Bless me Father–It's Who I Am!

Before attending an advent reconciliation, I debated on a number of things to confess. Once I sat down to confess my sins to the priest, I finally boiled down my guilt down to feelings of ingratitude. Most of you can probably relate to a certain extent. I.e., Do things as trivial as someone’s dirty dishes on the counter annoy the shit out of you? Yet...you don't think twice about having those dishes, or that counter, or that food piled on the dishes?

So after telling the priest about my bouts of resentment, along with my inability to appreciate all that I have, he quietly said,

“You’ve probably heard these words before, but remember it’s not about what you have, it’s about who you are.”

At first I wondered if he had understood my confession. I was expecting him to give me a prescription on how to manage my life differently, but he didn't. Admittedly, I didn't connect the dots–at first. So he sent me away to pray an Our Father and reflect. So I did.

Now I can’t shake the words from my head.

I spend an awful lot of time fussing about my purpose in life–wringing my hands, wondering if I'm doing enough in this world. There are lots of big, important causes out there in the world. Sometimes it’s overwhelming to figure out how we should make a difference. How can we help those victims in the Philippines, or comfort the vast population suffering from incurable diseases? Certainly, we can write a check. And while that's helpful, it never feels like enough.

It’s not about what you have, but who you are.

Maybe our actions don't have to be grand or ostentatious. So, I'm not a person who is powerful or important. But I feel that I am kind. And I like uplifting the spirit of people around me if at all possible. Have I been doing that? Have I engaged with my family? My friends? My coworkers? Or even the sad-looking person at the grocery store? Maybe not. Maybe not lately.

So it there's one thing I can do, it's show people I care. A smile, a hello, an empathetic ear. It might be a small gesture, but at least it’ll be sincere. It won't be like Oprah giving away cars, but that's not really who I am–right now anyway.

Stories

Interested in reading some short fiction? My other blog is dedicated to all things writing, so I've posted a short story I recently wrote called Phoenix Sun–about a mother who decides to take a short vacation from her life. But it remains to be seen whether she'll go back to her daily grind...

If you like to read, but don't have the time to dig into a book, here's a nice alternative. Hope you enjoy. (And I welcome comments–good, bad, or ugly!)

Remember Alice?

Hello? Is there anybody there? 

Between two writing classes and the buzz of everyday life, my poor blog has taken a way, way back seat! So, after my first free weekend in about three years it seems, I thought I'd touch base with my small group of followers! (Hi Mom.)

I spent much of the weekend, getting reacquainted with my house. I.e., peeling back the layers of grime to make it not so disgusting. It was practically a Herculean effort because no one does much cleaning around here. And I really suck at making my kids accountable for anything. (I believe they call this working mother's guilt.)  Since I've been reading Gail Collin's When Everything Changed–a book about the women's movement, I'm really consumed with the fair division of household duties. But since Doug is working until midnight every night this time of the year, I guess it's my turn. Ugh.

If you have ever felt badly about your sense of domesticity, consider this:

• My kids' sheets hadn't been washed in such a long time, I couldn't even find them. Apparently, neither of them realized they existed. I found both of their top sheets, and a pillow case, under each of their beds. I hope they appreciate their new, freshly laundered bed clothes.
• I cleaned two piles of dog shit and one one mound of cat puke in the garage. To avoid puking, I simply didn't breath for about five minutes.
• I'm pretty sure I vacuumed up a snake. Or maybe it was a long dead worm. Something possessed me to lift the chaise–only to find one of our animal's treasures. It had to be the evil little cat.
• I started doing laundry on Friday night. It's Sunday, at 9:30, and even with the extra hour, I'm still doing laundry. There will still be at least three loads left to do when I go to bed tonight. At least, I'm proud to say, everyone in the house will have socks and underwear tomorrow morning.

I didn't finish a bunch of other "chores." The kitchen floor. The toilets.The intricate dusting of my fake ficus tree. After some serious consideration, I've come to one conclusion: I need an Alice–like on the Brady Bunch! This way, I can free up my time to pursue worthy endeavors like watching more movies with my family, writing more short stories that probably won't get published and, of course, playing with the pets.

Taking applications immediately.

Wicked Awesome!

Just got back from vacation last weekend, and I have a great idea for a short story. It goes something like this:

An Iowa farmer sells all his ground to buy a lobster boat and relocate his family to Boston. The farmer befriends an old fisherman at an Irish pub. The old fisherman decides to bequeath his Red Sox tickets to the farmer.

The end.

I think the telltale sign of a good vacation as that we're already nostalgic about our trip. It seems that the Boston accent hasn't quite left our brain yet. (Get in the cah! Wouldja! We're wicked late!)  We've already scanned the hundreds of revolutionary and not-so-revolutionary photos on our camera and iPhones. Doug, who has been a staunch Bud-liter for years, bought himself some Sam Adams already. And, of course, we watched Fever Pitch.

You always worry about vacations turning out to be more work than what they're worth. This vacation just happened to snap into place. It was the perfect combination of history and fun.  (The kids might argue we overdid the history tours and didn't quite do enough swimming, but I think the ratio was just about perfect.) We all agree we could've taken in one more Red Sox game. Our walk to Yawkey Way was certainly the highlight. I'm not sure the team could've set up a more exciting game for us. Trailing 7-2, the Red Sox came back to win in the bottom of the 9th. We didn't wanted to leave Fenway as the Drop Kick Murphy's continued to blast through the speakers. Thirty minutes later, we finally decided it was time to head back to the hotel...(Usually we always try to dodge out of a stadium as quickly as we can.) I swear my husband was converted that night.

But the Red Sox aren't everything there was to Boston. Beyond all of the history that revolves around the city (the USS Constitution–"Old Ironsides," the Boston Tea Party, Bunker Hill...), you couldn't help be caught up in their spirit of education! Apparently, half the population is made up of students. Like Hahvahd. Where they make you smahtah. And MIT are comprised of a bunch of clever pranksters–who convert buildings into awesome droids like r2d2. These same students are recruited by some of the most noteworthy companies in the country. That's who I want working for me!

Now, we're back and it always feels good to come home and look over the pretty fields of Iowa. Looking back, I can't say, there isn't anything we didn't do that I wish we would have. Oh, except for maybe one...we didn't get to glance at the Patriot's quarterback. That would've been nice. Maybe next time.

A New Happy

As I was listening in church this past weekend, and thinking about service and God and all that stuff, I decided something. I need to quit being so bitchy. And help out more. And not be bitchy about helping out. My kids were putting up such a fuss about being servers in church. Really. For one heroic hour, they help our priest perform Mass. Our priest doesn’t happen to be one of those “beat-you-with-a-ruler” if you screw up types. He’s fairly forgiving when mistakes are made. And it’s not like the tasks are excruciating, so I was wondering why the kids were so put out. Perhaps they get their sour attitudes from their parents. As I thought more deeply about their parents’ approach to service, and life, I wondered…perhaps we’re not the best role models in terms of looking at the glass half-full. We do tend to gripe...maybe too much. You know? Bitch for the sake of bitching?

I really think my innate nature is to look at the sky, rather than search the ground for snakes. (Although, I’ve come across TWO in the vicinity of our living quarters recently, but that’s another story I don’t wish to discuss in case the kids read the blog and find out some unpleasant truths…) But for some reason, I’ve allowed myself to be coated with a negative aura. I hear myself feeding into the slightest bit of juicy gossip—even if it doesn’t impact my life whatsoever.  For example, I recently noticed myself criticizing Kanye and Kim's choice of "North West" for a baby name. Why should I care if it sounds like an airline! I'm sure they don't care what I think. Here's the right way to think about that whole business: Another beautiful, healthy baby was brought into the world that will probably bless us with either A) fabulous music, or B) another...reality show. Okay...I'm gonna stop with my commentary while my positivity is still overriding my cynicism.

Back to  task. I want to be the mom my kids and hubby are happy to see when I come home. Not the one, whom they hide from in the basement or the office, hoping I don’t complain about the mess or insufficient completion of chores. So, here’s my plan. I have a twenty-minute commute between work and home every night. I usually listen to NPR—basically just another extension of work to gather information from Marketplace. But maybe I need to pray during that time…to think about what good things there is to be done in the world (or at least in Shelby County… or maybe just our farm). And when I get home, I’ll discuss those ideas with my family, instead of how freaking messy the house is.

I’m pretty sure they’ll like the change of pace...

I've actually been experimenting with this new system already, but my family seems unaware. They look at me suspiciously...like I'm trying to catch them in the act of wrongdoing. It might take awhile for them to acclimate to the new me. (It's only been a few days.) Admittedly, it feels a little strange–this new habit of not being crabby when I walk in the house. But it feels kind of good. I like it. I even cooked something a bit gourmet the other night. Take a look at this! Alex and I were the only ones who really liked it, but I think everyone at least appreciated the attempt.

Bacon, potato and asparagus pizza!

Shopping with my Mother

A shopping day in KC...a long time ago...

Even though my daughter turned sixteen this month, yesterday I was sixteen, and my mother was 38 again. And we were taking a mother-daughter shopping trip while my dad holed himself up in the garage. We managed to have a good time...sans the rest of our families. Wink, wink.

I was simply along for the ride, truly not needing a thing. My mother was the one who needed a day away from her shop–as she rarely gets away. But by the end of the day, I noticed the creases on my arms from my bag straps setting in...as my mother only carried her one measly shopping sack.

"Mom! You need to get more stuff!" I exclaimed in a wave of guilt.

"Oh no. I got everything I came for," she stated in her humble way.

"You sure?" I confirmed, happily toting my bounty, in my only-child type of way.

She nodded, with a smile.

The day was great. We laughed at our atrocious, skinny legs, discussed books at great lengths, wondered about people who don't read (or only read Fifty Shades of Grey), boasted about my kids (a lot), and didn't worry about ANYTHING. And this part is really funny...my mom was really hungry all day. She usually eats like a bird and is slightly disgusted by people who over-eat. But she's on this steroid for a skin reaction. So, it tickled me to see her lick up the rest of my corn chowder. And nibble on some mini Reese's Peanut Butter Cups! (She is so anti-sweets!) I couldn't help but giggle...

I know I've been crabby lately–all consumed by work. Certainly, I didn't need to go out and spend my wallet. That wasn't what mattered. The change of pace with my beloved mother was one of the best days I've had in a long time. It was a day to unload. I really did feel like a youthful daughter, on an outing with my wise mother, asking her for her opinion on just about everything and anything. It was a day to cherish. I love you, Mama!

Saving the Parental Face

The other night we had gone out to eat when I decided to tell our son a story how I had caught a napkin on fire at the very restaurant where were dining. The story included how I had shouted "Fire! Fire!" just before my hubby quickly doused the tiny blaze with some water. As my son rolled his eyes upon hearing the anecdote, I could see him imagining the embarrassment his mother would have brought upon him if he would've been there to witness the event. While I have sort of gotten used to embarrassing my spouse every once in awhile, I never thought I'd be the parent my kids would be embarrassed of. But...here I am. I am that parent.

So the cool factor seems to officially beyond my scope. It's a bit humbling. Last week a few of us parents holed up at Troy's Bar & Grill after a Pee Wee's baseball game. At one point of the night a flood of twenty-somethings trotted in with their swanky clothes and fancy hair and cool shoes. I glanced down at my mom capris, burying even further into my smart hoodie. I knew it was time for us to duck out before we had a chance to appear as if we were trying to fit in. My sixteen-year-old didn't happen to be with us, but all I could think was how she'd be begging for us to leave to avoid a particular shame. But in reality? That crowd didn't even notice us–the people in our family-zone bracket. They seemed to look right over the tops of our wisps of gray and increasingly pronounced bags under our eyes. So unless we started downing shots with the youthful troupe, we stood a pretty good chance of being ignored and saving our kids from any possible humiliation. 

I confronted my daughter about the issue. Asked her straight out if her parents embarrassed her. She was gentle–even offering, "Not always." But here's the kicker. She told me candidly that it wasn't her father that embarrassed her. It was only me. 

"Me? Why?"

"Just different things. Like your big smile when you talk to little kids. Even Cole agrees it's kind of weird."

Well. That's just me being wistful about my kids not being little anymore. And apparently, for good reason. They get awfully judgmental once they reach a certain age...Awfully judgmental. I think I can promise my kids this...I will never intend to shame them. Never. But given the history of parental/child relationships, I'm bound to make their eyes roll just a few more hundred times in their lifetimes.

My kids never embarrass me. They are always lovely!