Promises

I recently started binge watching the Netflix series, "The Flash," which is the story behind a young man named Barry Allen, who becomes the superhero speedster in the red suit. Without going into too many details or giving away too much of the show, a scientist named Dr. Harrison Wells and his team built a particle accelerator. When they turned it on, it became unstable and exploded, causing all kinds of havoc in the city, and creating "meta humans," people who took on superhuman powers, including Barry Allen. The majority of the show takes place after the explosion, and we learn the backstory of many of the characters through flashback scenes. Obviously, Barry is the main character and the show focuses mainly on his story, both past and present, but there also numerous secondary characters whose stories tie closely into Barry's, making the storyline flow very easily from one episode to the next. There are lots of plot twists and turns along the way, creating the urgency of "I have to see what comes next!", which is why I like it.

One thing that I have noticed about this series, is people promise a lot of things to other people. "We'll find him and bring him home, I promise." "I promise you, I'm gonna make things right." "We can fix him, I promise." "I promise, I won't leave you." 

I don't like promises. They make me cringe. I don't promise things to anyone, and I don't accept it when someone makes a promise to me. Promises are usually made with the best intentions, but it becomes too easy for a promise to be broken. Once a promise is made and broken, all trust is wiped out. In 1999 I exchanged vows with a man, to love and keep each other, 'til death do us part. We're both still very much alive, but despite my efforts to keep it, that promise was broken 11 years after it was made. Needless to say, it's difficult for me to fully believe anything he says he'll do. 

Promises are nothing more than spoken words, but there is a weight attached to them. The assumption that whoever makes a promise will carry it through. Don't promise something unless you are absolutely 100,000,000% sure that you can keep it. I don't care how big or small the promise may seem, if there's even the slightest chance you can't keep it, don't promise it.

The old saying "Actions speak louder than words" holds very true to me. I would much rather see someone do something than hear them promise it. Prove to me what you say is true, don't just mumble meaningless words. It saddens me that so many people throw this word around haplessly, be it politicians, celebrities, ex's (thankfully, my ex doesn't promise me things. I wouldn't believe him if he did. I've heard of too many people who hear it from an ex-husband/wife), friends, or whoever. On a small, localized scale, there would be less heartache, anger and arguments if people kept their promises or didn't even make them in the first place. On a much larger, global scale, voting for politicians would probably be a hell of a lot easier if we thought that we could actually trust one or two of them. It's easier to gain the respect of others when you're a man or woman of your word. 

In my own life, I'm relieved that I don't hear too many people make empty promises. In fact, I can't recall the last time I heard "I promise." Which is fine with me. My kids are learning that breaking promises is just as bad as outright lying, and that I don't approve of either. We all need to hold ourselves accountable for the things we say.

To Mr. Barry Allen, aka the Flash, I like you, and I'm cheering you on in your quest to figure out your past while using your superhuman powers to do good in the world. But, please, for the sake of all that is holy, stop making promises. To my friends, and anyone else who will listen, please, I beg of you, check your words, and let your actions speak louder.

Ready for This

I am an emotional sap. My oldest will be 15 in one month, not even all the way through his Freshman year of high school, and any time I think about graduation for more than 15 seconds, I tear up. No kidding. June 20-whatever of 2019 is going to be an extremely tough day for me.

I know there are lots of moms who are overprotective, neurotic and emotional. There are dads, too, but I think these traits show up more in women. I won't speak for all moms, but you can agree with me if you'd like. I think part of why I get so emotional and neurotic is because I want affirmation that I'm doing this parenting thing well. That is not a phishing strategy to see how many compliments I can get. That is simply an admission that I hope I'm making the best choices, and adequately preparing my children for the beautiful mess of a world we live in. In fact, the only people who can truly affirm to me that I haven't completely screwed up, are my children.

As they grow older, they learn, they expand their world, they become a little more independent. This forces me, their overprotective, do-everything-for-everyone mother to have to let go just a little bit. With each new thing they learn and accomplish, I'm needed just a tiny bit less. Children always need their mom, to that there is no doubt. But I don't need to be with them every moment, help them with every thing, watch them every second. I have to let go. And each time I'm forced to step back and watch my kids do something on their own, I can't help but think, "Oh god, I hope they are ready for this."

These "letting go" moments can come gradually. I walked my two younger kids to school a day or two ago. A portion of the sidewalk was covered in a crunchy snowbank, forcing us to go into the street. My adventurous and rebellious son ignored my request to go around, and stomped right over the bank to the other side, then ran down the sidewalk toward the crossing guard. My daughter and I opted for the street, and as we stepped off the curb, I instinctively held out my hand to take hers. My outstretched hand hung in the air, empty, for 10 seconds or so before I looked at her and said, "Have you outgrown hand-holding? Is that what's happening here?" She smiled. But her hands stayed by her side. I had to let go. Didn't see that coming. I mean, I did - she just turned 10 - but maybe I just don't want to admit that it came.

The situations forcing us to let go can also be not-so-subtle, more blatant and obvious. The other day, I had barely gotten my entire body through the front door after coming home from work, and my oldest came bounding down the stairs toward me, exclaiming excitedly, "Mama, Mama, Mama... Guess what??"
"What?"
"I'm gonna get my working papers!"
"Oh, good fo... wait, what??"
Among the swirl of emotion that suddenly popped into my head, I found myself thinking things like, "Well, there goes my after-school sitter. Working papers, eh? Maybe he won't ask for money so much. This means I have to take him out to find a job." And finally, it really hit. "Wait, he's going to start working? No... is he really that old already?" Yep, that cord wasn't just cut, it was snapped right in half. He'll be 15 in a month, so again, it's not like I didn't know it was coming. He's not a baby. He's been pretty independent for a while now, taking on the responsibility of watching his siblings after school, taking it upon himself to get his homework done so as not to get "the lecture," making sure that the chores I leave for the three of them get done before I come home from work. By all definitions, he is a young man, not a baby, not a toddler, barely even a kid anymore.

But I'm constantly thinking, "I hope they are ready for this." This statement can take many forms, such as "Did they listen to what I've told them? Will they remember to look the person in the eye and speak clearly? Will they say something embarrassing or rude? Oh, I hope they're not rude!" I have to have faith in my children that they really have been listening and will practice at least a little of what I preach.

Maybe I should really be asking, "Am I ready for this?" Every day is uncharted territory. Yes, we have our routines and our habits and our things we do every day. At the same time, the kids are growing and learning and exploring bit by bit each day. Which means that I have to continually release my grasp over their lives.

I am extremely proud of my children. I want them to continue growing and to be strong, mindful, active, healthy citizens of whatever communities they end up in. So why do I turn into a sobbing, sappy mess when I try to picture them in the future? Will I ever be ready to completely let go? I'm not sure that any parent ever truly is. Maybe it makes it a little easier that we are forced to slowly and gradually release our children out into the world, rather than holding an 8-hour course, then saying goodbye.

I can remember having a conversation with a very dear friend, years ago, after being upset with someone. I was crying my eyes out, asking rhetorically why I was letting this person get to me so much. My friend answered me, "Because you give a rat's ass." That kind of explains a lot, actually, when I really think about it. I get emotional because I care. End of story. I worry for my kids, I think about them, I care what happens to them and what others think of them. So I get emotional.

No one can ever be fully prepared for what the world is going to throw at them in life. I never imagined I would be divorced, yet here I am. I have one younger sister, which means that my parents, who raised two girls, could never really help me be ready to be a mother to two sons and one daughter. My sister has two step-sons. Could she have learned how to deal with that from our home growing up? Most likely not. What we can learn are the transferable skills that allow us to think outside our usual box, and reason with that which sometimes seems unreasonable. We, as adults, are growing and learning every day. If we're not, then we are depriving ourselves of fantastic opportunities.

Every day I reflect some on how my kids have grown, and what they were like when they were babies, and I project a little about who they'll be in the future. And every day it gets a little easier to accept that they are no longer babies, that I have to continue to step back and watch them live life instead of living it for them, my way.  I let go, little by little. Each day, as I watch them live their life and develop who they are, they affirm to me that I have done a fine job raising them. And through their actions and words, my children reassure me that they will take the lessons they've learned and apply them appropriately. I reflect on how much I've grown over the past few years, and how much more there is to learn. I can settle myself, knowing that we are all faring quite well in this crazy journey.

I will continue be an emotional, sappy mess at times, It's kind of what I do. I'm ok with that though, because that tells me that I'm somehow doing something right. And I'm definitely going to need a lot of tissues come 2019.

The Weight of My Household

I've come to the very huge and humbling realization that I am, despite my efforts to deny it, a control freak. Which really shouldn't be a surprise at all, considering that I am a lifelong, card-carrying member of the "If-it's-gonna-be-done-right-I-gotta-do-it" club. I don't like to ask for help, and certain things need to be done a certain way (mine), therefore I end up taking on much more responsibility than I probably need to. Household chores are a prime example of both my need for control and the minor case of OCD that I possess. 

My life is like that book, "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie." In the book, the mouse asks a boy for a cookie, which leads to asking for milk, and a straw, then a napkin, then a mirror so the mouse can check for a milk mustache, and he realizes he needs to get his hair cut... and on and on. I think you get the idea. I don't like to ask for help. In essence, I'm playing out the Give a Mouse a Cookie book, except I'm the only character. I'm asking and responding to myself. Here's a typical evening for me: I try to start dinner, except there are too many dishes in the way, so I empty the dishwasher and put away those dishes so I can put the dirty ones in. I get dinner in/on the oven/stove, but first, I have to wipe down all the counters and stovetop because there's water/crumbs/juice stains. As I'm making dinner, I splatter something on my shirt, so I change and get a basket of dirty laundry and bring it to the basement to put it in the washing machine. If there's clothes in the dryer, I bring them upstairs, check dinner on my way through the kitchen, then fold what laundry I can before feeding my family. And I usually do all this in a span of about 30-45 minutes! Mind you, I live with 4 other people. But I do it all, because I don't like to ask for help, and I feel better if it's done my way. 

Unfortunately, my demand for control enables and allows the other members of my household to be a little lazy. I'm pretty sure they all full-well know that if an object sits out of its place long enough, Mom will take care of it. Put away my clothes? Nah, Mama will do it when she gets tired of looking at them on the chair. Bring my toys to my room? Nah, Mama will think they're in the way and move them for me. I haven't yet decided if these types of thoughts are completely intentional by my family, but subconsciously, I'm teaching this to them. 

My youngest is 7, and he is, always has been and always will be the definition of Tenacious. And Independent. He is another "Gotta do it myself" kind of person. Which is great, unless you're the parent of a tenacious, independent child, who also happens to possess many of the same qualities. I am forced, on a daily basis, to move out of the way and let him do things the way he wants to do them. Which is difficult for me. But what's the alternative? Teach my child that he can't do anything correctly and that his mother is a crazy psychotic Nazi of a control freak? No thank you. I'll bite my lip as hard as I need to, and supervise him while he's figuring things out for himself. Even if that means sending my OCD into a tailspin. I can ignore the mental screams of "OH MY GOD, HE'S NOT DOING IT MY WAY!!!" when I need to.

For the past 3 years, I was a salesperson, which meant that I spent the majority of each day, 5 days a week, talking to people. And I like talking to people. My daughter is in Girl Scouts, and therefore year after year she sells Girl Scout cookies. (Anyone see where this is going?) My daughter is 9, so she can't exactly hoof it around the neighborhood after school by herself, soliciting to a bunch of strangers. I'm happy to bring her to where she wants to go- to see family members, neighbors, friends, businesses, etc., and supervise the progress of her sales efforts. This year, especially, I've been getting the stink eye a little more often, and have to constantly remind myself to shut up, and that I am not the one selling cookies. I tell her over and over that she has to be the one to talk, then when we walk in, guess who speaks first? Outgoing, friendly, chatty Mama. She has a goal to make, and I like for her to make said goal, so I do what I can to "help." Except sometimes my way of helping doesn't actually help. I have to, again, bite my lip and step back, while I let my shy but eager child take the spotlight. I'll admit, this is not always easy for me. But, just like with her younger brother, I want her to learn that she has the capability to do things on her own and do things correctly in her own way. 

The weight of the world does not need to be taken upon my shoulders. Neither does the weight of my household. My family is capable of doing chores, regardless of how much they enjoy them or not. I may need to point out the obvious to them, like "How about instead of smushing the garbage further down into the can, you empty it out?" Or, "Oh, you ran out of underwear? How about you bring your laundry downstairs to me so I can wash it?" Small price to pay in the grand scheme of teaching my kids how to think and do for themselves, and in teaching me how to let them. Control is a tricky demon, making us believe that we need to keep it close for things to go right. Once we can learn to loosen our grip, it becomes easier to let others grab the reigns. It even feels good sometimes to throw our hands up in the air, completely free of responsibility and worry. And it feels downright wonderful to watch as my children take the lead, and complete tasks in an acceptable and productive manner. It feels wonderful knowing that I helped them get there. All I had to do was let go.

The Art of Listening

Listening is an intense skill that I would venture to say not very many people possess. I like to think that I'm a pretty good listener. I've been told so by numerous people throughout the course of my life, so I'm inclined to believe it. I'm not a perfect listener, however. Each of us hears something and interprets it based on our own life experiences, thoughts, preconceived notions, circumstances, etc. Plus, we as humans, are intrinsically self centered. We like to focus on how we're going to benefit from whatever situation we are in. Add these two facts together, and most people will hear what someone else is saying, but they won't really listen to what is being said. 

It has forever astounded me how two people can see the exact same situation and interpret it totally differently, sometimes in completely opposite ways. This difference, I think, is intensified when put into a intimate relationship. I have girl friends and guy friends whom I have never fought with, never seriously disagreed with, never thought, "Wow are they out of this universe wrong about that." Yet I have a difficult time reading and understanding the feelings of the person with whom I've shared my life with for 5 years. He says something, I take it the wrong way, get defensive, say something snotty back to him, he gets defensive, and away we go... 0 to 60 in three seconds flat. Over what? Most of the time over stupid misinterpretations of what was meant in the first place. Conversations with my ex-husband are even worse, but I attribute that to the fact that most of our exchanges take place via text. Wanna pick a fight? Text an ambiguous message to someone who rarely sees things the way you do. I'll bet that 99.9999999999% of the time the recipient will interpret the message in a manner that was not all intended by the sender. Boom. Fight. 

Ok, so that is a separate topic of discussion, and it's own entity, really. Back to the monologue at hand, how do we really listen to someone else and fully understand what they mean? I wish I had that answer. We're always told for one reason or another, "walk in the other person's shoes." Put yourself in their position and do your best to understand how they perceive something. Why is that so difficult to do? Most kids learn empathy, sympathy and understanding others, so how come it's not more ingrained in us to really consider how the other person feels? 

We've all done it- the blank "uh-huh" murmured at the appropriate times while someone else is speaking in our direction. Perhaps we are distracted, or our minds are fixated on another matter that we feel is more important at that moment. It is a conscious effort by each and every one of us to choose what we listen to and what we don't. There is nothing more sustaining to human life than interaction with each other. In today's day and age, with electronics surrounding us 24/7 and information available at our fingertips in mere seconds, I think it's extremely imperative that we make that effort to direct all of our focus and attention to another live person, at least once a day. If I'm speaking to you, I like to think that you'll pause what you're doing to listen to me. And when someone else is speaking to me, I know damn well that I won't pay attention if there is a TV or iPad in front of me. I do my best to focus on whomever I'm with. To look them in the eye, absorb their words, and digest their perspective. My kids have learned that they sometimes need to wait their turn to allow me to finish typing an email or finish talking with someone else. But they have also learned that when they talk to me, I'm looking at them, focusing on them and truly listening.

Perhaps that is the first step in fully understanding someone else - focusing on them and the conversation at hand. This doesn't necessarily mean that the two participants must be sitting in a silent room, doing nothing but looking at one another. Life is busy, and dinner needs to be made, kids need to be bathed, laundry needs to be folded, and all that. Conversations happen while we are on the move. We must choose how much attention gets put into our conversations and how much gets thrown to the chores/other responsibilities. It is possible to do something else while still having a meaningful conversation.

That being said, I also think one of the nicest things two people can do is to sit in a (semi) quiet room, doing nothing but looking at each other while conversing. This is how bonds are made. I can't tell you what I ate for dinner last night or what books my kids read for bedtime this past week, but I can clearly recall sitting face to face with certain people. I may not be able to recite the exact conversation, but how I felt while I was sitting with that person is clear as day. 

I don't have the answer as to how to completely understand someone else, and I'm pretty sure I'll never solve the world's most prominent social grace issues. However, it is my heartfelt belief that being fully present goes an extremely long way towards helping us see eye to eye with another person. I also believe the result is well worth the effort. Give it a try and see what a difference it can make for you.

New Year, New Chapter

I read somewhere recently that a new year is a blank slate. An opportunity to "start over," develop new habits, make new choices, do things a little differently in our lives. Many times these are conscious choices that we make and put forth the effort to stick with. Sometimes new opportunities find us. I was recently fortunate enough to have such an opportunity present itself to me, and in a few days I'll be starting a new chapter with new employment.

For 3 years I've been an advertising rep with a local newspaper. Like any job, it's had it's ups and downs. There have been times when I wanted to cry, walk out and never look back. There have also been plenty of times that I've laughed with my coworkers and clients. I've met a lot of people and learned a lot of things with this job, and in some ways I'm sad to say goodbye. But I'm excited for the opportunity to grow and expand my skills, push myself and step that much further outside of my comfort zone. 

This afternoon I spent 4 hours absorbing information pertaining to my new position, learning an overview of what responsibilities I'm expected to handle. 4 hours is a long time to absorb information and this position has a much wider scope than my current position. A few separate times during my training, I found myself wondering if I'd be able to fill the shoes that were being left behind, if I'd be able to live up to the expectations, and keep up with the job. During my drive home, as the information was swirling around inside my head, and the doubts started to get louder, I stopped myself. I decided that instead of thinking "I hope I can do it," I need to tell myself "I am going to do it." I have the capability of handling the duties, I just need to learn the ropes and gather the confidence in myself that I will succeed. 

These are powerful words to me. You can't slide through life with positive thinking and nothing else, but a positive outlook will pull you further than negativity. When I was young and I didn't want to go somewhere with my family (which was quite often), my father would say to me, "Well, if you think you're not going to have fun, you certainly won't!" It took me a lot of years to fully understand this. Now I tell my kids, "You can choose whether to be happy or not. Whether you'll have fun or not." Although my perception has shifted since my teenage days, I do still have to remind myself that my attitude towards anything has a big effect on the outcome of the situation. 

It's going to take some time to get acclimated to my new position, and there's going to be a big learning curve, but these things are not insurmountable. It is possible, it is doable, and I can and will succeed. That's all there is to it. 

Cleaning Up

I'm a little bit of a neat freak. Although you wouldn't always know it to look at my house, because I also don't like cleaning very much. Kind of an oxymoron. Place an object in a room where it doesn't belong, and chances are my family and I will maneuver around it long enough until said object just blends in with it's surroundings, like it is supposed to be there. But eventually my OCD kicks in and I turn into the ultimate binge cleaning machine. Everything must have a place, and I become determined to find or make such a spot for as many mislaid items as I can. 

This past weekend I decided to buy myself a few new shirts, which lead to emptying out my closet. Which lead to emptying out the armoir. Every single shirt, sweater and pair of pants I own ended up on the bed, scrutinized for their wearability during the upcoming year. After trying them all on, determining which ones I haven't worn in the past year and therefore which ones I most likely will not wear in the next year, I put the winners back in their spot in the closet or armoir, and the losers got packed into a garbage bag. Their exact future is yet to be determined, but it will involve being donated in some manner. When I was in high school, my mother had a shirt that I thought was god-awful ugly. One day, I found a photo of her and 2-year-old me, and she was wearing that same shirt, making it 15 years old! (Needless to say, I was mortified that she would still be wearing the same clothing she wore 15 years ago.) I fear that I'm getting close to that point with my own closet. I won't lie, it felt good to replace the old with the new. 

Another factor that kicks up my motivation to clean is having guests. I love the announced surprise - "Hey, what are you doing? I'll be over in half an hour." This means I have at least 20 minutes to binge clean as much as possible. Sweep the floors, wipe down the counters, throw the toys in a closet, straighten up the shoes. Yep, I've mastered the technique of immediate cleaning. I got this kind of call recently, when a couple of college friends were passing through town. I was extremely happy to hear from them, and immediately went to work straightening up. I haven't seen one of these friends in a year or two, and the other I hadn't seen in probably 5 years. Think they cared about the state of my living room? Probably not. Yet I clean. I feel a sense of accomplishment and love looking at a neat house, although I've come to accept that my living quarters will never be "white glove" perfect. Far from it! But that's ok.

These walls that surround us have seen a fair share of disagreements and fights. One wall has a patched up spot where I kicked it in after a particularly heated fight. The paint is peeling off many of the bedroom doors and door frames, and with the correct momentum, one can practically pull paint off the entire length of the door in one strip. The ceiling paint in both bathrooms is split and cracking due to the day after day moisture from 5 people bathing multiple times over the course of a week. The couch feels to me like it sucks you in when you sit on it, and it's got a few pen marks and dark spots where something was spilled then cleaned up. The mirrors are covered in fingerprints and smudges. The carpeting on the stairs is old, matted and stained. There is almost always a laundry basket or two hanging around the living room that contains folded clothes, waiting to be put away. The hardwood floors are scuffed and have a few stains in the most traveled areas. The should-be white linoleum floor in the kitchen is scratched, and is more like a dingy ivory color. I've managed to control the large amounts of clutter to occupy only a few select areas including the hutch by the front door, the file cabinet and hutch in the dining room, and my bedroom dresser. When the clutter in these areas hits maximum coverage, I click into binge cleaning mode and relocate as many of the objects to their proper room as possible. 

These walls that surround us have also seen many days and nights filled with laughter. Homemade works of art are proudly displayed, hung on the wall prominently for all to admire. The cracked paint in the bathrooms means that my kids are bathed and the toothpaste on the sink means they've brushed their teeth. The couch has been jumped on with excitement while we play video games and it's held all 5 of us together while we watch our weekly TV show or a movie. The mirror on the front closet door has spots on it from where it's been struck with Nerf suction cup darts, as the kids try to outshoot one another. The carpeting on the first two or three stairs is matted, in part from serving as our sitting place to put on or take off shoes. Folded clothes means clean clothes, and the fact that they are waiting to be put away means there are more clothes in the closet that can be worn. The hardwood floors are well traveled, and on good days with clean socks the kids can get a running start from the dining room, then slide from one side of the living room to the other. Dirt is tracked through the kitchen as the kids go running in and out, showing me the mudpies they've made or trying to escape the Nerf bullets of their siblings. I've tracked my own dirt into the kitchen after spending hours in the garden or taking out the trash. Clutter means we have more than we need and the kids can never run out of things to play with. 

My house, clean or not as it may be, has been home to 8 people, 1 cat, 2 dogs, and numerous fish. If these walls could talk, I like to think the majority of the tales would be happy ones, echoing the laughter that we have shared in each room over the years. Cleaning up feels good, keeps me calm and makes me happy. And it reminds me how fortunate we are and how much we truly have. For that, I am grateful.

Resolutions

I've never been one to stick with resolutions, therefore I have also never really been one to make them. However, my view of resolutions has changed over the past few years, and I do my best to set reasonable expectatns that I can actually uphold. With this attitude, I do believe making the right kind of resolutions can change one's life. 

I resolve to not let my fear crush my spirit. This one has been a constant for a few years now, and I think it's an important one. I've spent too much of my life trying to please others instead of myself, worrying about what others think, and just generally letting my insecurities and fears run the show. My will is stronger than fear, and every year it becomes a little more so.

I resolve to be happy with what I have. There is an envious streak that runs pretty deep through me. However, I've learned that coveting things others have and ignoring the things I have is just plain ignorance. I have plenty to be thankful for.

I resolve to always look for the blessing. We all have bad days, and some are definitely worse than others. A bad day does not a bad life make. There is always beauty to be found, always a little magic, always a blessing of some kind, if you're willing to look closely enough. 

I resolve to focus on the things money can't buy, instead of the things it can. We are a materialistic society. And we need money and things, to an extent. But all the money in the world, and having possession of all the things you've ever wanted doesn't automatically mean you're a wonderful person. It's the non-materialistic things that makes us worthwhile and valuable.

I resolve to be myself, and be happy with who I am. Figuring out who we are is an ever-changing, ongoing process that should never stop. Situations change, circumstances change, our bodies change, our minds change...if we stop trying to discover new things about ourselves we would really be letting ourselves down. We each need to just be who it is that we are happy to be.