Its been a busy year. Too busy. Like, there-are-so-many-things-vying-for-my-attention-I-can't-focus-on-one-long-enough-to-blog-about-it busy. I intend to cut back. But the truth is, whenever I find myself with a quiet moment alone I panic- "How long will this moment last?" "What shall I do with this moment?" until said moment is wasted in indecision and I end up huddled in the corner of my closet checking facebook on my phone, which is the last way I would choose to spend my time. Just as eating stale gummy bears from my pantry isn't the way I'd choose to spend my daily caloric intake, but as there is nothing more delicious in the house, I settle.
Its no body's fault but my own, really. In trying to be a productive, responsible, creative, hygienic person, I have inadvertently created a mental list of expectations I can never meet. For some reason I think I should be able to go to the gym, write a book, raise a family, teach piano, maintain a clean and awesomely decorated house and shower no problem. I know women who make this look like cake. Red-velvet cake in an alternate reality where I'm a friggin' super hero and not an anxiety-ridden mother of three high-maintenance children who refuse to dress themselves in weather-appropriate clothing, eat most foods, or sleep. Because realistically I can either raise a family and shower OR go to the gym and teach piano without showering while one of my children throws a ginormous tantrum because I insisted she wear socks to school.
And then there's the economy, and family members who can't stop making self-destructive decisions, and the upcoming zombie apocalypse to prepare for, and Christmas.
Sorry, I had to go eat stale gummy bears in my closet by the light of my phone, discovering more ways I am inadequate via Pinterest. Let's bring it down a notch: I have a good life. I married my best friend, we have three beautiful and healthy children, and a sweet little house with a yard. And if the world ends Friday it wont matter that I never ran a marathon or finished a book. It wont matter that my house wasn't perfectly clean or that my kids had some bizarre sock-prejudices.
And when the sun rises Saturday morning and life goes on, I hope I can remember that I'm meeting my real goal every day I get out of bed and serve my family, every day I make someone else feel loved. Maybe if I stopped trying so hard to be perfect I could actually enjoy being good. Instead of settling for facebook and stale gummy bears, maybe I should settle for quiet moments alone and just let myself be happy.
Its either that or 5-hour energy drinks. Your pick.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Read to Pink Floyd.
I haven't written anything beyond the occasional face book status update in many months. You see, sometimes when I say what I'm really thinking at 11:47 on a week night, I wake up at 7:13 the next morning with a horrible panicked feeling- "Did I seriously just admit my Easter Bunny contempt to everyone I know?" "Did I describe in detail my weird crush on Joaquin Phoenix?" What the what? I was kidding- whatever. So harelips are kind of hot. In a piratey sort of way.
Anyways, I have held a six-month long internal debate whether society as a whole is better off with or without my thoughts. And while the jury's still out, I do take comfort in the fact that my influence- for good or evil- is minuscule. Like a tiny little scule. So small. Almost non-existent. So, I worry needlessly. That said, I really don't like Easter Bunnies or any bunny for that matter, cute and fluffy as they may be. A pink-eyed devil tried to take my arm once and I've not met a bunny since that made a good impression. Just think of all the bunnies you know- Playboy, Bunicula, Roger Rabbit, the bunny from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail." Despicable creatures all.
Which does not segue into "I am terrified of the future" like I thought it would. My little girl is starting first grade in two weeks, meaning two out of three of my children will be gone until 3:30 every weekday until they finally grow up and leave me a withered college-dropout with a disproportionate hatred of bunnies (there's my segue!) Although I love to watch my children grow and become increasingly independent, the reality of my eventual uselessness has been crashing down on me like a sack of hot nickles. What will I do in three more years when all of our children are in school and I have eight hours of uninterrupted nothing? The possibilities appear in my head so numerous and loud, it sets my head spinning. The thing to do is go back to school and get my degree, obviously. A degree in what I don't know. Creative writing? Not very profitable. None of my interests have ever been profitable- and if they are not profitable does it warrant a student loan? And all the while that nagging ache in the pit of my stomach- "have I been a good mother? Am I a good mother? Will I be a good mother if-?" Eventually settling into that dull, depressing pain- time's insistent progression- they're growing up so fast.
I am afraid to make them my entire life, and afraid not to. And often afraid that it wont matter anyway if I completely lose my mind. On the upside, some very successful writers have been insane. Lewis Carroll for instance- writing about rabbits, obsessively worried by the ticking of that bloody pocket-watch...
Anyways, I have held a six-month long internal debate whether society as a whole is better off with or without my thoughts. And while the jury's still out, I do take comfort in the fact that my influence- for good or evil- is minuscule. Like a tiny little scule. So small. Almost non-existent. So, I worry needlessly. That said, I really don't like Easter Bunnies or any bunny for that matter, cute and fluffy as they may be. A pink-eyed devil tried to take my arm once and I've not met a bunny since that made a good impression. Just think of all the bunnies you know- Playboy, Bunicula, Roger Rabbit, the bunny from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail." Despicable creatures all.
Which does not segue into "I am terrified of the future" like I thought it would. My little girl is starting first grade in two weeks, meaning two out of three of my children will be gone until 3:30 every weekday until they finally grow up and leave me a withered college-dropout with a disproportionate hatred of bunnies (there's my segue!) Although I love to watch my children grow and become increasingly independent, the reality of my eventual uselessness has been crashing down on me like a sack of hot nickles. What will I do in three more years when all of our children are in school and I have eight hours of uninterrupted nothing? The possibilities appear in my head so numerous and loud, it sets my head spinning. The thing to do is go back to school and get my degree, obviously. A degree in what I don't know. Creative writing? Not very profitable. None of my interests have ever been profitable- and if they are not profitable does it warrant a student loan? And all the while that nagging ache in the pit of my stomach- "have I been a good mother? Am I a good mother? Will I be a good mother if-?" Eventually settling into that dull, depressing pain- time's insistent progression- they're growing up so fast.
I am afraid to make them my entire life, and afraid not to. And often afraid that it wont matter anyway if I completely lose my mind. On the upside, some very successful writers have been insane. Lewis Carroll for instance- writing about rabbits, obsessively worried by the ticking of that bloody pocket-watch...
Monday, February 13, 2012
The Language of Love.
Love Language #1: Quality Time
Poor Norman. He just wanted some one-on-one. That's what made him feel special. A private conversation with plenty of eye- contact. A little mutual bonding. Time spent together in pleasant activities- like taking a walk, sharing a bundt cake, playing a board game, taxidermy... Why not take some time for your favorite psycho this Valentine's Day. A little quality time goes a long way.
Love Language # 2: Words of Affirmation
For Grima, a simple, "I love you." would have really made his day. He needed a little verbal reassurance. Maybe a "thank you for folding the laundry, Grima," or a "your hair looks especially wet today, Grima," or a "You certainly have a knack for emotional-manipulation, Grima." Don't let another day pass you by. Take the opportunity to say what's in your heart.
Love Language #3: Gifts
All Xerxes wanted was the world. He showed his affection through gift-giving. Some reciprocity would have been nice. Like a thoughtful card, or that new sweater he's been eye-balling, maybe another golden-piercing, or countless subordinate minions. It isn't the price tag, but the thought that counts. Be kind. Put some thought into the gifts you give.
Love Language #4: Physical Touch
Give him a Baby Ruth and he's yours for a day. But what makes Sloth really feel loved is a hug, or a nice, wet lickery kiss, watching pirate movies cuddled up on the couch. Don't be a goonie. Show your love a little physical affection.
Love Language #5: Acts of Service
The question isn't what would Gollum do for his Precious, but what wouldn't he do for his Precious. Suffer torture in the hands of cruel orcses? Take out the garbage? Hike across Middle Earth? Dive into the fiery depths of Mt. Doom? Make a favorite dinner? Find ways to serve your Precious. When your love is truly giving it will come back to you ten-fold.
Poor Norman. He just wanted some one-on-one. That's what made him feel special. A private conversation with plenty of eye- contact. A little mutual bonding. Time spent together in pleasant activities- like taking a walk, sharing a bundt cake, playing a board game, taxidermy... Why not take some time for your favorite psycho this Valentine's Day. A little quality time goes a long way.
Love Language # 2: Words of Affirmation
For Grima, a simple, "I love you." would have really made his day. He needed a little verbal reassurance. Maybe a "thank you for folding the laundry, Grima," or a "your hair looks especially wet today, Grima," or a "You certainly have a knack for emotional-manipulation, Grima." Don't let another day pass you by. Take the opportunity to say what's in your heart.
Love Language #3: Gifts
All Xerxes wanted was the world. He showed his affection through gift-giving. Some reciprocity would have been nice. Like a thoughtful card, or that new sweater he's been eye-balling, maybe another golden-piercing, or countless subordinate minions. It isn't the price tag, but the thought that counts. Be kind. Put some thought into the gifts you give.Love Language #4: Physical Touch
Give him a Baby Ruth and he's yours for a day. But what makes Sloth really feel loved is a hug, or a nice, wet lickery kiss, watching pirate movies cuddled up on the couch. Don't be a goonie. Show your love a little physical affection.Love Language #5: Acts of Service
The question isn't what would Gollum do for his Precious, but what wouldn't he do for his Precious. Suffer torture in the hands of cruel orcses? Take out the garbage? Hike across Middle Earth? Dive into the fiery depths of Mt. Doom? Make a favorite dinner? Find ways to serve your Precious. When your love is truly giving it will come back to you ten-fold.
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