I hope I am not losing a friend.
One of my friends is going through a tough time right now. I assume. She won't really tell us. We're doing a lot of guessing. She's somehow shut down on us. I understand that this is how she deals with things. She just wants to hibernate and figure it out. And when she does that, she shuts us all out. We're not supposed to take it personally - but how can you not?
There's such a delicate line sometimes - when you want to help someone but at the same time you want to give them their space. You surely don't want to offend them by insinuating they need help, yet you want to let them know you care. Women are awful at this, by the way. We always read too much into things. But is it better to just ignore them?
My friend, and maybe a lot of women in general, have trouble letting others in. Afraid to show weakness. Maintaining their independance. Finding it hard to ask for help. It sure would make it a lot easier if she did. Just like a lot of women find it hard to clearly communicate what they want. Why do we do this to eachother?
I don't know if she's going to come out of this. I hope she will. But somehow when she does, I don't think our friendship is going to be the same. I would like it to be, but in her tough time, she's done some hurtful things. Can she go back to how she was? Can I pretend that nothing happened when she shut the door on me?
I'm trying not to make this about me. She is the one having issues. But since I can't control how she feels, and only how I feel, then I guess I can choose to be hurt or not to be. Right now I'm choosing to be patient. I hope she comes around.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Soundtrack of My Life
I heard a song today that reminded me of my old roommate. Best roommate I ever had (husband not withstanding). He used to be in a garage band, and he sang that song with them and he would rehearse it around the house. It made me happy.
I have always had an emotional connection to music. Maybe it's because I'm somewhat musical myself. I have played, I have sung, I have danced, I have enjoyed. And through music, I have lived. I can remember what song was playing or popular for most of the watershed moments of my life.
I think it started with Springsteen - which makes sense because I'm from New Jersey. My older brother and sister were very into Springsteen and I soooo wanted them to like me, so I idolized him as well. I still know all the words to "Thunder Road." I recall singing that song, with my brother and sister, around the dinner table one night, as a big "FU" to our dad (to whom none of us were very close), when he complained that no one could understand the words to Bruce's songs. There you go, dad.
I remember the song that was ubiquitous on the radio when I was starting college. And fitting too - "Anything, Anything" was just about what I would have done back then. Ready for change, independence, no more uniforms. So what if we never heard from Dramarama again (though ironically, I heard that song today also).
The Grunge era defined an entire period of my life. It was emerging just as my first, brief marriage was failing. All of the angst that bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam were expressing, I was feeling, as two kids were making the decision to stop hurting each other, and grow up - even if we'd have to do it apart. I think that's why I like the Foo Fighters so much. Dave Grohl survived the Grunge era and came out a different person, and so did I. And every so often I will put on my Docs (original, thank you) and think about that music and how it got me past all the damage.
I have always had an emotional connection to music. Maybe it's because I'm somewhat musical myself. I have played, I have sung, I have danced, I have enjoyed. And through music, I have lived. I can remember what song was playing or popular for most of the watershed moments of my life.
I think it started with Springsteen - which makes sense because I'm from New Jersey. My older brother and sister were very into Springsteen and I soooo wanted them to like me, so I idolized him as well. I still know all the words to "Thunder Road." I recall singing that song, with my brother and sister, around the dinner table one night, as a big "FU" to our dad (to whom none of us were very close), when he complained that no one could understand the words to Bruce's songs. There you go, dad.
I remember the song that was ubiquitous on the radio when I was starting college. And fitting too - "Anything, Anything" was just about what I would have done back then. Ready for change, independence, no more uniforms. So what if we never heard from Dramarama again (though ironically, I heard that song today also).
The Grunge era defined an entire period of my life. It was emerging just as my first, brief marriage was failing. All of the angst that bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam were expressing, I was feeling, as two kids were making the decision to stop hurting each other, and grow up - even if we'd have to do it apart. I think that's why I like the Foo Fighters so much. Dave Grohl survived the Grunge era and came out a different person, and so did I. And every so often I will put on my Docs (original, thank you) and think about that music and how it got me past all the damage.
Madonna's "Ray of Light" - the album and the single - also provided a cathartic backdrop. The album came out, and was receiving rave reviews, and I considered buying it. I was reading about it on the porch of the house where my then-boyfriend summarily dumped me the very next day. But I bought it anyway. I played it all the time, with the top down on my convertible all summer, driving by the beach. It was in my car a few months later, the first weekend I spent with my new boyfriend, who turned out the be the love of my life I was waiting for (and he liked it too). We played it at our wedding.
Each of my kids has a theme song too. I had a very hard time getting pregnant with my son, my firstborn. I remember driving home from the fertility clinic, after what I thought was my third unsuccessful treatment, crying all the way. I heard Jimmy Eat World's "The Middle," and prayed the words were true. "It just takes some time, you're in the middle of the ride, and everything will be just fine." And it was. And I was pregnant a month later.
My first daughter required a few treatments too, but it didn't take as long to get pregnant with her, and her delivery was a whirlwind. I was only in the hospital one rainy day with her, and there was nothing on TV except MTV, and Natasha Beddingfield's "Unwritten" was in heavy rotation. She and I must have heard that song 15 times that day. But can you think of a better song to be born to? "Today is where your book begins, the rest is still unwritten."
My third child was a blessing. No treatments, no planning, just Valerie choosing us to be her parents. That's how I know "Valerie Loves Me." And that's her song, the 80s classic by Material Issue. And even though it has some sad parts - it's ultimately about a faded party girl- it's also about the joy she brings to the boy who loves her, and how much she loves to dance. And that's my little girl. When we hear that song in the car, all the kids know it. They wait for the guitar riff, then scream at the top of their lungs, "Valerie Loves Me!" and we all laugh.
There have been lots of other meaningful songs too, but I think the most recent one that stands out for me is "Forever" by Chris Brown. Of course, he's not my favorite person due to recent events, but I loved this song before all that. The first time I heard it was while watching "So You Think You Can Dance," where two hip hop dancers performed it in "their style." They were in their element, they danced with abandon. I heard that song many times since, but it stood out again one night when we went out to a club with some friends to celebrate someone's birthday. I was stressed, needed a night out, but I was little tired and ready to go. My friends convinced me to stay for one more dance, and it ended up being this song, and I enjoyed dancing to it so much. I listened to the words and decided that I needed to really start seizing moments, clearly communicate things I wanted, break some rules, because sometimes you've really only got one chance. Although my friends might say I danced like an idiot, I'd like to think I danced with abandon too. It's only me, you and the dance floor.
I really want to instill this "music as memory" mentality in my kids. My life has been so much richer because of the music that has been its soundtrack. I can already tell they have songs they remember from when they were much smaller. I play music for them all the time; they like to sing and dance. Music can make moments come alive for them. I hope I can pass this on and get all new memories with them.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Wake-up Calls
For some god-awful reason, my kids have decided this week that 5AM was a perfectly good wake-up time. I disagree. "Dark Outside" is never a good wake-up time.
Perhaps their little bodies have accelerated the circadian rhythms - they are ready and waiting for it to be 6AM now instead of a few weeks from now when we change our clocks. Perhaps I should embrace this as an opportunity to spend a little more time with them. But when I hear a DS playing "Star Wars: Battlefront" at 5AM, I am wondering how one can secretly dismantle a DS, not feeling joy at seeing their little faces.
We've always tried to have a rule that they can come into mom and dad's room as soon as it's light out, and I'm the enforcer. Hubby, on the other hand, could care less (if he wakes up for it, that is). It's not that I'm opposed to them crawling into my bed for a snuggle, but that's not what happens. As soon as they are in our room, sleep is over. 6-year-old G brings in his DS and I have to tell him to turn down the volume (why did we get him that?). 4-year-old E will give some good snuggling, but we are struggling with her thumb-sucking and I cannot relax if I am constantly saying, "No thumb." And 2-yead-old V wants to be a mountain climber. She is all over the bed, her newfound voice constantly chattering. Which is cute any other time than 5AM.
So I drag myself out of bed to shuffle them back to their rooms. I show them the window - see? No sun! Back to bed! And as I walk back to my room, I get the dreaded, "I have to go potty" from V. Since this is a new skill for her, she needs a little assistance. Again, the ambivalence. So happy she's out of diapers but wow, a pull-up would have been helpful right about now. By the time we are back in her room, and everyone's back in bed, it's 5:15.
I should be able to go back to sleep but I can hear them talking. Chit chat. Tinkerbell-Star Wars-babydolls-fort building-plotting chatter. I can make them go back to their rooms, but I can't make them go back to sleep. And I can't sleep knowing they are awake. I am plotting - spike tonight's milk with benedryl? Eye shades for toddler? They don't care though...ready to start their day, they are.
Today, I think I was able to grab about 10 extra minutes sleep before I gave up on it. And when I encountered them all for the first time today, I must say...that fort was pretty impressive. Now if only they would sleep in it.
Perhaps their little bodies have accelerated the circadian rhythms - they are ready and waiting for it to be 6AM now instead of a few weeks from now when we change our clocks. Perhaps I should embrace this as an opportunity to spend a little more time with them. But when I hear a DS playing "Star Wars: Battlefront" at 5AM, I am wondering how one can secretly dismantle a DS, not feeling joy at seeing their little faces.
We've always tried to have a rule that they can come into mom and dad's room as soon as it's light out, and I'm the enforcer. Hubby, on the other hand, could care less (if he wakes up for it, that is). It's not that I'm opposed to them crawling into my bed for a snuggle, but that's not what happens. As soon as they are in our room, sleep is over. 6-year-old G brings in his DS and I have to tell him to turn down the volume (why did we get him that?). 4-year-old E will give some good snuggling, but we are struggling with her thumb-sucking and I cannot relax if I am constantly saying, "No thumb." And 2-yead-old V wants to be a mountain climber. She is all over the bed, her newfound voice constantly chattering. Which is cute any other time than 5AM.
So I drag myself out of bed to shuffle them back to their rooms. I show them the window - see? No sun! Back to bed! And as I walk back to my room, I get the dreaded, "I have to go potty" from V. Since this is a new skill for her, she needs a little assistance. Again, the ambivalence. So happy she's out of diapers but wow, a pull-up would have been helpful right about now. By the time we are back in her room, and everyone's back in bed, it's 5:15.
I should be able to go back to sleep but I can hear them talking. Chit chat. Tinkerbell-Star Wars-babydolls-fort building-plotting chatter. I can make them go back to their rooms, but I can't make them go back to sleep. And I can't sleep knowing they are awake. I am plotting - spike tonight's milk with benedryl? Eye shades for toddler? They don't care though...ready to start their day, they are.
Today, I think I was able to grab about 10 extra minutes sleep before I gave up on it. And when I encountered them all for the first time today, I must say...that fort was pretty impressive. Now if only they would sleep in it.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
For the Love of Laundry
Anyone who know me knows my housekeeping skills are subpar. I pretty much dust when I can't find things, and I think the easiest part of giving away our dog was knowing I could vacuum less. I clean things when they are so dirty I fear for the safety of my children. But there's something about doing laundry that I just love.
My husband actually does most of the cleaning around the house. He's really good at it and seems to like it, so I happily relinquish the tasks to him. But don't get in the way of my laundry. Occasionally I may let him start a load for me, but I am anxious until I can get in that little room and take over. Only I possess the knowledge of the hidden stain (although I haven't yet garnered that skill I thought was automatic once you became a mom - to be able to actually remove any stain). Only I know what has to be turned inside out before it goes in (as if the items weren't already inside out). And only I know what can't go in the dryer (just ask the Irish fisherman's sweater that used to fit my husband).
And God forbid anyone else should try to fold it. Because no one else can fold it the way I like it folded.
I think it goes back to my "control" issues, but when I get to fold my laundry, I am in my little kingdom. I am very particular. I dump it all out in my bedroom floor. I sort it into piles by person. Sometimes I let my kids help me sort it and we turn it into a game -I read somewhere that sorting helps with math skills, so if we can get a little learning in there, so be it. And we practice colors with the 2-year-old. But that's as far as it goes. Once it's sorted, it's all me.
The laundry has to be folded by person, and placed in piles based on what room and what drawer it goes in. When you consider that I have a family of 5, plus towels, that's a lot of floor space. In fact, I don't think I can buy anymore bedroom furniture as that would seriously disrupt my hustle-and-flow. Once it's all folded, the piles get stacked one-on-top-of-the-other in order of the way the drawers are in the dresser for each person. No one can do that but me. No one else cares about it the way I do.
A few weeks ago, when I was really overloaded, I let my mom fold my laundry. Wow, is she good at it. She puts stuff back in the dryer if she thinks it's too wrinkled. Did you know you could do that? She puts creases in things. Corners line up. It's neat and impressive. But there's boy stuff mixed with the girl stuff. 4-year-old stuff with the 2-year-old stuff. And - gasp -LONG-SLEEVED SHIRTS WITH THE SHORT-SLEEVED SHIRTS! Total chaos. And then I have to re-sort it all. And I lose her perfect creases. So I decided not to waste her time and get my control back.
So forgive my messy, dirty house. I do not know where the clean spoons are. I could not tell you where the Pledge is. But I do know who has the Elmo panties and who has the Tinkerbell panties. I have just come from a three-load laundry retreat in my bedroom. I am happy and at peace.
My husband actually does most of the cleaning around the house. He's really good at it and seems to like it, so I happily relinquish the tasks to him. But don't get in the way of my laundry. Occasionally I may let him start a load for me, but I am anxious until I can get in that little room and take over. Only I possess the knowledge of the hidden stain (although I haven't yet garnered that skill I thought was automatic once you became a mom - to be able to actually remove any stain). Only I know what has to be turned inside out before it goes in (as if the items weren't already inside out). And only I know what can't go in the dryer (just ask the Irish fisherman's sweater that used to fit my husband).
And God forbid anyone else should try to fold it. Because no one else can fold it the way I like it folded.
I think it goes back to my "control" issues, but when I get to fold my laundry, I am in my little kingdom. I am very particular. I dump it all out in my bedroom floor. I sort it into piles by person. Sometimes I let my kids help me sort it and we turn it into a game -I read somewhere that sorting helps with math skills, so if we can get a little learning in there, so be it. And we practice colors with the 2-year-old. But that's as far as it goes. Once it's sorted, it's all me.
The laundry has to be folded by person, and placed in piles based on what room and what drawer it goes in. When you consider that I have a family of 5, plus towels, that's a lot of floor space. In fact, I don't think I can buy anymore bedroom furniture as that would seriously disrupt my hustle-and-flow. Once it's all folded, the piles get stacked one-on-top-of-the-other in order of the way the drawers are in the dresser for each person. No one can do that but me. No one else cares about it the way I do.
A few weeks ago, when I was really overloaded, I let my mom fold my laundry. Wow, is she good at it. She puts stuff back in the dryer if she thinks it's too wrinkled. Did you know you could do that? She puts creases in things. Corners line up. It's neat and impressive. But there's boy stuff mixed with the girl stuff. 4-year-old stuff with the 2-year-old stuff. And - gasp -LONG-SLEEVED SHIRTS WITH THE SHORT-SLEEVED SHIRTS! Total chaos. And then I have to re-sort it all. And I lose her perfect creases. So I decided not to waste her time and get my control back.
So forgive my messy, dirty house. I do not know where the clean spoons are. I could not tell you where the Pledge is. But I do know who has the Elmo panties and who has the Tinkerbell panties. I have just come from a three-load laundry retreat in my bedroom. I am happy and at peace.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Why Are Curls a Curse?
The other day my daughter said to me, "I wish my hair was straight." She is 4.
My tiny, pixie girl has beautiful hair. It's grown halfway down her back, and we are trying to grow out her bangs for the third time (after attempts thwarted first by her and most recently by her 2-year-old sister). It is a deep brown color with golden-honey highlights most women, mom included, pay good money for. And it is not straight.
It's not exactly curly either. It's got a distinct wave and little curls on the end. It can be straightened with a hair dryer if I can get her to sit still long enough. But it's curly enough to get very tangled, flippy, and bird's-nest-like.
So what brought about this comment? Mom's fault. She caught me with the flat iron. She inherited her waves and curls from me, except years of processing, blow drying, and flat ironing have left me with a tinge (OK, more than a tinge) of frizz that make my hair, in it's curly state, look like a cross between "attempted sexy bed-head" and "light socket victim." And on the occasional days I have to go into the office, or her dad and I have date night, or some other public occasion, she will always catch me straightening it. And on school picture days, first day of school, or some other photo-op day, I will straighten hers too.
I don't want her to ever think that her curls are less than beautiful. I know I have given her the wrong impression. I have a neighbor with gorgeous curly hair, and her 4-year-old inherited her mom's gorgeous curly hair. They are beautiful. They embrace their curls. I'll bet they even appreciate their curls. I need to have my daughter hang out with them more. Show her how beautiful curls are.
Of course I also worry that one I-want-to-change-this-about-myself comment made at 4 is a precursor to personal-image issues and body-dismorphic foreshadowing. I will freak the first time she makes a "this makes my [bottom] look big" comment (no, she is not allowed to say "butt"). I realize that her learning to be comfortable with herself the way she is, is to set the example myself and surround her and her sister with the same. I need to make sure she knows she does not need to change anything about herself to please anyone.
I think tomorrow, after her bath, I will get out the diffuser and make her hair really fluffy and big and show her how pretty it is. And then I will hand her the blow dryer, diffuser attached, and have her do the same to me.
My tiny, pixie girl has beautiful hair. It's grown halfway down her back, and we are trying to grow out her bangs for the third time (after attempts thwarted first by her and most recently by her 2-year-old sister). It is a deep brown color with golden-honey highlights most women, mom included, pay good money for. And it is not straight.
It's not exactly curly either. It's got a distinct wave and little curls on the end. It can be straightened with a hair dryer if I can get her to sit still long enough. But it's curly enough to get very tangled, flippy, and bird's-nest-like.
So what brought about this comment? Mom's fault. She caught me with the flat iron. She inherited her waves and curls from me, except years of processing, blow drying, and flat ironing have left me with a tinge (OK, more than a tinge) of frizz that make my hair, in it's curly state, look like a cross between "attempted sexy bed-head" and "light socket victim." And on the occasional days I have to go into the office, or her dad and I have date night, or some other public occasion, she will always catch me straightening it. And on school picture days, first day of school, or some other photo-op day, I will straighten hers too.
I don't want her to ever think that her curls are less than beautiful. I know I have given her the wrong impression. I have a neighbor with gorgeous curly hair, and her 4-year-old inherited her mom's gorgeous curly hair. They are beautiful. They embrace their curls. I'll bet they even appreciate their curls. I need to have my daughter hang out with them more. Show her how beautiful curls are.
Of course I also worry that one I-want-to-change-this-about-myself comment made at 4 is a precursor to personal-image issues and body-dismorphic foreshadowing. I will freak the first time she makes a "this makes my [bottom] look big" comment (no, she is not allowed to say "butt"). I realize that her learning to be comfortable with herself the way she is, is to set the example myself and surround her and her sister with the same. I need to make sure she knows she does not need to change anything about herself to please anyone.
I think tomorrow, after her bath, I will get out the diffuser and make her hair really fluffy and big and show her how pretty it is. And then I will hand her the blow dryer, diffuser attached, and have her do the same to me.
I Wish I Was a Better Gift Recipient
I received two gifts this weekend for which I was less than gracious. It's so hard for controlling types like me to get excited when something doesn't exactly match one's expectations. But that's no reason to be less than gracious. Complete and total personality flaw.
Someone went through the trouble of getting me something I needed. They spent a lot more on it than they needed to. Not the first time that's happened. But instead of saying "Thank you" and looking past it, I think I said something really callous, like, "Do you still have the receipt?" What horrible thing to say! All I could think was, "How do we recoup the $30?" instead of, "What a sweet and thoughtful thing to do." Backpedaling a "Thank you" in there I'm sure did nothing to assauge the disappointment the giver felt with my initial reaction.
And to add insult to injury, I did it again. The very next day. Upon receiving a second gift, from the same giver, that was a different model from the one I wanted. Giver got a half-hearted "Thank you" and half smile that was a weak attempt to recover from yesterday's faux pas. How does one make up for something like that? And see the thoughtfulness and generosity in the heart of the giver and the intent of the gift? And realize how hurt said giver must have been at my reaction?
I know giver will recover but that doesn't make me feel less awful about it. And what if it had been one of my kids who was the giver? How crushed any one of them would be if they got a reaction that was like the one the original giver got. I'd like to think I would never do that to one of them. I'd also like to think I would never do that again to the giver. I have full intent to try to improve this flaw. I love giving gifts, I like getting gifts, but I'm sure not making it easy for certain people to give them to me. Wouldn't blame them if they stopped trying.
I hope next time to be the GIVER of deep and heartfelt appreciation.
Someone went through the trouble of getting me something I needed. They spent a lot more on it than they needed to. Not the first time that's happened. But instead of saying "Thank you" and looking past it, I think I said something really callous, like, "Do you still have the receipt?" What horrible thing to say! All I could think was, "How do we recoup the $30?" instead of, "What a sweet and thoughtful thing to do." Backpedaling a "Thank you" in there I'm sure did nothing to assauge the disappointment the giver felt with my initial reaction.
And to add insult to injury, I did it again. The very next day. Upon receiving a second gift, from the same giver, that was a different model from the one I wanted. Giver got a half-hearted "Thank you" and half smile that was a weak attempt to recover from yesterday's faux pas. How does one make up for something like that? And see the thoughtfulness and generosity in the heart of the giver and the intent of the gift? And realize how hurt said giver must have been at my reaction?
I know giver will recover but that doesn't make me feel less awful about it. And what if it had been one of my kids who was the giver? How crushed any one of them would be if they got a reaction that was like the one the original giver got. I'd like to think I would never do that to one of them. I'd also like to think I would never do that again to the giver. I have full intent to try to improve this flaw. I love giving gifts, I like getting gifts, but I'm sure not making it easy for certain people to give them to me. Wouldn't blame them if they stopped trying.
I hope next time to be the GIVER of deep and heartfelt appreciation.
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