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.

Soundtrack to my Life

Music is a huge part of my life. I play it, I listen to it, I learn from it. Sometimes, as I'm going about my daily routines, I find that songs pop into my head, like the background music of a movie. Today, I had to break some news to someone, which made me a little nervous. As I entered the building to go and speak with this person, Flo Rida's "It's Going Down For Real" started playing the depths of my subconscious. I have found myself humming Juston Bieber's "Sorry" after having an argument with someone. The list goes on and on. Like a movie soundtrack, music always finds its way in, to compliment and complete my life.

I'm grateful for music in so many ways...

1. It's a wonderful escape. When I went through a short bout of depression a few years ago, music helped keep me on the upside of the deep, dark abyss. It helped focus my mind on other aspects of life outside my little pity party, and prevented me from spiraling into even more negativity. My rule of thumb: when I'm sad, I listen to upbeat songs. It won't make the problem go away, but one can't be sad when one is dancing.

2. Togetherness. I love listening to music with my kids. Teen Pop is a guilty pleasure of mine. Most of what I like is upbeat and dance-able. The lyrics are usually quite simple. There's not a lot of deep, hidden meaning behind teen pop music, and sometimes that's ok with me. I just need something to move along with and an excuse to lip sync with my kids. 

3. Meaning. On the flip side of the teen pop, there is plenty of music with a story behind it. Sometimes, when you're in a particular kind of mood, songs just scream out at you, saying exactly what you're feeling at that time. 

4. Individuality. Music speaks to each of us in different ways, with different meanings. I love absorbing the songs that I find subconsciously playing, paying attention to what I'm hearing and figuring out what they trying to tell me. I believe music is one of the ways our brain gets our attention. Listen carefully. We all have our own soundtrack playing in our heads from time to time. That's part of what makes it so great. 

5. Bringing out the passion. When I was in college, I played saxophone in a jazz band. One particular concert, I had a duet with a trumpet player, and I was very nervous. As much as I love playing and being on stage, soloing is not my thing. This trumpet player eventually became my mentor, and his advice to me at that time (advice that had he had heard years prior) was "Step in it." Play it, play it hard, play it with passion, and do your very best. But most importantly, just play it. That advice has been a source of encouragement to me for almost 25 years now. And it is some of the best advice I've ever gotten.

I think no matter what you're doing in life, if it's worth doing, it's worth doing with passion. 

Invitations

In April 1996, one month before I graduated college, I was offered a job at a radio station in Florida. Just a few days after my graduation in May, my dad and I loaded the few belongings I had into a moving truck, then we hopped in my '91 (or so) blue Geo Metro and drove the 24 hours to what would be my new home. The owners of the station had previously lived in NY, went to the same church as my  family and were good friends with my parents. So when they heard I would be graduating with a broadcasting degree, they offered to hire me. I couldn't exactly turn down a decent paying job in my field of study, although accepting it meant I had to leave behind everything and everyone I'd known and loved up to that point in my life. This was HUGE scary for me. I don't like being outside my comfort zone, and that zone was fairly small at that time. I had gone away to camps when I was younger and left my parents to go to college, the leaving part wasn't really a big deal. It was the "by myself" part that scared me. When I went to camp as a kid, my best friend was usually with me, and one or the other of our mothers was a counselor. In high school I joined the same clubs and went to the same places my friends did. I knew my freshman year college roommate, we had gone to elementary and high school together. I absolutely did not like throwing myself into a crowd of people, or any number of people, all alone. I avoided it at all costs. So, here I was, 23 years old, picking up and moving 1,260 miles away from home. All.by.myself. 

I managed to adjust and find some friends, thanks to my new bosses. I kept in touch with my then-boyfriend and other college and high school friends. I forced myself to smile and talk to others and 'get out there' a little, as it were. Fast forward to December. My boyfriend was planning to move from NY to Florida to be with me, but he wasn't able to come until a few days after Christmas. So, now, here I was, 1200 miles away from my family, during what is supposed to be the happiest time of the year, and I was all alone. I tried to keep my own spirits up. I decorated the little palm tree that I had inside my house, and put all the presents I had bought for my boyfriend underneath it in an attempt to recreate the scene that I had known so well growing up. I sang Christmas songs to my cat, and repeatedly told myself that I should be happy. But I wasn't. I was lonely.

Christmas morning, I woke up early and reported to work as I was supposed to. I kept a smile in my voice as I DJ'd my way though the early morning shift and pretended to the listening audience that all was well with my world. I didn't really have much of a plan for after work. Go home, sing more Christmas songs to my cat and anxiously wait for the next three days to go by, pretending to be as joyful as society seemed to think I should be. About an hour before the end of my shift, the phone rang. It was a woman named Brenda. Brenda was a hairdresser in town, whom I had talked with a number of times, and her husband Kermit was the local post master. Between the two of them, they knew pretty much everyone. That's how it is in a small town of 5000 residents. They were both extremely friendly people, always smiling and cheerful. Brenda inquired about my plans for the remainder of the day. Feeling that telling her I was going to go home and mope wasn't really a viable answer, I opted for the much simpler, "Oh not much, really." Before I even had the opportunity to expand on that, she invited me to her son's house to spend the day with her, Kermit, their children and grand kids. I felt a little odd at the thought of going to a complete stranger's house, but she insisted and I obviously didn't have a good reason to say no. So I agreed.

After my shift, I went home to brighten myself up. After all, if I was going to be in the presence of other people, I didn't want to come across as Sad Sally. Since I hadn't expected to go anywhere, I didn't have anything to offer to the hosts, but when I arrived at the house, I was greeted with open arms and lots of hugs. I honestly don't remember many details about the exact events of the day, but I got to watch the grand kids open gifts, and that's part of the magic of Christmas - watching the kids' excitement and joy burst out of them. We had a very delicious home cooked meal, everyone talked and laughed and acted as though there was nothing weird about having this outside person in their midst. The family completely embraced me, not only as a guest, but as a member, even if for just that brief moment of time. That feeling of complete and unquestionable acceptance is one that has stuck with me throughout the years, and something that I have strived to pass along to others.

This holiday season I am grateful for:

1. Invitations to be with others, so as not to be alone. There was a Thanksgiving a few years back when my kids went to their dad's, leaving me by myself. A couple different friends caught wind of this and immediately invited me over. Unfortunately, the kids and I had all been sick the few days prior, so I opted out of sharing any of our germs with the rest of the world, but the invitations were still important to me.

2. The ability to return that favor to others. After that particular Christmas with the family of Brenda and Kermit, I decided that my door should be open to others, if they should need it. For those who find themselves alone, but don't necessarily want to be, call on me. 

3. The ability to ask, and not impose. I don't always like to ask for help, and I sometimes feel like I'm intruding or being a bother, if I invite myself to someone else' house. But there are certain friends who I know always have their doors open to me, if I were to need it. Even if I don't need it, it's nice to know they are there for me.

4. Lots of different families. My family, my boyfriend's family and my ex's family are all pretty big families. And I feel welcome in all of them. That's a good feeling. 

5. Empathy. I'm thankful that I know what it feels like to be alone, so I can help others who might feel the same way. 

It's easy to sometimes forget that not everyone has a big family, sometimes people are grieving or missing a loved one, and the holidays aren't always the happiest time of year for some. I would hope that we can all be mindful of other people's situations and share what we have with those who have less. That's what the holiday spirit is about.