Busy as a...Bitch?

Have you ever counted how many times in a day something is requested of you? It doesn't matter what you have going on, you just–

·         Do it. It’s your kid and someone needs to wash their sheets.

·         Do it. It’s your husband. It will be easier than teaching him how to call the dentist.

·         Do it. It’s your job and they pay you.

·         Do it. It’s a good thing for your community and you want to make it a great place to live.

But there are times you don't do it, even if you want to...like going out with a girlfriend or playing a game with your family. And why not? We're too darn busy. And we need to prove it.

  

I read an article in the WSJ by Elizabeth Bernstein called You're Not Busy, You're Just Rude. Undoubtedly we’re all buried under a mound of too many obligations–self-imposed for sure. We tend to wear our “busy-ness” like a badge. It never occurred to me how off-putting this can be—to our friends who are also busy and to the people we care about it. Talk of hectic schedules tends to dominate conversation, but what are we trying to communicate?  "I'm so busy I'm not even sure why I'm taking the time to visit with you! Now get outta here."

I'm not saying we need to put a halt to being active. Being busy equates to productivity. But the next time I start rationalizing why I'm saying no, I’m going to try to shift my perspective about my responsibilities. And be honest.

Like when my husband asks me to sit down and watch something with him. I won't let out a huge sigh and tell him I’m too busy. I’ll ask him to help me with laundry so someone can have socks in the morning. And we can interact instead of stare at a screen.

Or like when a friend invites me to have a drink, I won’t say I’m too busy. I’ll say I’m concerned about becoming an alcoholic. And having beer breath at a soccer game. Then I'll ask her to lunch instead.

Or like when my kids want to talk about their days, and my mind begins to create to-do lists for them to ensure they are productive citizens. Really, I need to stop that right now. I will empty my mind and listen to their every word. I'm definitely never too busy for them. No matter how many meetings I boast about attending.

Schedule Your Mammogram!

I faintly recall that in my last blog I had decided to embark on some sort of project in regard to updating my kitchenware. Since that last post, I've attended meetings, helped Alex plan her "first day of school outfit," attended meetings, rushed the kids off to the first day of school, played piano for the first Mass of the school year, attended meetings, responded to sixteen billion emails, planned Alex's "second day of school outfit," and then one day after work, I listened to my answering machine. The hospital called back to say they wanted me to come back in.

Our local medical center is very diligent about women's health. I think on the date of my birthday, I received a letter stating that with my 40th birthday comes a responsibility to schedule a mammogram. Sure. Will do...

When I didn't schedule it, I received another letter wondering why they hadn't heard from me. Could their persistence be a sign from God? So, I made the appointment, went through the smashing and that was that. Check another task off the list.

A week later is when I received the message . "Not to worry though...many women are called back in," she told me in a fairly convincing voice. I tried not to worry. But after a few bouts of diarrhea, somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I was worrying.

The battery of my right breast included amazing twists, turns and somersaults. After staring at the amazing face of a 55-year old Christi Brinkley on the cover of a magazine, the radiologist came into the room. I had prepared myself. I was ready for my breast reduction surgery and to start whatever treatment he recommended. But, he looked at me, smiled and said, "looks like everything is okay. We were able to flatten out the dark tissue."

Incredible. My mind became suddenly cleared. Diarrhea went away. And I could go back to worrying about Alex's wardrobe.

That other project I started. What was it again? Extreme Gourmet Make-over? I'll get to that just as soon as I celebrate life with my family and friends bit more.

P.S. I considered hiding the news from my hubby as he became the most sensitive man I ever met for 24 hours. But I couldn't do it to him. I shared the good news, and he's back to normal, thank God.
Look how perfectly coordinated the kids are for the first day of school! I'm really glad I got to help pick the clothes out...

Just Say No... Really?

Have any of you seen the movie Yes Man? The premise is quite clever - a reclusive naysayer is convinced to attend a self-help seminar and finds himself cursed to say "yes" to every request or suffer serious consequences. Well, my family has created their own self-help program...with the intent of teaching me to say no.

Of course, the village attitude always develops after periods of long days filled with various evening meetings. "You just need to learn to say no." "Yeah, Mom! Just say no. Practice."

I know that much of my hubby's intentions are to protect my sanity. Truly he's witnessed a few breakdowns when I'm completely overloaded. But after a week's worth of "no" counseling, I found myself very amused this evening.

It really wasn't unlike any other evening...

The kids and I walk in the door around 6:00.
Doug needs my help with an Excel formula for one of his farming spreadsheets.
I begin making a spaghetti dinner. (Sidenote: I'm still mentally preparing for the ribs I plan to make soon.)
I take the load of whites out of the dryer to make room for the wet towels.
Doug goes out to water our trees. Thank you!
Cole is putting his comics away. Thank you!
Alex is putting her clothes away. Thank you!
Then the Schwann's truck pulls in. All hell breaks loose.

My water begins to boil.
"Stef! Where are the pliers?" voices the man of my dreams from the garage.
"Mom? How do you spell Corbin?" says the little voice of my Coley.

Okay. Delegate. "Alex, answer the door, will you?" Get Doug his pliers since he doesn't have any idea where my gardening tools are kept. Hope the water doesn't boil over.

"Mom! There's a new Schwann's guy walking up to our door! I'm not answering it!" exclaims my nervous little girl.

Re-delegate. "Alex, add the spaghetti to the water. I'll get he door."

"How much spaghetti, Mom?"

I fumble with my spaghetti measurer. "Whatever. Just guess. I have a door to answer."

I get the door, thumb through the catelog, and put in a polite order (with a few shouted requests.. "Don't forget breakfast sandwiches!" As soon as Schwann's guy walks back to the truck, I'm hearing, "Mom! Can you get me some paper towels?" and "Mom? Do we have an envelope for the comics I'm sending to Corbin?"

Okay, must get pliers. Doug is indicating frustration. Then must write check for the Schwann's guy. How much again? "Just a second everybody..."

Well, it all gets done. The Schwann's man gets paid. We get ice cream. The spaghetti meal is served (with no shortage of noodles, quite the contrary really.) Cousin Corbin has a big envelope of comics coming his way. And our trees are now properly saturated...I'm not sure where pliers fit into the picture, but who cares really.

As we sit down to eat, I'm not stressed. I'm more amused, thinking how my family would've reacted to a few "no's." But I didn't have too much time to imagine the scenario...

"Is this Ragu or homemade sauce? It tastes kind of bland."

"Sorry. My time was compromised. I had to say no to onions."

"Oh. That's okay," says my dear hubby. "It will save me a little heartburn."

Aha. My one "no" of the evening at least paid off a little...


Now, on a very different note! From the girl who never says never....Alex took one of her first dress designs (with the help of her grandmother) and brought it to life! Isn't this awesome!

Signs, Signs, Everywhere There's Signs

How many of you look for signs? Not like traffic signs, but subtle hints that make you ponder issues in your life? Most likely, I miss many of these...always on a non-stop to-do list. Lately though, God has become more blatant in his messages to me.

Sign #1: My friend, Annette, is pregnant! Amy and Susie have had babies in the past year. And while I was feeling a bit lonely for a newborn, Annette has reminded me how much I didn't enjoy throwing up all the time. As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember asking Doug, the second time around, "why would I do this to myself again?" Obviously, once the prize comes, you forget those things. Perhaps I'll reignite my campaign for international adoptions! I do receive a lot of mail about kids needing help abroad. Surely that's a sign.

Sign #2: A co-worker told me about a recent article she read about kids who were involved in lots of activities. These kids were interviewed in college and asked if they had regrets about their level of involvement. Most said they wished they had been able to eat supper at home more with their family. Hmmm. Doug and I grew up this way and always said we would make sure we do this. Something happened though. Soccer, dance, guitar, etc. Last night, my hubby and I made the decision that our kids simply don't have time to be kids. After soccer season is done (in about a week), we're going to be much more careful about signing the kids up for anything that comes around. Doug also informed me that I could say 'no' once in awhile as well. I'll work on that, really.

Well, it's 7:45, Saturday morning and I have a good hour before we need to take off for soccer games for the day. I love being home. I think I'll go wake my family up so we can enjoy the next hour together. Without morning sickness.