H is for Hiccups and Hide-and-Seek

I've been on this be here/be now/be present quest lately. I mean, if sadness is a result of something that has already happened and anxiety comes from our worries about what might happen, it stands to reason that the balance lies in the present. Right? In theory, it seems easy enough - but in reality, it is a moment by moment challenge for me.

The other day, I ended up at the bookstore after receiving some sad news (not like 'my dog died' sad news, but neither that 'Kanye and Kim were having a fight' sad news. Somewhere in the middle sad news). And it would be there that I ended up with a handful of opportunities to test the theory. I ordered my double dirty chai (as if any other dirty would do) and sat down to read and forget, but I couldn't focus on the words in front of me. I was still busy trying to convince myself to let go of five minutes ago and not worry about five minutes from now. But in that exact moment, the here and now really was sad. I wasn't dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. I was sad NOW - in the present. And it seemed super counter intuitive to try to stay in it. What if being in the moment isn't always awesome? Why would I want to stay there? So I looked around aimlessly, allowing my mind to wander. I have spent countless hours in this place - walking around and judging books by their covers to quiet the noise. But this time, I just sat there - scanning the place. As I did, I saw a mysterious looking older gentleman a few tables away, staring out at nothing as much as he did his laptop. An Asian mother, nursing her baby while her toddler spoke quickly to her in a language I couldn't understand, but knew immediately to be the universal language of a toddler driving his mother batshit crazy. And a young couple staring into each others eyes and laughing at things that weren't even funny - because they still had to. And then it happened. On a shelf to my right, I saw an Erector Set and I heard myself laugh out loud. (If I have to explain why, we probably don't hang out very often). That part of me that finds joy in gems like this is always present. And in that moment, I was grateful to have the mind of an immature 8th grader, because it made the here and now pretty tolerable. Dare I say, awesome. Even if only for a moment.

It wasn't long before my gut reminded my heart who reminded my head that I was sad and I was snapped back to that feeling. I reached under my glasses to catch a tear that fell before I even knew it was coming. Very discreetly, I assumed. But within three seconds of doing so, I looked up to see the aforementioned mysterious looking older gentleman hunched over near my table, so as to make eye contact and quietly say "I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt you or to pry, but are you OK?" Surprised, I said, "Yes. Thank you, I am fine." As he responded with "OK, that's good, I just wanted to make sure," I realized that I instantly went from being sad to feeling comfort because of a complete stranger who, in his own "staring out at nothing," had noticed me doing the same. Maybe I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn't. Our "nows" just happened to cross. And it changed things… for a moment. After sitting there for a second more, I looked back over at the Erector Set, smiled again, and realized it was time to go. But before I left, as the kind stranger went back to the counter for a coffee refill, I stopped by his table and dropped a note on his keyboard that read:

And then I walked out - with a calm that wasn't there when I walked in.

When I started writing this entry, Quincy came to me, upset that she had the hiccups. And, as I tried comforting her, I found myself smiling at the unintended metaphor. Nobody really likes having the hiccups. Sometimes they are just a little annoying, but sometimes they make your "tummy feel really yucky and bouncy." She didn't have them a moment ago, but the good news was, she probably wouldn't have them much longer - because these too shall pass.

So, the take-aways are this:
There is always an Erector Set around the corner. People are inherently kind. It's almost impossible to leave a bookstore not feeling better than when you went in. And hiccups don't last forever. I've also learned that the times it means the most to hold on to a moment are the times I spend them with my children. Because, as the mother of two adult boys, I understand all too well how fleeting those moments really are. So, if you'll excuse me, I have a hiccup-free four year old yelling "I'm done hiding and I'm not behind the couch" - from behind the couch - that I need to find.

G is for Google

The following (all of it) is a ridiculously accurate depiction of the discussions having taken place in my head or my life over the last few days. 

• That voice is SO familiar, but I can’t figure out who it is?
• Where can I rent a carpet shampooer at midnight on a Sunday in Eagle?
• Can I actually make a meal with a tomato, peanut butter, shredded cheese and pickles?
• Is he really saying “scaramouche" and what does that even mean?

Google that shit!

What does it mean if my toddler has fluorescent….  
I don’t even have to finish the question before Google finishes it for me with ….blue poop.  And, that it isn’t weird enough that Google totally knew that's what I was going to ask, apparently it knows because at least a million other people have toddlers with fluorescent blue poop. Which tells me I am not alone, but not much else. And, it turns out, I could have easily said burgundy poop and at least a thousand other people would have already asked that too. Which is just weird. (She didn’t, by the way, have burgundy poop)

I’ve been sick all week and, while I know what it is this time, it's not uncommon for me to turn to the interwebs to tell me there are all sorts of crazy things wrong with me. Based on my "research" over the years, I am not entirely sure how I am still alive, to be honest. In fact, when I googled What does it mean if I have hypothyroidism, a hernia, a brain tumor AND Phantosmia all at the same time?* the response was….. It means you are a miracle. 
Thanks Google.  I’ve often wondered. 
*Don't bother googling. That combo was completely fabricated…..just as the illnesses usually are. But we both know you're going to Google Phantosmia. As you should. 

Last night, my sister was all too excited to show us her new stupid human trick, as she had finally outsmarted the Rubik's Cube. After she finished, I asked if she had googled how to do it. Of course she had, and then she proceeded to tell me it was all just a series of algorithms and if you did this here and that there and licked your lips twice, with one eye closed and blah blah blah…… (I'll be honest, she lost me at "algorithms") The point is, thanks to Google, the Rubik's Cube that has had its hold on her for the better part of 30+  years was now nothing more than a cube of algorithms. Or something like that. And algorithms, it seems, ain't got nothing on my sister!


In my infinite boredom last night, I went ahead and took a survey (which consisted solely of typing my name) to determine my spirit animal. How Chris translates to Bear, I have no idea. But don't think for one minute that I didn't google what it meant to be a bear, just in case it meant I was awesome. What I learned was: In the kingdom of spirit animals, the bear is emblematic of grounding forces and strength. This animal has been worshiped throughout time as a powerful totem, inspiring those who need it the courage to stand up against adversity. As a spirit animal in touch with the earth and the cycles of nature, it is a powerful guide to support physical and emotional healing.
So yes, I am awesome. Go figure.


There is a video (lasting mere seconds) that had me laughing out loud for a good five straight days when I first saw it. And, since that is exactly what I needed last night, I pulled up the Kid in a Minion Costume Who Falls and was immediately reminded that "I'm OK". 
If you haven’t seen it….. you know what to do.  
Google that shit! 

BTDubs:

• Aisha Tyler, from The Talk, is the voice of Lana from Archer. Quite the paradox. And brilliant. 
• You can’t rent a carpet shampooer anywhere at midnight on a Sunday in Eagle. Which then led to googling How long is the average lifespan of a cat?
• While Google had no decent ideas for the combination of the aforementioned ingredients, I now know how to perfect the grilled cheese sandwich. And that peanut butter is a meal in itself. Tell me something I don't know, Google. 
• Yes, that IS what he is saying. And it means, in an abbreviated version, a buffoon or boastful clown. I've gone my whole life thinking it was a nonsense word, but would have been perfectly content to ignorantly sing along for the rest of my life. Because it's Freddie Mercury, people!                                   

If you had to google "Freddie Mercury", you are way younger than anyone I thought would ever be reading this blog. Also, you should probably be kind of mad at your parents. And/or your friends. Somebody. You should be mad at somebody. 

F is for F***ing Forgiveness

Today, I forgive myself for trying too hard and for not trying. For crying incessantly. For eating chips just because I wanted the salsa. For not eating ice cream when I wanted it and for gaining weight anyway. For not being where/who I thought I would be at 40. For making decisions that don't reflect who I am. For recording Vanderpump Rules and for not watching the news. For running slow or, God forbid, walking. For not playing softball in college or having a college fund set aside for my children. For not finishing what I start and not starting what I want to finish. For needing somebody else to validate me. For giving people the wrong impression and then obsessing over making sure they know it's wrong. For being weak or needing help or having a bad day. For not ironing on Sunday or putting away my clothes - ever. For wishing I didn't have my cat. For overcompensating and looking ridiculous. For not teaching or writing or painting or running or knitting or reading or doing sit-ups. For failing at marriage. Twice. For not nurturing my friendships or my relationships with my sisters and brother. For being selfish and self-righteous. For saying I'm grateful but not acting like I am. For knowing nothing about politics and everything about pop culture. For drunk texting to sober people. For playing the martyr or being the victim. For not walking away before I've made a fool of myself. For not forgiving my father sooner or answering more of my mother's texts. For wanting a boob job and a tummy tuck and for being flawed. For not having written a book yet. For settling. For not remembering when my brats got their first tooth or giving them enough attention. For not wearing sunscreen and having wrinkles. For not saving all of my concert tickets. For being really bad at picking guys. For not brushing my teeth before bed or flossing - ever. For latching on to things/people that are bad for me and distancing myself from the things/people that aren't. For hitting send before I spell check. For being lazy and jealous and angry and human. For still having my dead Christmas tree in the backyard. For spending money I don't have on things I don't need. For beating myself up. For taking three years to start writing again. And for knowing that for every one thing I wrote here, there were still ten that I didn't.

Today, I fucking forgive myself…..for all of it. And moving forward, I'll probably just start being perfect and awesome and stuff. 

E is for Elliott

It's the day before he turns 10 and we are driving to school. I ask him what he wants for his birthday and, after looking out the window to ponder for a moment, he says calmly and in all seriousness, "I want to be able to say c-r-a-p and I want a Dr. Pepper." Trying my best not to laugh out loud (and wondering why I spent so much on an actual present), I tell him that I will have to think about it. The story ends at Gerties with Elliott drinking a Dr. Pepper and with him nervously spouting a well-rehearsed, "Holy cow, did I eat a crap load of pizza!" After being reassured that he wasn't in trouble, he smiled contently, completely satisfied by his rebel moment and the best birthday present ever!

This story remains one of the most endearing in my life with Elliott and, with a boy like him, endearing moments are in abundance. Even though at 15, c-r-a-p is as common as hello and I should be so lucky to have Dr. Pepper as my biggest beverage concern, the story still speaks volumes about the essence of my Elliott.

If you were to ask me what makes Elliott stand out from others, I would unequivocally say that it is his heart of gold. Since the day he was born, he has loved and cared and felt like no one else I have ever known. Growing up, the comment shared by every teacher Elliott had was that he was a friend to everyone. He has always been the first to scoop up the underdog, include the one alone on the playground, help those with challenges (physical or mental), and put his arm around anyone in need - all without a single concern for what this may do to his own status. Of course, the older he gets, the harder I imagine it is to be so outwardly accepting of others. But if it has been harder, he has shown even greater character by still never losing sight of the compassionate person that he has always been.

Other things I would say to describe Elliott:

The worst consequence for Elliott would be knowing he disappointed someone he cared about.

He wears his heart on his sleeve. He loves completely, hurts deeply, and cares abundantly.

He is a gentleman and the first to hold open a door...for anyone, carry groceries for a stranger, or defend the character of someone he thought was being disrespected.

He is a friend to anyone who needs one.

He says "please" and "thank you" and "I love you" whenever they apply and times when even I might forget that they do.

With each one of these attributes I list, I can think of a million examples to support them. As I think about each of those times, I am full of pride in the young man that I have raised...am raising. I am grateful to be along for the ride that he is taking and truly believe that anyone else in his path will feel as blessed as I have to have been touched by his sincerity.

Now I know my son is far from perfect, and I spend a decent amount of energy talking with him about the times that he isn't. But one of the things I know (and dislike) about the world is that people are quick to tell others when they do something wrong and often forget to tell them all that they do so right. One of my goals this year is to tell the people I love, that I love them...more. Elliott will read this (only because I will make him) and my hope is that when he does, he will realize all that is good and beautiful in him. I want him to know that his actionsspeak to his character and his heart will always define him. Amidst the mistakes he will make along they way, if he can keep those two things in check, he will, no doubt, be part of what makes the world a better place.

D is for Dog Hair

Don't get me wrong, I love my pets. But I would love them more if I weren't removing evidence of their existence with a lint roller every time I left the house.

On a side note, we did, after an extensive search and many hits and misses, discover the most awesome tool in successfully removing the hair (albeit very temporarily) from the hardwood floors. Since I know we are not the only ones who stand to benefit from our find, I present to you the Shark (http://www.sharkclean.com/). Because they aren't paying me to advertise, that is all I will say. Just trust me. From one pet-hair-hating, pet lover to another - trust me.

The problem with the pet hair, besides the fact that it is everywhere all the time, is that it somehow seems to impede my daily productivity. When I'm organizing in my head the list of things I need to accomplish each day (because I do start every day with the best of intentions), I look around at the scattered, freshly shed pet hair and have myself convinced that nothing else can happen until I make my daily vacuum through the house. I don't always want to do vacuum, and since I have already established that the all or nothing mentality has an ugly hold on me, sometimes that means nothing else gets done.

On the flip side, the silly flip side, as soon as I do vacuum, I feel a renewed sense of purpose and things generally start to happen. See what I mean? Silly.

To add insult to injury, lately I'm finding other hair amidst the piles of theirs. The insulting part is that it is mine. Maybe that is the injury part. Either way, it is disheartening. I have always had a lot of hair, but as was the case the first two times, I was blessed with much more of it during my pregnancy. The pisser is that it was temporary and I seem to be losing the hair I gained at a much faster rate that I am the weight I gained. I find it on the couch, my clothes, the tub, the floor, the counters and the clutches of my unusually strong daughter. I'm amazed I still have any at all. I'm amazed any of us do. And yes, the "us" just confirmed that I am now in a group that consists of me, a dog, and a cat.

On a positive note, the pet hair might just be my best argument yet for getting some new furniture. Leather furniture.

C is for Control

We can control, be controlled, lose control, be controlling, or lack control. There is so much to say here, but because of the many variations of the word, I find it difficult to organize my thoughts in order to write. One might say I am having a hard time controlling the direction of this entry. Maybe there won’t be one. A direction, that is.

Life really seems to be about finding a balance between the things we cannot control and the things we should.

This is what I know now. I cannot control others (Lord knows, I have tried). I cannot make my son like math, make my daughter eat more, my students read more or my husband put the green bowls on the bottom shelf and the plastic ones on the top. I cannot make someone sorry or admit when they are wrong. I cannot keep the dog out of the mud or the cat from puking on the carpet. But I want to. And I feel out of control when I can’t. The bottom line is, I am. What I am finally starting to recognize is the obvious; in the big picture, these things really don’t matter. I find myself saying, “pick your battles” often. And I do everyday. I pick my battles. It is the mantra of my mid-thirties. I am starting to feel myself get wiser with age. Maybe Oprah is right.

I also know that while I put my energies into attempting to control the things I can’t, I am wasting valuable energy needed to control the things I can. And should. I can control what I eat, the days I run, and the water I drink. I can control the way I treat people and the things that I say. I can control my to-do lists and what time I go to bed at night. But since outside forces sometimes make these things difficult to control, I sometimes don’t, even when I know I should. Interesting, considering the other things aren’t difficult, they are impossible to control.

I know that losing control and letting go of control are two totally different things. Being a control freak (as I have been affectionately referred to by some), marrying another one has created major lessons in self-discipline and the art of letting go. I have discovered that I am better at it than I thought I would be. So much so that I now I have to be cautious of becoming complacent in certain areas because I have given them to someone else to take over.

I am learning to let go of the little things. If I didn’t, some days I would lose control entirely.

I know that sometimes I feel like maybe I am trying to control everything on the outside to hide the fact that so much of what is on the inside is missing that restraint. This is huge.

Writing this entry has taken me over a week. I told myself that it was because of a very sick nephew, doctor’s appointments, my own fever of 103, daycare hunts, and a clingy baby. Yes, these are all external events and yes, they were beyond my control. The truth is, none of them should have stopped me from writing at some point, yesterday or the day before or even the day before that. Again, trying to control what I can't and losing control of what I should.

I am a work in progress, but this too I can control.

B is for BodyPump

Today was the day I finally braved the gym again - for the first time since I was about 7 months pregnant. Going to the gym with an extra 30 pounds because you’re pregnant, comes with looks of admiration from others and the feeling of confidence from myself. Going to the gym with an extra 30 pounds when you are not pregnant carries with it the feeling that you are simply like every other overweight person in the gym, a month overdue on their New Year’s resolution. When I go anywhere else, I have the baby with me and one of two things happens. 1. Nobody notices me (or the maternity clothes I am still wearing) because of the gorgeous nugget in the car seat I am carrying or 2. Everyone sees that I just had a baby and everyone understands. Today, I walked in the gym alone, 30 pounds heavier than I want to be, and in really tight workout pants.

Vulnerability at its finest.

I didn’t just go to the gym. I went for BodyPump. For those of you that have taken this class, I could stop here and you would feel my pain. For those of you who haven’t, I just ask that you trust me when I say that tomorrow will be spent avoiding stairs, and chairs, and toilets, and anything else that requires me to bend my legs – at all. My body felt ready today. Tomorrow, I will be reminded that it is NEVER really ready.

Just as I mentioned in my last post, I am open to the idea that with change, great things come. And I don’t necessarily think it comes in the most obvious or suspecting ways. I am aware that going to the class today was the right thing to do and I do appreciate, simply, that I am able - but something bigger happened as I put my mat away and walked toward the door to leave class this morning. In came a flood of senior citizens that had been waiting outside the room for our class to finish so theirs could begin. They were early and eager and pushing their way through to find a spot to plant their silver sneakers for the next hour. They had smiles on their faces and they were focused and ready. They all had a good 30 years on me and suddenly my 30 pounds seemed more than manageable. I walked out of the gym smiling and grateful and tried to visualize myself walking in a gym 30 years from now, inspiring an insecure 36-year-old mother of three to suck it up.

As I finish this post, I can hear my daughter talking to her papa downstairs. I can hear him telling her it is the most beautiful sound in the world. My aching back, tight pants, and messy house seem a small price to pay. Everyone should be so lucky.