Is One Of Us A Mule In This Scenario?

It takes crazy determination to finish a 50-mile walk.

The other day, someone told me that I am stubborn. I disagree with that assessment. In my twisted brain, the term “stubborn” means “unyielding,” and I am not that. I’m willing to adapt and compromise where a stubborn person might not. What I am is determined. I’m resolute in what I want, and I will work diligently towards a goal. Sometimes I work so unwaveringly that I acquire tunnel vision and am unable to notice what’s going on around me that might require me to adjust my plans. It’s not that I’m unwilling to change them. I simply am unaware that I should.

Two and a half weeks ago, I got a cold. No big deal. I have kids. I’m used to it. I got over it and life marched on. Then, about a week ago I thought I might be getting a sinus infection. Sometimes you can get over a sinus infection without using antibiotics, though, so that is what I determined to do. I was going to beat this thing without seeing the doctor. No antibiotics for me. End of story.

One, two, three days went by and I tried to ignore the congestion, headaches, tooth pain, earaches, and dizziness. I rationalized it all away, telling myself that the symptoms were improving. I was willing myself to be well, and it was going to work. No questions. On days four and five, on little sleep and with a fair amount of misery, a small doubt hovered in the corner of my brain. But, determined gal I am, I kept right on doing the same old thing I had been doing. No relief. It was on day six that the dreaded thought occurred to me: maybe I should see a doctor? I’d taken a meth lab full of Sudafed, and my head still hurt. Today, on day seven, knowing I would be leaving the state tomorrow for our family trip and not wanting to spend another three days in relative discomfort, I caved and went to the doctor. Guess what? Sinus infection diagnosis and fourteen days’ worth of wretched antibiotics in my future. So much for beating this thing myself.

There is a time for stalwart determination, for unfailing attention to a predetermined goal. I would guess that I went about four days beyond reasonable determination with this sinus infection situation. So, does that make me stubborn? Some might say so. I prefer to think I got so wrapped up in my goal of healing myself that I refused to notice the signs that were telling me to let go. This is not the first time that I’ve done something like this. Sometimes it takes me far too long to adjust my field of vision to see the whole picture. I like to think we all do this on occasion, trek along behind that dangling carrot without another thought. The trick, though, is to look past the end of your nose once in a while and see beyond the carrot so you can adjust your trajectory and avoid making an ass out of yourself.

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My Sons Are Packing

Boys bag packed. Check.

This weekend, we’ll be taking a short trip with the boys. Joe and Luke are excited because we’re taking them out of school for a day. Hubby is excited because the trip is mainly an excuse for him to take photos. I’m excited because I have a personal rule that I must leave the state once every four months, and it’s time for me to get out of Dodge.

I was upstairs tonight contemplating all I need to do before we leave. The list was long and mind-numbingly dull. Then, it hit me. I can divvy out my laundry list of chores. I thought about the packing. I’ve never packed for Steve, but I do usually pack for the boys. Steve always manages to pack about 400 pairs of underpants and socks, but then will forget to bring something crucial, like pants. I figure that he’s a grown up, though, so I leave him to his own devices. I do not, however, want my boys packing like their father does. So, I determined that it was finally time to teach them how to do their own packing.

“Boys…come up here, please,” I bellowed downstairs.

Noisy chaos continued unabated. I yelled again.

“Guys…I need you to do something for me. Come up!”

Still no response. It once again appeared I was talking to myself, and it was the most intelligent conversation I’d had with them all day. When they finally figured out that my caterwauling was directed at them and came up, I handed them each a packing list. I figured that was a basic enough way to start the process.

“Here you go. You are going to pick out your own clothes for the trip. This is the list of all the things you will need. Please select the clothes carefully from your drawer and stack them neatly in a pile. Try to remember that the clothes you select should match each other, okay? These are the only clothes you will have all weekend, so make sure you like what you pick out because once we leave you’re stuck.”

I sent them on their merry way. I was feeling rather smug about it too. When they had finished, I did a quick check to make sure all items were accounted for and coordinated. Sure enough. It looked good. I was pleased. I tossed their clothes into the suitcase. Next time I will have them make their own packing lists first for practice. I figure if we keep going at this current rate of travel, they should both be excellent at packing by the time they’re 14 and 12. Then I won’t have to think about it at all. And, who knows? Maybe then they’ll teach their father how to pack.

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The Kind Of Reminder I Hate

Clouds and balloons over Boulder

“Dream as if you’ll live forever; live as if you’ll die today.” ~ James Dean

This past weekend I hosted a bridal shower for my sister. One of my sister’s long-time friends from UNC was there. Her friend told me when she called to RSVP that she was tentatively offering a “yes” response because she needed to have back surgery a couple days after the shower to improve a nerve situation that was causing one entire leg to be numb all the way down through her foot. She has had difficulty walking because she is basically dragging her unwilling limb around. She wasn’t sure if she’d feel up to a party. Knowing this gal and her upbeat, fun-loving way, I knew she would find a way to make an appearance for my sister, and she did. She’s that kind of person. At the shower, she had everyone laughing about the time she dressed as Androgynous Pat from Saturday Night Live for Halloween and nearly got kicked out of a bar for using the men’s restroom. She kept telling the bouncer, “I’m a person.”

Today was the day  she was scheduled for surgery and, as they were preparing, she was answering some basic questions. During the course of the Q&A, she mentioned a few things that troubled the surgeon. The doctors did a brain scan and found a tumor the size of a fist. And, in a matter of seconds, she went from having back surgery (which is scary enough) to having a life-threatening tumor.

I’ve been thinking about this news all morning long. I try to remind myself daily that life is fragile and tenuous. This is part of the reason I’ve been diligently working to focus on the here and now because I don’t know what the future holds. The only joy I can be sure to find resides in this moment. No one is guaranteed tomorrow. The present is all we have and in a few minutes even that will be our past. I wish it didn’t take bad news to remind me so viscerally of this truth.

I’m holding out hope for my sister’s friend. She beat leukemia when she was 16. If anyone can pour all their positive energy into dealing with a negative situation, she is the one. I’m going to send her all the positivity I can muster as well. Maybe if a whole lot of us do that, it will lift her up and over this tumor situation. While we’re willing that to happen, I know she will be a constant reminder of how important it is to live now. She’ll have us laughing as we do it too.

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I Am A Dirty Girl

A columbine that has a new home in our yard.

Gardening is about as interesting as watching golf (which is akin to watching paint dry), which is why, I suppose, that I ended up with a half of a whiskey barrel “planter” buried in our backyard for nearly a year. I greatly disdain any sort of yard work. It’s tedious. It’s messy. It involves bugs. And, in the end, stuff you plant and pour hours of time into will just wither and leave you with a stark, white landscape in winter anyway. Bah humbug.

A thought occurred to me recently. Perhaps hubby planted that barrel in the yard to persuade me he should not be trusted with the landscaping. There are two ways to get a woman to do anything: 1) to do it the wrong way or 2) to make her think it’s what she really wants. Steve must be a genius because with that horrific barrel he convinced me that he is incapable of making wise decisions in the yard when left to his own devices and he somehow got me outside willingly working in the yard without him. Check hell because it might have frozen over.

Yesterday, I moved rock so I could find the spots where a drip system is already in place for planting. With a little investment of my time, I found five such spots. Today I drove to a locally owned nursery to begin the correction process. I perused the aisles of plants and selected ones that seemed right for their new homes. With soil, new plants, and garden gloves in hand, this afternoon I started the arduous task of giving our yard a face lift. Somewhat miraculously, I enjoyed it. I even purposely picked up a couple worms (with gloves on because they are still gross) and examined them carefully, just to prove I could do it.  I think I might understand now what people see in gardening as a hobby. There is something peaceful there. It is slow, methodical, quiet, and life-affirming. In our backyard with the meadowlark’s song trilling through the air and the smell of the grass becoming green, I was able to live in the present for a few, very zen moments. And, when it was all done, I was able to step back, see what I had accomplished, and feel truly good about giving something back to the earth in my own miniscule way.

It’s highly unlikely that today’s experience will foster a new hobby for me. I am perfectly well aware that the dreaded wolf spider makes its home in our yard, and that is enough to keep me from digging around too much. But at least my attempt at gardening taught me that on occasion it’s good to get outside and get my hands (or at least my gloves) messy. I guess I’m something of a dirty girl after all.

“I would rather have a mind opened by wonder than one closed by belief.” ~Gerry Spence

 

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Catnap Capable

Another gorgeous Colorado sunset

“Take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop.”  ~ Ovid

I did something today that I very rarely do. Exhausted after a late night of fun with my sister and her friends, and with all three of my boys gone to an orienteering class with the Cub Scouts, I stretched out on a sunny spot on the sofa and drifted off to sleep. It’s not in my nature to nap. Actually, it’s not in my nature to sit still. I honestly have to work at relaxing. I’m a busy person, and I like it that way. When I’m moving, I get things done and I burn calories. I accomplish things and clear them off my to-do list and that brings me some level of peace and comfort. There’s nothing wrong with that.

I forget sometimes, though, that as good as it is for a body to be active, it’s every bit as important for it to rest. Part of my plan for the New Year was to work on being still. So, today I allowed myself 20 minutes of stillness in the middle of an otherwise packed day. In between cleaning the kitchen and planting flowers, I…the catnap challenged…became catnap capable. I discovered that 20 minutes of inactivity are enough to bring my internal battery up from 50% charge to 95% charge.

I don’t foresee this becoming a regular habit for me because I do love to cross things off my to-do list and I have two overly active boys who need me, but it’s good to know that when I need a short respite my mind is willing to allow it if I take the time simply to be still for a few moments. Now, if I could just get my boys back to the days when they took afternoon naps, if I could remind them that they too are catnip capable, that would be life changing.

 

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Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be All Right

Stress is for the unimaginative.

“Stress is an ignorant state. It believes everything is an emergency. Nothing is that important.”  ~ Natalie Goldberg

I know I’m a day late for 4/20, but I am having a Marley moment this morning. Tonight I’m hosting my sister’s bridal shower at my in-law’s downtown loft for 21 ladies. I’m a bit nervous. I’ve been planning this event for four months. My sister and I decided that a non-traditional shower would be best so I suggested a wine tasting downtown, which I thought would be fun, informal, and unique. I made the invitations by hand, crafted wine charms for each guest, researched and purchased 21 bottles of wine (heaven forbid you run out, right?), and determined proper cheeses and snacks to pair with each wine. I spent a lot of time researching, planning logistics, and micromanaging every single detail. Still, things go wrong. They always do. This thought is what is vexing me this morning. I’m certain I have forgotten something and I won’t know what it is until it’s too late to do anything about it. This is not glass is half empty thinking. This is “Please, God, don’t let anyone spill their wine glass contents onto my in-law’s sofa” thinking. (Note to self: research getting wine out of upholstery.)

I’m trying to remind myself that no matter what happens tonight it will all be just fine tomorrow. I’m blasting a little Bob Marley to lighten my mood because as much as a little 4/20 action the day after 4/20 would likely remove my stress about tonight’s party, I’m home with my two boys today and that’s not the example I should be setting. Besides, as my hubby repeatedly reminds me, those type of activities are currently illegal. (Don’t get me started on how I feel about that topic.) In the absence of mind-altering herbs, I’ve turned to reggae for a mental adjustment. Reggae is sit-around-and-drink-beer-on-a-sunny-summer-patio music. It’s live-well-and-rebel music. It’s mell0w-out-you-crazy-white-woman music.

I need to embrace that mindset right now, take a few deep, hearty breaths, and calm down. Any unplanned mishap tonight is simply an opportunity for creativity, not stress. It’s an occasion to showcase my problem solving and coping skills. People will follow my lead as the hostess. If I’m relaxed and ready to roll with it, they will be too. Tonight I’m going to keep Bob in my head singing “Don’t worry about a thing ’cause every little thing is gonna be all right” because you know what? It will be.

 

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A House Divided

House Divided

I am told that we are a house divided. I am a graduate of the University of Colorado at Boulder. Hubby graduated from Colorado State University. Steve tells me all the time that our schools are rivals. I do not agree. As a CU alum, I never once thought of Colorado State as our rival school.  Twenty years ago (gasp) when I was a student at CU, our chief rivals were Oklahoma and Nebraska. Colorado State registered somewhere as a blip on our radar for the one day a year when our football teams played each other. Other than that, we didn’t give CSU a second thought. After all, CSU was simply the school where all the kids who didn’t get accepted to CU went.

When Steve set up this rivalry (the one I didn’t think existed) between our two schools, he threw down the gauntlet. We’ve had a friendly battle about our schools ever since. When our sons were born, it became an all out war between Steve and I to convince our boys that our alma mater is the best. I remember taking Joe to the Denver Zoo when he was a toddler, parking his stroller directly in front of the bison exhibit, and taking photos of him there to share with Steve later. Mean, but effective. Every year on the day of the Rocky Mountain Showdown, I somehow manage to get my boys into CU t-shirts. (That’s what happens when your wife shops and you don’t, sweetie.) A couple weeks ago the boys and I were up Waterton Canyon and we saw some rams, the CSU mascot. We took photos of them. Joe then suggested we drive up to the lookout at Genesee to get some photos of buffaloes to make it equal. That’s my boy.

Tonight as we were tucking the boys into bed, the school discussion reared its ugly head again.

“I think I’ll be going to CU,” Luke announced.

Game. Set. Match.

“If your grades are good enough,” I reminded.

“They will be. I’m going to CU. Sorry, Dad.”

“I’m sorry too, Luke,” Steve retorted.

“Are you mad at me, Dad?” Luke asked.

“Awwwww, honey,” I said, with sickeningly sweet condescension, “Don’t you want Luke to go to the best school?”

At this comment, he gave me the evil eye. “I’m not mad at you, Luke,” Steve replied. “I’m mad at your mom.”

And, this is how it is in our house. Steve really has no one to blame but himself. If there’s one thing about me that I’m sure he knows it’s that I’m not competitive until someone else starts with me. I never go looking for a fight. I’m a Boulder hippie. I’m all about the love. But, if you start with me, I’m going to bring my A-game.

 

 
(Author’s note: I have a lot of friends who are CSU grads. A LOT. I don’t hold that against them. I love them anyway. And, they tolerate me so it’s all good. I tease them about their school, but every single one of them is an amazing gift to me so their school can’t be all that bad. If my sons go to CSU, I’ll be proud of them. But, make no mistake about it. I will dance shameless circles around them when the Buffs beat the Rams.)

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Question Your Facts and Keep Your Opinions To Yourself

This photo has nothing to do with this article. I just liked it.

I had to get gas for my car today. I drive a lot. I go through a tank of gas a week just to chauffeur my kids to school and run some errands and get to the yoga studio. Today, as the gas pump gauge rolled over $65 in change, I was complaining out loud, mostly to myself. From the backseat, I heard a comment from the peanut gallery.

“The gas prices are high because Obama is living it up and that’s driving the gas prices up,” Luke quips.

“What?” I gasped. Had that comment just come out of the mouth of my eight year old son?

“It’s true. Obama’s driving up the cost of gas.”

“What exactly do you know about the economics of petroleum supply and demand?” I questioned.

“I don’t know. I just heard that somewhere,” he replied.

“Well, obviously you just heard it somewhere. Where exactly did you hear it?”

He thought for a second and then said, “I think it was on the front of one of the Lego videos I saw on YouTube.”

“Yeah. Some of those videos on YouTube have ads on the front of them,” Joe affirmed. “And, you know how many of those videos Luke watches on YouTube.”

That’s when I took the time to have a quick pow wow with my kids about how you can’t believe everything you hear or read. I informed them that all “facts” should be considered suspect until adequately researched and, even then, “facts” are relayed through human filters, which means they’re likely not 100% subjective. I cautioned them that if you are going to make blanket statements about any topic, you’d best have adequate, reliable, and reputable factoids under your hat to share with those who might question the validity of your statements.  Then, I reminded them that no eight year old kid should have any opinion on politics because politics is a complicated business that most adults can’t comprehend. You don’t have to look very far for proof of that statement.

I told my friend, Edie, about this exchange between Luke and I and she said, “See how ads influence people who don’t think for themselves?” This was precisely the point of my April 5th blog. People hear a sound byte from a “news” source, either online or on television, and then start parroting the information as if it’s gospel. It’s one thing when an eight year old hears something and repeats it thinking he’s got the answers. That’s simply naivete. When grown adults do it, it’s often due to lack of critical thinking and sound judgement. At least Luke has some time to get his head screwed on straight. I’ll simply keep challenging him and questioning his sources. Hopefully then, by the time he’s an adult, he will realize (as so many don’t) that there’s a vast difference between fact and opinion.

 

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The Pickpocket

Luke models his rich and famous look.

I love my youngest son to pieces. He’s a gem. He makes me smile every single day. He makes many people smile every day. He’s determined, funny, and quick as a whip. This is why he’s dangerous. He’s a snake oil salesman. If you’re around him, you’d best keep your hands in your pockets or he will rob you blind. No. Seriously. The kid is a thief. He’s always been all about the money and working the angles to score something he wants. As much as I adore him, I feel it’s in the public’s best interest for me to issue a formal warning now before it’s too late.

Luke’s 9th birthday is approximately one month away. He’s been planning for this momentous occasion since one minute after he finished opening his last Christmas gift. That’s when he surveyed the present situation and noted what he did not receive. All those items, he immediately announced, had been bumped to his birthday wish list. He’s a man with a plan.

“Mom…I’m working on the list that Grandpa and Grandma asked for. I’ve decided that you can buy me the Lego Republic Frigate ship because that one’s $120, and I think that’s too much to ask them for. I’m looking at a couple smaller sets for them to buy me,” he announced this evening.

“You’re right. You can’t ask your grandparents for a $120 Lego set. Be more reasonable.”

“Well, I’m still trying to build up my collection (keep in mind the kid probably has over 5,000 Lego pieces in our basement already) so I can make my YouTube video with the clones. I want it to go viral.”

“You want what to go viral, exactly?”

“The video I’m going to make with my Lego figures. To do the awesome battle scene, I’m going to need 3 to 5 of those Republic Frigate sets,” he informed me.

“What? You need 3 to 5 of those $120 sets? Are you crazy?”

“No. I’ve got it all worked out. See…you’ll buy me one set, and I’ll use some birthday money and my allowance to buy another set. Then, I’ll sell off the parts I don’t need to get money for the other sets I do need,” he explained.

“So, let me get this straight. You want to film a Lego action video for YouTube, and to get the pieces you need you’re going to take the $120 set we buy you for your birthday and sell off pieces to make extra cash?” I questioned.

“Exactly,” he answered.

“Would it make it easier for you if I just handed you $120?” I suggested sarcastically.

“No,” he replied in all earnestness. “I still need the frigate for my battle scene. I’ll just sell the extra figures on eBay for cash.”

“Luke,” I reminded him, “you don’t have an eBay account.”

He just looked at me like I was simple and sighed with annoyance. Apparently, some of us don’t appreciate the wisdom of his big-picture thinking.

But, it’s starting to make sense to me. A couple weeks ago Luke announced that he plans to move to Hollywood because he’s (and I verbatim quote) “all about being rich and famous.” He will own a studio where he will write, direct, and star in his own films. I asked him where he will get the money for all this. He told me he’ll get investors. Obviously, this is where Steve and I come in. He’s working the investor angle on us already with his Lego Republic Frigate scheme. Like I said, you’d best manage your pockets carefully when Luke’s pitching one of his ideas to you. The dang kid has just enough charm, vision, and charisma to clean out your entire wallet. Duck into an alley if you see him heading your way.

 

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There Is No Standardized Life

Me and friends....CU graduation May '90

A friend of mine shared a link on Facebook today to this article by a man in New Jersey who exercised his legal right to exempt his 12 year old son from the standardized testing assessment conducted by the state. The reasons he offered for why he and his wife are removing their son from the testing echo my concerns about the usefulness of these tests which, by and large, seem only to stress out both students and teachers and do little for the advancement of actual learning and skill building for life. Even if I toss aside my feelings for the validity of these assessments, which teachers and students spend weeks preparing for and taking, Mr. Richardson’s article reminds me of how far we have not come in education since I was a child. When I compare the educational experience I had to the one my boys are getting, I cringe. And I say that without any intended disrespect to my boys’ school or their teachers; they are in a private school of our choosing because the educators there are truly wonderful. The state of education, however, has changed. My boys are missing out on what I got in spades in Douglas County schools while I was growing up…freedom to choose, freedom to think and express themselves as individuals, and freedom to create.

Growing up, I thought learning was fun. Yes. There was plenty of work, but with that work came a broadening of my mind and the knowledge that I was working toward independence. I felt invested in that. From specific exercises we did in grade school to the way I was allowed to customize my high school class schedule, I was given ownership and freedom in my education and those things empowered me.

In 6th grade, we were asked to fill out an application for McDonalds. This was purely for practice, obviously, but the principal reviewed the applications of both classes of 6th graders and then chose 10 of us to interview. I was among the 10 he interviewed. From those interviews, he then would chose a boy and a girl to “hire.” I remember sitting in that chair in front of the principal and trying my best to be articulate. I wanted that job and I got it. When he brought me into the office again to offer me the imaginary position, he told me that he chose me because he could tell from my responses that I was a hard worker and that I believed in myself. That singular experience profoundly affected me. I’ve interviewed for ten positions in my life from the time I began working at age 17. I’ve gotten the job every single time (knock on wood). I don’t believe that’s a coincidence. I think that experience I had interviewing at age 12 helped me to understand the process and prepare for it later in life.

My husband’s school experience was 180 degrees from mine. Steve went to high school in Illinois where his class schedule was chosen for him. The classes were predetermined for each student. Boring. At our high school, there were certain requirements that had to be met in core subjects (math, science, social studies, and English) but we were allowed to choose the courses we wanted to in order to meet those requirements. I knew I was interested in the social sciences and English, so I focused my classes around those subjects. I opted out of PE, home ec, and other fairly standard elective courses to take additional courses in English. I chose to study Shakespeare, grammar, and writing. I wasn’t forced either, as my husband was, into three years of history. I took history courses along with quarter-long courses on the current topics like the Middle East and Futures (a course where we studied emergent technologies and sciences). Everything I studied and the way I was allowed to choose my interests prepared me for college. Consequently, when I got there and was asked to write a paper about Othello I was able to formulate a topic and plan my paper without hassling the professor to help me choose something to say. I’d been allowed freedom to be unique, to find my own voice and interests, and to be responsible for my learning. It paid off. I got through college in 4 years with a 3.3 GPA and the desire to go to graduate school and learn more. I’d say that was a fairly successful educational experience. What’s more is that it prepared me for life, where I’m required daily to think creatively, problem solve, adapt, and be flexible. I’ve never once been asked to recite dates and locations for specific battles during the Civil War.

What I want for my sons is the opportunity I had, the chance to learn that education is fun. We did take standardized tests, but we just took them. We didn’t spend weeks preparing for them or stressing out over them. The teachers taught from the prescribed curriculum, we took the tests, and we did our best. End of story. As my sons prepare to take the Iowa Basics tests at their school, I’ve told them that these tests don’t tell us how smart they are or how successful they will be. They only tell us how well they take standardized tests. But, success in life isn’t determined by results on standardized tests. Success arises from believing in yourself, knowing your strengths, learning lessons on the fly, and finding opportunity in obstacles. I tell my boys that there is no standardized life. Darken whichever ovals you choose as you travel on your own path and, if someone dares to tell you you’re wrong, just remind them that they don’t have the answer key for your test.

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