The Table

This is our table.  As the focal point of our dining room, it's a disgrace.  

It's almost 13 years old.  I know this because I remember that the day it came
(unassembled, from the furniture company, I hustled to put it all together so Hubby would be surprised when he came home from work) I was about 5 months pregnant with C.  And C is almost 13, too.

Back then, we'd been in the house a couple of years already and had been making do with the teeny, round, brass and glass, garage sale-acquired table from our stint as apartment-dwellers.  We'd also been limping along with the old, semi-functioning, glass-top stove that came with the house.  Our means were limited, but we'd managed to save up a modest amount and decided it was time for some upgrades.  As we shopped, we immediately gravitated toward the beautiful cherry dining sets.  Something like that would cost us all of our savings, but how elegant and sohpisticated!   In the end, we went for economy and purchased both a new stove and a dining set.  We knew the new table wasn't the greatest.  It was good enough, though, for the time being and, surely, we'd eventually get something nicer.  But mostly, we were thrilled - our very own first set!  And, it came with a leaf.  More than just an auxilliary piece of wood; a hope and promise that there would be lots of people to accommodate around our table, and many occasions to do so.

Over time, plenty of validation was given to our suspicions about the quality of the table.  The thin veneer was no match for little ones transitioning out of sippy cups who repeatedly spilled their drinks, or a cat who had the unfortunate fondness for tipping over abandoned, half-finished cups to see what was inside.  Neither could the cheap finish defend itself against the ravages of arts and crafts.  Who knew that glitter could permanently embed itself into wood?  There might have also been a few times when oven-hot casserole dishes and pans didn't quite make it onto their trivets, adding to the surface damage.

For all of the cosmetic abuse it suffered, the table has done its duty.  It's been the undeserving recipient of rough poundings during boisterous family game nights.  It's been a perfect pedestal from which to display the occasional vase of flowers.  It's been a dutiful bearer of mail, schoolwork and other piles of miscellanea.

And so, it's time for a new table.  It's almost certainly past time to replace the one we have.  But I don't think we will; not just yet.  I'd like to think we're not yet done having the kinds of adventures that have left our table in its sad, sad shape. 



Christmas: it's time to lower our expectations

There gets to be a time every Christmas season when the magnitude and madness of it all hit home. Often, the first pangs occur when I’m driving home from work in the dark, making my way through the neighborhood streets to my house.  All of the outside decorations on houses, trees, bushes and lawns that just yesterday seemed so perfectly festive and cheery suddenly seem severe and too bright and frantic.  It’s like they’re screaming in desperation, “CHRISTMASTIME!  HAPPY!  MERRY!  HAPPY!  MERRY!” 

Obviously, the lights never change.  I’m pretty sure what’s really happening is my annual and inevitable trip, clawing and scratching, across the border from Trying to Make Everything Perfect for Christmas-ville to Yeah, It’s Not Gonna Happen-town.  It’s me who’s frantic and desperate.

Some years are better than others, but sometimes Christmas just doesn’t come together the way we think it should.  Sometimes there are circumstances – a new baby in the house (lovely in theory, but exhausting in reality), financial woes, the loss of a loved one or a hundred other things - that could really throw a wrench into the finely-tuned expectations of blissful holiday happiness.

 The holiday machine is a juggernaut of incessant demands on our time and our resources of money, energy and goodwill.  It enslaves us to perceived obligations such as attending parties and buying and baking and decorating and mailing – all in the name of getting into the spirit of things.   It’s when you’re dutifully doing it all but still aren’t feeling it that things start to get dicey.

Some panic and throw it into overdrive.  We’re sure that if we kick it up, we’ll get done all those things that “need” to be done and then it will finally feel Christmassy.

Some feel guilty.  We feel like we’re letting people down if we can’t get into full-on Christmas mode. 

And some forfeit any hope of feeling the Christmas spirit altogether.  It’s been a horrible year, and even going through the motions is more painful than anything.

I say Christmas doesn’t have to be glitzy and glossy and bright and cheerful at all, let alone all that, all the time.  I call BS on the notion that it’s an all-or-nothing proposition.   I say it’s time to lower our expectations for Christmas. 

Considering all we go through just to get by, day by day, it’s unreasonable to think that we should be awash in Christmas magic each and every moment of the season.  But, I think if we’re open to it, the Christmas spirit will find us every now and again.

I think it comes to us on the strains of a Christmas song that brings us, even briefly, a warm feeling of comfort.

I think it comes to us in a solemn moment when something inside us stirs as we contemplate the very first Christmas.

I think it comes to us in our dark corners at the end of the day, as we think about the ones we love and our hearts silently wish Christmas happiness for them, even if we don’t think we feel it ourselves. 

For me, this year, it finds me on the commute to the office every work day.  I’m strapped in with nothing else to do for 35 minutes than enjoy my playlist of very favorite Christmas songs.  As I auto-pilot to work, still relatively optimistic about the day ahead, I’m not distracted by my beloved-but-needy children or a business email or an overdue household chore.  Bing and Buble, the little drummer boy and the poor orphan girl named  Maria, the Ave Maria and Feliz Navidad – they bring me the Christmas spirit without asking a thing in return. 

Unfortunately, the evening commute isn’t quite the same.  I’m tired and possibly frazzled from the long day so far and have, still, to re-engage home life where I left off this morning.  And, I have to drive by those damned, obnoxious lights again.  They're still screaming, but I look the other way and ignore their demands for my immediate merriness.  I choose, instead, to relax and let the holiday spirit come to me as it will. And, inevitably, it will.

Here’s to letting Christmas find us in meaningful ways, whenever and wherever it can.  In place of feeling despair over impossible expectations, let us feel peace from expecting less.    

Merry Christmas to all.

Mercy me

There’s a mom I know whose parenting style has me confused. Some days I think she’s my hero and then some days she scares me and I’m glad she’s not my mom.
 

It’s because she’s so, SO confident in all of her parenting choices. I envy her conviction sometimes. She takes some of those really difficult situations, deals with them head-on, and never looks back. It seems like she has so much strength and perspective and vision to always do the right thing. 
 

I remember once, when her child was going through an especially difficult stretch, the mom resolutely handed out punishment after punishment until it was resolved. Ooooh, and sometimes the punishments were hefty! She once even took away her child’s birthday (let her look at her presents for days until her behavior warranted the privilege of opening them)! Someone must have asked her about it, because I remember her saying any punishment she ever gave her child was fully deserved. She was 100% unapologetic for her system of discipline.
 

Now, I like to think I run a fairly tight ship, too. My BS tolerance threshold is permanently set on LOW and when it’s breached, I can go from Nice Mommy to Who-Are-You-and-Can-You-Please-Release-Your-Demonic-Hold-on-My-Mommy Mommy in no time flat. I can hand out scathing punishments with the best of them. Okay, maybe not – I don’t know if I could ever be angry enough to cancel a celebration of the day they were born - but I’ve been known to issue some good penalties. And I’ve also been known to retract them.
 

I recently withdrew a punishment I imposed on our oldest son, within a half hour of sentencing. He got himself grounded because he didn’t meet one of my homework deadlines. Yes, the guidelines were set beforehand and yes, he was fully aware of the consequences of missing the deadline. He had extra homework that night, but the guidelines allow for that sort of thing, so he must have been goofing off. The penalty was justified. And, bless his little heart, he didn’t fight it. He sat right there through the angry lecture and took it.
 

Afterwards, I got thinking about it. He had been working for hours. Could he have met the deadline? Probably, with some laser focus and zero distractions. But, even lacking those, he really had put in a great deal of effort, and it showed, physically. His face was tired and his body was sagging. 
 

I normally advocate for following through with guidelines and consequences. (When the kids were little, it was never a bluff when I said,“I’m going to count to three!!”) But that night, even though I was completely in the right because 1) it was an established process and 2)“I said so, that’s why”, it felt wrong. He was normally very dutiful and never maliciously broke rules. He hadn’t handled the extra workload well, but didn’t truly deserve a punishment.
 

I went back in and rescinded the grounding. And, in answer to his look of shock and disbelief, I told him that I didn’t want to be the kind of parent who can’t see beyond all the rules and regulations. I also let him know that, just as he was going to make mistakes being a kid, there would be times when I would probably make mistakes being his mom, too. And I apologized for being unreasonable with that particular punishment and lecture.
 

Does that make me wishy-washy? Will I regret it later? Am I setting myself up to be walked all over with regard to following the rules? Will he lose respect for my authority? I’d like to think not. I am hoping what I showed him was 1) that the rigid edges of guidelines can sometimes be tempered when a situation truly calls for it and 2) that even if you don’t have to, because you’re the boss, you can still own up to and atone for your mistakes and 3) mercy.
 

So, I don’t know – is it better to always be confident that your parenting choices are right (even if it’s only because “mother (or father!) knows best”), or is it sometimes okay to second-guess your own judgment and go back to see if there’s a better way? Is pre-determined, justified, regimented punishment the best way to deal with transgressions, or is it sometimes okay to soften the blow, when there are other factors in play, in order to teach broader and more benevolent lessons?
 

It's hard to say. But my hat's off and this blog is dedicated to all of my fellow parents who are making their way through, the best way they know how.

Be thankful like you mean it

Gosh.  Thanksgiving.  A gleeful and hedonistic start to the Christmas season proper.  We try to rein ourselves in to acknowledge the real reason why the house is overcrowded and the table is bowing under the weight of its delicious burden. Even if we’re perpetually aware and thankful for our bestowments, we take a special moment or two on this particular day to “officially” offer up our gratitude.

The further along I get toward “geezerhood” (thanks, kids), the more I find that it’s not always fulfilling enough to only be thankful.

I once saw a man in the city who had waterproofed himself by tying scraps of different umbrellas (with the metal ribs still attached) to his coat and sweatpants.  Ingenuity out of necessity, for sure, and necessary because this man was outdoors.  I instantly remembered him as I scurried into the house on a recent bitter, cold and rainy day and a wave of warmth and comfort hit me as soon as I opened the door.  My heart had already issued silent thanks before I’d even had time to think on it, but it didn’t make the image go away, because I knew that all my thankfulness wouldn’t help that man in the least. 

Sometimes, when we sit down to too much food at the table, my dad will recount his memories of a host family he lived with in China during his days with the Merchant Marine.  He says that he would look around their dinner table and note that he could comfortably have eaten not only his portion, but everyone else’s, as well – the entire spread was incredibly small.  Every night.  That story sticks with me and always makes me thankful for my food, but none of it helps hungry people to not be hungry.

And so I try – and encourage others also – to reinforce gratitude with action.  Volunteering for various social service projects can be very satisfying.  It usually costs nothing but your time and most towns (even small ones like ours) have a need for helping hands.   

But sometimes there just aren’t any hands-on options available and I’m not always in a position to offer financial support.  Like in the case of the umbrella man.  The best I could do for him and others like him is to relay his story to my boys and use it to teach them about being grateful for what they have as well as to have compassion for those who have not.  Hopefully, it will be something they remember when, someday, they find themselves in a position to turn their appreciation into action.  And if there’s no one with which to share lessons of goodwill?  I don’t know – say a prayer, perhaps?  I just think that any action taken in support of being grateful makes all the difference.  It’s so important to be thankful like you mean it.

Here’s wishing you all a happy, healthy, fulfilling Thanksgiving.

This is how it's done

People have asked me, "How do you manage to do it all?"  I think I usually laugh and mention something about not sleeping much.  And while that's true, it's also true that there's so much more to it.   And I think, since most of my blog posts are based on my experiences after I've had time to process them, that I've made it sound like I've always got it handled.  But I never really feel that way until after everything is said and done.

I'm in the midst of what is a prime example of being up to my eyeballs in....everything.  So I'm posting now, at 12:49AM on a Thursday night/Friday morning, to show what it's like before it's all been resolved.  And we are far from 'resolved' at the moment.  Here's a rundown:

• C sustained a concussion at his football game on Monday.  They're taking sports concussions very seriously these days (that's a good thing), so we're looking at days of monitoring before he can resume normal activities. 
• Because  of the concussion, he had to sit on the sidelines of today's game.  I'm sad because he's sad.  But I'm also torn between understanding why he wants to stand with his teammates, and thinking that I could be doing something better than sitting in the stands at a game he's not even playing in.
• C has a concert at a host school an hour away tomorrow night.  We can't find the dress shirt he needs to bring to school tomorrow.  It might be in his locker.  So it's early up for everyone tomorrow, to see if the shirt is there.  If it is, it will come back home to be washed, dried, ironed and brought back to the school before I leave for work.  And then, after work, there's an hour ride to the concert (which I really can't wait to see), and the hour drive back.
• Little E had a Cub Scout pack meeting tonight.  That would be pretty benign if I weren't the pack's committee chair and partially responsible for running the thing.  All of the scouts who earned belt loops and pins over the summer received their awards tonight.  It was about a 5 minute affair - for them.  For me, it took days to put everything together.  I'm absolutely not complaining.  That's what it's all about for the scouts.  But it's been my focus for most of the week and, now that it's over so quickly, the inertia has left me kind of twitchy.
• E also has his last soccer game of the season tomorrow night.  Yup, in conflict with his brother's concert.  Being the little one, he's been so used to being dragged to his brother's commitments.  But we decided to leave it up to him this time, and he wanted to play in the last game.  So he's taking the bus home with a friend who is on his soccer team and the parents (our good friends) are going to get him there and then hold on to him until we get home.  I trust them, of course, but it's something very much out of the ordinary, so it leaves me a little unsettled.  Plus, we're missing his last game. 
• The weekend involves a funeral, a Scouting event, a Halloween party, a sleepover and a science project.

So, it's 1:35AM now, and I should have been sleeping a long time ago.  But blogging is theraputic, and besides, the sooner I fall asleep, the sooner I have to wake up and deal with all that lies ahead.  And anyway, it's not like I'm up all by myself.  Dear Hubby is wide awake, too, playing with our newly-acquired DirectTV. 

I'm sure, after this weekend, when I can breathe again, I will have some neat and tidy thoughts about having gone the latest round with this whirlwind I call my life.  To my future self, I give the big, fat finger, because you're too serene and calm and, frankly, I'm jealous at the moment.  Or maybe I'm just cranky and tired.  At times like these I live by seven words that have become a precious mantra:  I will miss this when it's gone.

And there you have it.   Nothing tricky, nothing special.  Take plain, old, ordinary anxiety with some self-induced exhaustion added in, temper it with hope and wrap it up in love. That's how it's done.

Tidbits

Some little thoughts and quick tidbits:

1. Gotta love a friend who will keep your feet on the ground. I decorated our mantle in a fall theme in prep for a jewelry party I was hosting.  When the ladies arrived, they did some ooh-ing and ah-ing over the decorations.  One friend went so far as to say it looked like something out of a magazine.  Even as I was basking in that compliment, my super-sharp friend, Marlene, piped up: “So.  When did you get out all the fall decorations?  This morning?”  She totally called me out and we both knew it.  I had to laugh and admit that she was right and – poof – with her one gently chiding comment, I was no longer the plan-ahead-interior-design-genius I was letting the ladies think I was.  I was my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-and-hope-it-comes-out-well-self again – definitely the truer of my identities.  And, to my surprise, it was more comfortable that way. Many thanks to Ms. Marlene for outing me.

2. Sometimes I think I’d like to run a catering service.  And then I remember I haven’t completely lost my mind yet.  But considering the next three entries below revolve around making food, I have to wonder if I’m not closing the gap.

  

3. I can get a normal week’s groceries without a list.  But if I’m making something special, I will often jot down the specific things I’ll need…and then forget the list on the dining room table.  But I’ve found that even though I don’t have the list at the store with me, the act of having written it out in the first place is enough to help me remember what I need.  And it’s doubly-effective if I’ve typed it into my phone using that god-forsaken, miniscule, touch-screen keyboard.  Just the effort alone seems to embed the data into my brain.  There must be something to that.

4. Large, whole beets.  Wrapped in foil.  Baked like potatoes in the oven or on the grill for about an hour or until tender.  Drizzled with EVOO and sprinkled with kosher salt.  Sublime.

5. Some recipes require that you batter the food by dipping it in an egg wash then dredging it in a mix of dry ingredients, like flour and spices or breadcrumbs.  And sometimes it calls for repeating these steps to make a double-coating.  To avoid turning your hands into a gooey, clumpy mess, follow this rule of thumb:  one hand wet and one hand dry at all times.  Now, this sounds easy, but it’s weirdly discombobulating, or at least it was for me, at first.  Both of my hands wanted to remain simultaneously involved in all steps of the process.  Getting it right required a level of concentration that reminded me a lot of learning to pat my head and rub my tummy at the same time.  But in the end, it paid off.  There was a lot less mess and it went more quickly because I didn’t have to stop to de-gunk my hands every two minutes.  Try it.

Parenting in terra incognita: Part II

Continued from Part I

Back when cartographers had to notate unknown regions, they would sometimes write, “Here Be Dragons”.  As much as I'd like to think there really were dragons around back in the day, I think they were used more as a way of saying, "No clue what goes on here; proceed at your own risk".   The parenthood map is fraught with these places, and it can be terrifying to find yourself in the middle of one, as I recently was.

But, after some deep breathing and contemplation, I got a grip and remembered what I’d told despairing friends before: when faced with a decision, it’s not about agonizing whether you’re going to make the right choice and it’s certainly not about second-guessing yourself after the choice has been made, but it’s always about how you’re going to take ownership of the decision in the end, regardless of the outcome. In that mindset, the great unknown seems much less scary. It’s not like I’ll be banished from the realm if it turns out I was (gasp!) wrong. If this new path doesn’t turn out to be the right one for C, we’ll reassess, readjust and carry on. 

 

And another thing that gave me some peace was to realize that I’ve been here before at this junction of He Needs to Spread His Wings Avenue and I Don’t Know If I’m Ready for This Boulevard. What I thought was a new and scary predicament wasn’t really, except in the details. When C was a baby, we carried him everywhere, and it was so easy to just pick him up and put him down wherever we needed him to be for our peace of mind. But, eventually, he wanted to start walking. So, as much as we knew we’d be out of that comfort zone forever, we gritted our teeth, baby-proofed as much as possible, then let him at it. Later, when he wanted to take the training wheels off, we knew it wasn’t going to be easy– for him or us - but we ran behind, steadying the bike for as long as we could, and there always came that point when we let go so he could figure out the rest on his own. This whole thing with the school? More of the same. It’s as if parenthood were ingeniously designed to reinforce certain lessons by repetition, and holy heck if I’m not starting to get it!
 

What I have determined is that: insofar as parenting goes, the consequences of our choices don’t necessarily fall solely on our shoulders as parents, nor should they. If we’ve truly acted in the best interest of our kids, then we've set them up so they, themselves, are the ones who determine their success or failure. It’s our job to recognize the signs they’ll give us, telling us what they’re capable of. It’s also our job to give them the tools and security to try it out. But past that, it’s up to them to create what they will with the opportunity.  
 

And so, here we go. We may not know how it will turn out.  If it's awesome, we'll celebrate.  If it disappoints, we'll take a lesson from it; it won't be the end of the world.  Bring on the dragons.