Category: Battling Expectations

No Rainbow Without The Rain

This evening’s rainbow

On the way to the water park today, Joe worried about the increasingly darkening sky. He watched out his car window, anticipating lightning. We had hoped to meet our friends earlier to avoid the usual afternoon thunderstorms that ruin a swim outing, but things simply didn’t go as planned. Life got in the way. When we got to the park, it was 2 p.m. The skies directly west of us appeared threatening. I talked to my friend about the weather, and we reworked our plans. I told the boys.

“Looks like we’re going to ditch out on the water park and head out to their pool. They have a membership so we can get in free. Then, if it rains and we can’t swim for very long, we’ll have saved our money to come back here later this week when we can get here earlier before the afternoon storms,” I explained.

“I was really looking forward to this,” Joe complained.

“I know. I was too. But, plans change,” I told him. “Who knows? Maybe we will have even more fun at their pool where it’s less crowded.”

Though he appeared less than convinced by my suggestion, Joe hopped back into the car and tried to suck it up. Sure enough. We made it to our friends’ pool before the rain started. The boys had about 15 minutes to swim before the thunder that had followed us made its presence known, and the lifeguards whistled everyone out of the pools for a 20 minute waiting period. We sent the boys to the park on the other side of the fence from the pool. The played at the park for a while as it intermittently rained lightly. They came back, the sun emerged, and the lifeguards’ whistles blew. They were back into the water. Everyone else had left, there were only 8 kids to fill the entire pool. They had no lines for the water slide or diving board. No one to fight for the swim noodles. They were having a blast. The rest of the storms caught up with us, though, and the lifeguards ushered everyone out again. Celeste and I called it pointless and decided we’d head to a new, nearby park instead. A lesson in flexibility and rolling with the punches, I figured.

When we arrived at the park, it was raining lightly. The kids, still wet from the pool, didn’t care. There was a flash in the distance. I told Celeste that hubby would not be amused that I was letting them run around out in the rain and lightning, but the boys were content and I shrugged it off. So, the four boys played while Celeste and I sat under a covered spot and watched them and caught up with each other. The skies finally lightened, the water features in the park turned back on, and they had even more fun splashing. Afterwards, we drove to Red Robin for dinner with our wet sons.

On the way home, I asked Joe if he had managed to have fun despite the fact that the afternoon hadn’t unfolded quite the way he had hoped it would. Turns out he had a wonderful time. He loved the pool and jumping off the diving board and sliding down the twisty slide. He told me we would have to go back to the park because it was “awesome.” I was glad that he was able to see how sometimes the things we think are ruined by change are actually improved by the adjustment and not, in fact, marred at all.

That has been a lesson it has taken me a long time to learn, far longer than I hope it will take for Joe to grasp. It’s been my custom to go batcrap crazy when someone rips the rug out from under me. I’ve been working on my need to control outcomes and to guide situations in my favor. It’s a challenge for me to try to let things go and roll with changes. But, tonight as we were driving home from our swim day turned park day turned dinner out with friends, I saw a rainbow and it occurred to me that when we try so hard to avoid the rain we sometimes miss the beauty that comes along with it.

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No Big Deal

Yep. Ready for camping, all right.

We’re leaving tomorrow for three days and three nights of camping in the mountains west of Aspen. You could not tell this by looking at our camper right now, buried in the garage under unsold garage sale rejects and boys’ toys. In theory, we will leave in the morning. In theory, after we dig out the camper, hook it to the car, put all the superfluous stuff back into the garage, and load the camper, we will be on our way. In the meantime, we’re having friends over tonight for game night because I don’t like to be bored. Well…I got my wish.

I have learned to slow down a bit. It’s hard to tell on days like these when I am being pulled in a million different directions by things I willingly took on before analyzing their potential impact on my mental health. But, I do a lot less these days than I used to. It’s true. It’s simply hard to tell.

I’m trying to make memories for my boys. Memories of happy summers playing with friends, exploring, camping, traveling, and trying new things. To accomplish that, there is a lot of planning, coordinating, preparing, and cleaning up to get out of the way. Things get a little hairy for me as the at-home parent. But, I know I am making progress toward becoming more zen…if not in the way of scaling back then definitely in the way of not stressing out as much as I used to.

I’ve learned that things have a way of working themselves out. I play this little game with myself to remind myself why life is not worth stressing over too much. For whatever it is that is standing in front of me like an impenetrable road block, I ask myself what is the worst that could happen. For example, what is the worst that will happen if we don’t get the camper cleaned off tonight? Answer: We’ll do it tomorrow and get to the campground a bit later. No big deal. What is the worst that will happen if I forget the boys’ swimsuits for playing in the river? Answer: They’ll swim in their shorts. No big deal. What is the worst that will happen if we don’t get our stuff together to go camping? Answer: We won’t go camping and we’ll lose the $70 in camp fees. The world won’t stop revolving. The kids won’t die. We’ll truly be not much worse for the wear. No. Big. Deal.

We’re still busy. I still overload our schedule with “fun” things to do that will cause me oodles of extra work I didn’t need to take on. But, I’ve taken my harried, stress-over-every-little-detail behavior down about fourteen notches. Oh. I still stress. My husband can verify how snippy I can become when he forgets the camp chairs and that was the only thing I asked him to remember. But, I am less uptight than I used to be. Sad, but true.

Unwinding is a process. And, for some people like me, it’s a lifetime’s worth of work. And, for some people who have to live with me on a daily basis, my unwinding process isn’t moving nearly fast enough.

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It’s Not All Or Nothing…A Little Something Will Always Beat A Lot Of Nothing

Yesterday I wrote that we would be riding 80 miles today. Our bike team calls this particular route “The Flat 80,” presumably because there is only 1100 feet of elevation gain in a nearly 80-mile ride. We met at the appointed 6:45 a.m. time and were off on our bikes on schedule promptly at 7 a.m. The weather forecast was a mixed blessing. It was to be overcast and cool in the morning before warming up to 80; then the storm clouds would roll in. I so wanted to avoid getting stormed on, so I promised myself I would be fast today.

There were six of us biking together. I was the only female and I was, by far, the slowest. At first, it didn’t really bother me. But, as I rode along, I began thinking about something another teammate mentioned. Last week, when they had ridden 100 miles rather than just 80, there was a woman who rode with them who kept pace. Not only had she kept up with the guys, but she’d done it riding 100 miles rather than 80 miles in 90 degree temps. The more I thought about that, the more I wondered what was wrong with me. Why aren’t I faster? Am I that much worse of a rider than my teammates are? For a good 5-10 miles I stewed over this, my legs slowed even further by my own self-doubt.

After lunch, I had a surge of energy and started going a bit faster. I sensed the others had slowed a bit because I was in with the pack of riders for about 10 miles. I felt pretty good about it. The clouds were rolling in, and I wanted to avoid the lightning and rain so I did my best to keep pace. After our last stop at REI, 18 miles from our starting point, though, I got tired. Although I’ve put in over 800 miles on my bike so far this year, most of them were logged on my stationary trainer. This was only my third ride outside over 20 miles, and I hadn’t ridden over 40 miles yet this year. So, the push to get to 80 was definitely a stretch. Still, I knew I was capable of doing it.

I plugged along, playing the caboose the entire way. We managed to wait out the last of the storm as it passed by, but when we got back on our bikes I found that our long rest stop had taken its toll on me. I was D-O-N-E, and we still had about 8 miles to go. Those 8 miles contained most of the day’s hills, and the winds had picked up. I spent the last four miles swearing profusely, cursing Steve, and wanting to quit. My knees were getting sore. My tush had officially declared war on me. I wanted to be finished, but I wasn’t. Finally, I stopped whining long enough to pull on my big girl panties and get ‘er done.

I felt bad about the ride for the rest of the day. I was disappointed in myself for being the weakest link. Then, as I was going through the Facebook posts I missed today, I saw that a friend had completed his ultramarathon, nearly 51 miles of running. His post mentioned how painfully difficult it was and how he felt lucky he was able to finish it at all. In a million years I could NEVER run 50 miles. Heck. I can barely bring myself to do 3. An ultramarathon is a tremendous accomplishment. I was sad that my friend didn’t feel better about it. Then, I thought about my ride today. Why was I displeased with my performance? I’d done it. I rode 80 miles, my longest biking distance ever. Was I super fast? No. But, when it was over, I could still walk. I remembered a saying I saw a few months back: “No matter how slow you go, you’re lapping everyone on the couch.” It didn’t matter that I didn’t finish in a fantastic time. After all, it was an 80-mile ride, not an 80-mile race.

It’s funny how hard we are on ourselves sometimes. Rather than wasting energy being concerned about being too slow, I should have been cheering myself on for being out there at all. Along our ride, we passed a tandem bicycle. The woman on the back was blind. The smile on her face, though, was pure joy. She was free. I can’t get that image out of my head. She understands so much better than I do that the journey is what matters, not how fast we reach the finish line.

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Folding Up My Map So My Kids Can Unfold Their Own

Yes. That’s my 11 year old wearing a swim mask in the zero depth pool. He’s cool like that.

You know how you want for your children all the things you never had? I cannot tell you how many times that has screwed things up for me and for my kids. You would think somewhere along the line I would figure it out and stop trying so hard to give them what I missed out on and focus rather on helping them find what they want or need. You would think that. You would be wrong.

One thing I always wanted for my kids was for them to be able to swim well. By “swim well,” I mean the kind of swimming where your face is in the water and you know how to time your breaths and you don’t hit the wall with your head. Basic stuff. I simply wanted them to swim better than I do because the best thing I can say about how I swim is that so far I have managed not to drown. Knock on wood.

To ensure that my kids would be able to swim well early, I had them on a swimming time table from birth. I enrolled in Mommy and Me swim classes with them when they were infants. They were both in regular swim classes when they were 3. They loved the water. Loved it. Yet, they each failed to pass the first level class two times before I decided that the community pool was the wrong place for my kids to learn to swim. I reasoned that the large class sizes, the too cold water at the rec center, and the myriad distractions there led to their lack of swimming success.

Next, I enrolled them at a pricey, private swim school. The water was warm (90 degrees) and the classes were only four students. This was just what they needed, right? Wrong. After a traumatic incident where Luke fell into water over his head during class and bobbed for a while before being safely recovered by his teacher, he refused to go back. Honestly, my confidence was then shaken too. I figured my dreams for them to become great swimmers were just dreams. I tried to move on, determining they would learn the way I did…over time with lots of informal practice. It wasn’t what I had envisioned. I pretended to make peace with it.

For the past four and a half years, our boys have been allowed to view the water as fun. They’ve slowly gotten braver and a bit more skilled at swimming on their own. We didn’t push them. They merely began to figure things out. Still, they have not become truly proficient swimmers. So today, once again pushing my luck, I enrolled them in a different swim school. This move was precipitated by our upcoming trip to the Galapagos where being able to swim and snorkel will be a really good thing. They’re 9 and 11 now. I was certain they were ready, but what is more important is that they were certain of it. You know what? They LOVED practicing in the pool with their instructor today. As we were leaving the school, they excitedly mentioned they wished they could go back again this week. I smiled as they told me all about the class I had witnessed via video camera from the lobby. Finally. Now we’re getting somewhere.

It’s okay to want things for your kids. It’s even okay to set them up to discover more about the things you want for them. But, it’s not okay to push them into what you want according to your time schedule or your plans for them. When my kids failed to pass out of swim class that first time, I should have backed off and realized they weren’t ready. I didn’t do that. Instead, I forced the issue, which then led to a worse situation from which we spent years trying to recover. We all want the best for our kids. Sometimes, though, we forget that what’s best for them will only be uncovered when we allow them to decide what interests them when they’re uniquely ready for it. If your child gets accepted into Harvard because you nagged, pushed, and henpecked them into living your dream, I suppose you can count that as an accomplishment. But, wouldn’t it be better if your child got into Harvard because it was what he wanted and worked incredibly hard on his own to achieve? I guess that if I want my kids to find their own way, I’d better stop handing them my map.

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Surrender Isn’t Always A Bad Thing

Heading up Mesa Trail near Boulder

“Yielding means inner acceptance of what is. You are open to life. When you yield internally, when you surrender, a new dimension of consciousness opens up.”        ~ Eckhart Tolle

Yesterday, Steve and I decided it would be a great day for a family hike. So, we loaded up the car and headed up to Boulder. I found a 4+ mile hike just outside of Boulder near Eldorado Canyon on Trails.com that looked promising, so we went for it. Because we got a late start on the day, it was already 82 degrees when we pulled into the South Mesa Trail parking lot around noon. I knew the boys would whine about the heat, but we were there and Steve and I were bound and determined to get the exercise.

The boys, usually quite able bodied and semi-amenable to hiking, were in rare form from the start. Joe had consumed so much water on the drive up that he was wanting to mark his territory every half mile. Luke, a kid who hates to be either too hot or too cold, was moving slowly and in a constant state of whine about how sweaty he was. Being not the world’s most sympathetic person (understatement), I told them that if they’d stop using so much energy to complain they’d have more energy to hike faster and finish sooner. True story.

The first mile was a bit rough as the boys complained and dragged their feet, hoping we would suspend the exercise. We were annoyed but persisted in our determination to complete the hike. During the entire second mile, I was fairly certain my husband (who is one of the most patient people I have ever known) would eventually strangle Luke, who could not seem to tamp down his whining. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about children, it’s that they’re like animals; they can smell hesitancy and fear and will use your weakness against you. Luke was working it.

As Luke whimpered and cried foul, Steve went from grimacing about it to full on bitching at him while I went to my happy place. I’m not sure what it is about Boulder that makes me so dang happy, but I’m at peace there. As the war between Luke and his father began to escalate, I became increasingly calm. I took turns talking to both of them, positioning myself in between them as a buffer, and trying to resolve the situation with a positive attitude. The more they bickered, the less I seemed to care. I was able to focus on the beauty of the landscape, the pine scent rising from the trees, the cool breeze on my sun-warmed skin, and the joy of being somewhere that I love to be with the people who mean the most surrounding me. I escaped from the negativity of the situation by focusing on what I loved rather than on what I disliked. It was very zen of me, I thought.

As we got into the third mile, we hit the forest and Luke was shaded enough to stop whining a bit. Joe had at last peed himself out. Steve had nothing left to feel frustrated about. The hike became what I envisioned it would be, a fun little walk with my family somewhere new. I’m not sure if it was my attitude that diffused the negativity or the negativity that changed my own attitude, but something made the whole experience positive rather than negative and we ended the 4.5 mile hike feeling good about it overall.

How often do we tense up when things aren’t going the way we want and in our tension merely compound the situation? Sometimes, the best thing we can do when things get rough is to let go of expectation and relax. And, as we yield to the way things are rather than dreaming of the way we wanted things to be, we make peace with the present moment and life begins to look not quite as bad as we thought. Occasionally we waste too much energy on a battle when we should surrender instead. Sometimes making peace with a situation is not a defeat at all but a victory in disguise.

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When The American Dream Becomes The American Nightmare

Two little things I’m grateful for every day.

Just finished a long phone conversation with my youngest sister, the kind where you talk about life on the grand scale, where you are, who you’ve become, and why. I like to have conversations like that every once in a while, a little come-to-Jesus meeting with myself where I take a good hard look at my life and figure out where I’m at. My sister is a person for whom “bored” is a four-letter word. On some level, I think she’s unintentionally sought out drama in her life because she simply doesn’t know how to live with dull, humdrum, it-is-what-it-is life. But, that is the stuff life is made of. Life is not always parades and fireworks. Sometimes it’s leftovers and dirty diapers.

I think that we Americans truly mess ourselves up with an unrelenting focus on the fabled “American Dream.” We’ve come to believe we’re entitled to life in the highest order. We expect that we will be able to have it all. It’s a tall tale. You can’t have it all. There’s not room in life for it all. It’s like trying to cup running water in your hands; you can only hold so much and what you don’t have room for will fall away. Most people on this planet pass quietly through their lives, and their names don’t go down in history’s annals like DaVinci or Aristotle. Most people touch only the lives around them. That’s it. Somewhere along the line that stopped being good enough. It’s too bad.

We should have dreams and plans. We should pursue them. But, we should also accept that life is beautiful even without parades and fireworks. We’ve lost the ability to treasure the little things because we’re waiting for the next big thing. When was the last time you sat down in a forest and paused to hear the wind in the trees and to smell the pines? When was the last time you watched a ladybug in your hand and wondered at it and appreciated its small life? When was the last time you stopped thinking about what you were missing out on and honestly marveled at how much you have? I think, for most of us, it’s been far too long since we last took the opportunity to be grateful for the down times. What we’re missing in our run-around, 24/7 active lives is the peace that comes from being still and not asking anything from life, but simply existing momentarily in it without demands.

The happiest people in this world aren’t the ones who have it all. They’re the ones who are sincerely happy with what they have. When we keep looking for the next big thing, we’re missing the myriad little ones that are given to us daily…the parking spot close to the store on a snowy day, the first cup of coffee of the day that someone else pours for us, the unexpected hug. It’s only when you stop expecting big things to fulfill you that you can let the little things that have always been there fill you up.

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A Diversified Life Portfolio

A little path leading somewhere unexpected.

“All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make, the better.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Today is my birthday. I am forty-freaking-four. Trust me. There are a lot of “F” words there for a reason. While I can’t believe I’m this old, I’m grateful to have made it this far. This morning, after sucking down the latte hubby brought me for breakfast, I decided to go for a walk. We’re up at our home away from home in Steamboat Springs, and there are lots of trails within walking distance of our house. So, I leashed up the dog and headed out while Steve took the kids swimming.

The trails around here are not deliberate. They meander as if the persons first traversing the area weren’t quite sure which was the optimal way to travel. Each path ends in a fork. It’s quite easy to get turned around and forget from which direction you came. As Ruby and I traipsed along turning this way and that, I thought about how today’s walk was a metaphor for my life because I am a wanderer perpetually sauntering in a new direction.

I’ve always admired people who are driven, who found their calling early in life and pursued it with a relentless passion and a fervor for success. I have admired those people because I’m not one of them. Although I am motivated when I find something that interests me, I’ve discovered too many things that intrigue and inspire me. I’ve been a bit ADD and, throughout my 44 years, I’ve flitted from thing to thing seeing what each had to offer. Consequently, if you look at the sum total of what I’ve accomplished in terms of measurable career achievements, my work resume is fairly flimsy. It’s a hodgepodge of eclectic jobs, from retail manager to meeting planner, from library research assistant to communications specialist. I’ve cleaned houses, rented cars, and handled the drive-up lane at a bank. I’ve managed movie theaters, merchandise, and people. I’ve been all over the map, and my resume reflects that. It is what it is. I’ll never be a woman with an enviable career, and I’ve had to come to terms with that because before I knew myself better I planned to measure my success with a brilliant curriculum vitae.

My path through life has been like the flight of a butterfly, erratic and seemingly directionless. There is a beauty to the rambling that I’ve done, though. Because of my ardent, if temporary, interest in so many things, I’ve learned a little bit about a lot of what life has to offer. I’ve studied French, Spanish, and Italian, and spent a year and a half learning to translate Latin. I’ve been artsy and tried painting, jewelry making, paper crafting, scrapbooking, drawing, and needlepoint. I’ve taken classes in cake decorating, rock climbing, drama, baking, tap and swing dancing, cooking and culinary skills, and burlesque. I’ve tried my hand at athletics: tennis, golf, gymnastics, water skiing, snow skiing, snowboarding, road cycling, sea kayaking, mountain biking, softball, canoeing, and yoga. I can twirl a baton, bake an awesome pear and almond galette, and point out some constellations or tell you about your astrological sign. I can still turn a cartwheel and do a headstand at 44, and I think that’s pretty cool.

So, I guess what I’ve discovered about myself after all these many years on this planet is that although I may not have a very impressive resume, I’ve got a fairly diversified life portfolio. Without consciously acknowledging it, I’ve been taking Emerson’s advice and making lots of experiments. And, I’m not finished yet. There are a multitude of things I’ve yet to try that are on my long to-do list. For example, I’m still looking for a friend who is willing to jump from a perfectly good airplane with me on a future adventure. If you’re looking for something to add to your life portfolio, maybe a little skydiving is in order?

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Pregnant Pause

What the dress looked like in my head when I put it on for the party

Today, in honor of my son’s birthday party, from my newly set up summer closet I pulled out a cute dress that I’ve been dying to wear. It’s actually a tunic top that many women have to wear with leggings, but I get to wear it as a mini-dress because I’m height challenged. I love the dress because it’s soft and comfortable, the pattern is fun, and it’s green (I love green). At any rate, an hour before the party I threw the dress on and felt pretty good in it. So, I left it on.

I wore it for the entire party, never once feeling self-conscious in it. When the party was over, hubby downloaded the photos. That was when I freaked out. The dress was not nearly as flattering on me as I had imagined it was. I’d just spent 3 hours entertaining 20 people and, now that they were all gone, I could see what I looked like to them through the camera’s eye. Not good.

Depressed and disappointed in myself for being oblivious of the obvious, I stopped looking at the party photos and went to sit on the couch with my family. Finally, with the photos still reeling around my head, I asked my three boys what they thought about my outfit today. Steve, ever positive, said he loved it. Luke said he thought I looked pretty like I always do. (He’s a natural born politician.) I rolled my eyes. I knew they were being disingenuous. I asked for some honesty. Joe gave it to me.

“Well…when I first saw you in it, I did think you looked a tiny bit pregnant.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Not a lot. Just a little,” he hedged, sensing his brutal honesty might have been a tiny bit of a mistake.

My head was swimming. A tiny bit pregnant. As if looking a tiny bit pregnant when you’re not is better than looking a lot pregnant when you’re not. Looking any bit of pregnant when you’re about to turn 44 and are most certainly not pregnant is never a good thing. End of story.

In reality, what the dress looks like when you’re a tiny bit pregnant or merely like cupcakes a little bit too much.

“Joe,” Steve said, hoping to ameliorate the rapidly declining situation, “your mother does not look pregnant.”

“I didn’t say she looks pregnant,” he replied. “I said she looks a tiny bit pregnant. Besides, she told me to be honest.”

I reached down toward my chest, plucked the arrow from my heart, closed my hand over the gaping wound there, and tried desperately to keep from bleeding out all over our family room sofa. I know I am not at my lowest weight ever. I know I haven’t been to as many yoga classes recently as I should have been. But, pregnant? That was almost more than I could bear. I snuggled closer to my new favorite son, Luke, and tried to walk toward the light. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.

I realize that I am overly self-critical and my own worst enemy. I also realize that most people at the party probably did not think I looked as horrific as I felt when I saw the photos. I further understand that no one was paying that much attention to me in any case. Still, I can’t help but feel a bit scalded by the truth in Joe’s words. At the very least, I will never again feel the same way in that dress as I did before his comments.

He’s right. I did ask for it. I went seeking their honest opinions and I’m not sure I can fault Joe for offering his, especially when I know that he was right. Still, the entire situation left me with a tiny bit of a pregnant pause.

 

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Mother’s Day Mayhem

Stagecoach ride at Whispering Elk Guest Ranch

Let me throw aside all sappy sentiment and be honest for a minute. Mother’s Day confuses me. When I was young, I had my mom and Mother’s Day was all about her. Easy enough. Then, I got married, and Mother’s Day was multiplied because now I had to think about my own mother, as well as my husband’s mother. Whose mom got to take precedence? Was I now supposed to try to fit both moms into the one day? To make matters even more confusing, I then became a mother. What exactly is the protocol at that point?

Ever since I became a mom this day has been a mixed blessing for me. The pull to make sure I was not enjoying this day while neglecting my own mom and mother-in-law was overpowering and, quite honestly, aggravating. As selfish as it is, I want this to be my day now that I’m a mom actively engaged in the raising of children. Certainly that isn’t too much to ask. Or is it?

Most mothers have ridiculously high expectations as to what would constitute an ideal Mother’s Day, though, and no one will be able to meet them, not even for one day each year. Realistically, it’s best to take your Mother’s Day visions, write them off as delusions, and soldier on. Take my Mother’s Day today, for example. We were up in the mountains staying in a nice log cabin, and I was still awakened at 6:30 a.m. by the ruckus of my sons barging into my bedroom to tell me they were awake. Thanks for the heads up, sweeties. It’s not as if I wouldn’t have figured that out on my own in two minutes when you began arguing with each other while “quietly” playing Battleship. Eventually, their father got home from his morning job taking photos and cleared them out of the house so I could get a bit more sleep. That was pleasant.

Until, at 8:15, the boys bust into my room again and declared, “Mom…you gotta get up. The stagecoach is leaving and you’re going to miss it.” No. Seriously. We were going on a stagecoach ride and in their attempt to let me sleep in they’d put me in a position whereby I would now mess up the whole endeavor for everyone with my ill-preparedness. Crap. I jumped out of bed, started rooting around through clothes like a coati looking for insects, grabbed something to wear, threw it on, and tried to figure out how I was supposed to function without a Starbucks run. I spent a few minutes chewing out hubby, who happened into the room during my “hurry-up-and-get-out-so-you-don’t-miss-the-damn-stagecoach-experience” fit. Then, I emerged and got myself to where I needed to be for my relaxing morning ride.

In retrospect, the day ended well enough. I did get to travel via stagecoach through the beautiful Whistling Elk ranch. I also got to ride a horse, something I hadn’t done in 25 years. My boys took me out for Thai food for dinner, which was nice too. And when I got home I greatly enjoyed the gifts my sons had made for me at school, one of which was wrapped in a white paper bag with a drawing of Luke as a ninja on it. Can’t beat that.

I guess Mother’s Day all comes down to expectations. As the years have gone on, Mother’s Day has become less and less disappointing for me because I have come to expect less and less from it. I know that sounds negative, but it truly isn’t. Mother’s Day isn’t merely about me, as much as the name might imply. Every mom knows that once you bring children into the world your life will never be the same. It’s never about you anymore. You gave up that right when you allowed that little being grow inside your body and then push its way out. Mother’s Day isn’t so much about being appreciated as it is about being important. And, nothing reminds you how important you are more than having your child rush into your room at 6:30 a.m. just to let you know they are indeed awake, alive, and ready to go.

 

 

 

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Stranger Things

The reason I now have an excuse to stay home and write.

“It’s not who you are that holds you back but who you think you are not. Judging yourself is not the same as being honest with yourself. You are capable of great things.”

A friend posted this quote on her page today. I can’t stop thinking about it. Oh, how guilty I am of this transgression against myself. I all too often judge myself harshly in the name of being honest with myself. I am a person who learned early on that it’s better to prepare for the worst so you’re not disappointed than to hope for the best and fall flat. It’s such a sick, self-defeating attitude, one I’m sure that has kept me from stretching outside my comfort zone and achieving more for myself on occasion.

I had a conversation with a friend recently that bothered me. We’ve known each other a long time and, as with most long-term friendships, we’ve both changed over the years. I realized as we were talking that my friend was somewhat disappointed in me because I have made choices that have kept me from becoming what I had sworn when I was younger I would become. In his mind, I’ve settled and am not living up to my full potential. (Sorry. I sounded like an episode of Lego Ninjago, there.) I first felt insulted, then angry at him for judging me, and then sad because there is a definite part of me that knows on some level he is right.

I have spent many years selling myself short. When people would ask me what I do I would tell them I’m a stay-at-home mom. I would say it apologetically, convinced that my position made me unworthy of interest. When they then reacted according to my own boredom with my situation, I’d become indignant and hurt that they were not interested in me. But, honestly, how could they be interested in my life when even I wasn’t? I was judging myself for my own perceived failure to achieve a successful career, and then I was projecting my frustration onto them. They were simply following my lead. Staying at home with my sons was a choice, a choice I would make again because I like knowing that I am their go-to person. I don’t think I could have handed them over to anyone else. I don’t think it’s in my nature. I am where I am because I chose this path. So, why do I expend so much energy feeling bad about what I am not and what I have not achieved in terms of a career?

Instead of feeling bad about not having a paying career right now, I need to look at things differently. I have the freedom to stay home and work on the book I always hoped I would write someday. “Someday” just became today. And, instead of depressing myself with the enormity of the task of writing and publishing a book, I’m going to put on my best Tony Robbins and imagine myself on a book tour, signing copies of my story. Why not? Stranger things have happened. Hell… my husband, who has had infinite faith in me from the very beginning, has already started discussing what we should do when the royalties start coming in. Now, that’s the kind of positivity I should get behind. 😉

 

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