take turns getting schooled in the lesson of humility.
Jake's friend was attempting to drop in on his skateboard at the skate park, and while he stood there staring down at the steep ramp in respectful fear, other skaters looked on in hopeful support. A few of them even came over and gave him some encouraging pointers. He stood there, rocked back and forth a bit and with the crowd of adolescents watching expectantly, he chickened out. He got off his board and tripped, landing face first over the edge of the ramp, his bum in the air and with his face pressed down into the grass on the other side.
Humility.
His eyes burned with embarrassment but we reassured him that we've all been there. Jake began listing his own personal stories of humiliation while his friend blinked back tears. Some self-regulation combined with a couple shoulder-smacks and a few friendly words of encouragement, and Jake's friend got right back on the board and dropped in on the ramp. Bam.
Becoming a mother is humbling. Sticking my finger in a diaper to check its status and pulling it out covered in poo can put a damper on how I view my mothering skills. Clipping my teenager's dragon toenails and having them rocket into my face can bring me down a couple notches. Lighting breast pump paraphernalia on fire, getting barfed on (ceasar salad, to boot), and losing my bathing suit bottoms at a grade two school pool party on the rope swing, are all examples of humility. In the moment? It's tragic. But if we can keep getting back up, we can look at the scene below us and laugh.
Jake's friend exemplified humility but even more so, he illustrated courage.
Jake's friend was attempting to drop in on his skateboard at the skate park, and while he stood there staring down at the steep ramp in respectful fear, other skaters looked on in hopeful support. A few of them even came over and gave him some encouraging pointers. He stood there, rocked back and forth a bit and with the crowd of adolescents watching expectantly, he chickened out. He got off his board and tripped, landing face first over the edge of the ramp, his bum in the air and with his face pressed down into the grass on the other side.
Humility.
His eyes burned with embarrassment but we reassured him that we've all been there. Jake began listing his own personal stories of humiliation while his friend blinked back tears. Some self-regulation combined with a couple shoulder-smacks and a few friendly words of encouragement, and Jake's friend got right back on the board and dropped in on the ramp. Bam.
Becoming a mother is humbling. Sticking my finger in a diaper to check its status and pulling it out covered in poo can put a damper on how I view my mothering skills. Clipping my teenager's dragon toenails and having them rocket into my face can bring me down a couple notches. Lighting breast pump paraphernalia on fire, getting barfed on (ceasar salad, to boot), and losing my bathing suit bottoms at a grade two school pool party on the rope swing, are all examples of humility. In the moment? It's tragic. But if we can keep getting back up, we can look at the scene below us and laugh.
Jake's friend exemplified humility but even more so, he illustrated courage.
"Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts."
-Winston Churchill-
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