4/10/10 - Reintegration

So here’s the part about being home that I always forget about in my excitement to just be home – the reintegration process. I always forget that the kids and I are in our own routines and daily patterns and so is my husband. And that my internal daily to do list is vastly different at my parents’ house than it is at my own house. So there’s always several days of relearning how to live with each other in this day-to-day life.

Plus, and this always emerges no matter how hard I try not to let it, there’s always the issue of the fact that my husband essentially just got a 3 week vacation. Yes, he was still working, but that’s all he had to do. He was wonderful and did a bunch of stuff around the house we’ve been meaning to get to, but I even envy him that. Because of the simplicity. As I’ve said many, many times, his life is no easier than mine, but it sure is a whole lot simpler. Because he has dedicated time to do everything in his day. He has dedicated time to work. Dedicated family time. Dedicated alone time in his commute to and from work. Whereas I have to carve out time for all of that stuff. I have to juggle between time with the kiddos playing, laundry, cleaning and everything else that crowds my plate. And when I go down to my parents’ house, that plate just gets even more crowded. So inevitably my husband will say something about having to get up a bit earlier to take The Boy to school and I end up yelling at him. I know it’s silly and doesn’t make sense. But there you go. I’m just badly in need of a very real vacation.

In the meantime however, I need to get our laundry done, start back with my meal planning and compiling a grocery list to re-equip the kitchen with non-bachelor mode food and assorted other things. As well as catching up with friends, getting the kids back into the swing of things with school and so on and so forth.

All in a day’s work.

3/6/10 - Anger

I think that anger takes two basic forms. Those which are situational, the “I can’t believe you just did that to me!” types of anger. More like bursts of fury. They fade relatively quickly and usually don’t have much to do with anything except the offending person or thing.

Then there is the anger that is rooted in who we are. Rooted somewhere deep enough that it can’t be so easily let go of or dismissed. Rooted somewhere solid enough that it takes years maybe even a lifetime to be able to put it down and direct our energy into something more positive.

And I’ve been going round and round with the latter as of late. There is this anger that is rooted in my childhood. That is connected to my parents and that has been flying in my face as of late in response to the fact that my father is dying and everything that comes with that. You would think that the hardest part would be the issues related directly to my dad. Those that come from the fact that he was gone for a lot of my early childhood. Those that come from the fact that he’s not an emotionally ebullient man and always left me guessing as to my place in his heart. Those that come from the fact that he had exceptionally high expectations for me that I struggled, and often failed, to meet.

But instead, and probably harder than all of those combined, the anger that is arising is with my mother. Perhaps that’s because she’ll still be here and is therefore the safer candidate at which to vent anger. Or perhaps, losing my father is just opening the floodgates to that deeply seated anger that has been dormant for so long. I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s making it extremely difficult for me and my mom right now. And I’ve yet to find the words to explain it all to her without her feeling like I’m just attacking her. And if I want to one day be able to truly let go of this anger, I must first find a way to express it.

In Defense of Nest

My college roommate picked a fight with a bunch of moms on Facebook today. Which actually turned out to be a jumping off point for she and I to spend an embarrassing large chunk of time first IM’ing and then talking on the phone about the whole thing. It’s a really huge parenting can of worms. Or at least it’s been turned into a huge can of worms for modern day parents. I don’t remember it being all that big of a deal for my parents when I was a kid.

It’s the question of how old your children should be before you allow them to have a sleepover at someone else’s house. I remember the biggest issue being whether or not I was ready to be away from home all night or not. I remember having to call my parents at about midnight my first sleepover because I just couldn’t handle it. It turns out now the biggest concern is one of trust. Trusting the parents and children at whose house your child will be sleeping. Mostly in terms of safety. Whether or not the parents can be trusted to provide adequate levels of supervision. Whether or not older siblings will introduce your child to inappropriate things. Whether or not your child will be put in a position to be hurt in this surrounding. And to be entirely honest, the whole thing baffles me.

See, these other mothers immediately jumped to sexual abuse and molestation as an imminent and real threat. And my mouth just dropped at this. I think it’s the imminence these mothers see that shocks me the most. They essentially feel like they won’t allow sleepovers at all until they feel their children are old enough to be their own advocates. Which essentially means their first night away from home will happen when they leave for college. I don’t mean to be flip, but seriously. Can anyone truthfully say they were completely equipped to be their own advocates, not to be influenced by questions of social or emotional pressures, much before they left the nest? Or more to the point, until they had to create (and perhaps defend) their own nest?

The Mess That I Am

So I have this anger. This anger that I keep expecting to start dissipating as the time goes by. This anger that I’ve been diligently trying to just let be in the hopes that it would burn itself out. Here’s the problem though, it turns out when you “diligently” try to do something, you’re not actually just letting it be, are you?

So, here’s the truth. I am angry. I’m so angry I can hardly see straight. I’m angry that my father is dying. I’m angry that my father will not let me in during this time of grief and ending. I’m angry that he won’t let me help him find the answers he’s craving so that he can have some peace in whatever time he has left. When this diagnosis first happened, it brought my dad back to me. He was present and honest and actively choosing to bring me into his process. Now he’s gone back to sitting still again, in the worst possible way. There’s no peace or growth in this sitting still. Or at least there doesn’t appear to be any, but I wouldn’t really know for sure because he won’t, you know, let me in.

And I’m angry because everyone just expects me to understand. My dad expects me to take care of my family and that’s it. My mom expects me to just let them both do whatever they want exclusive of my place in this family. Our oldest family friends expect me to sit back and just understand. I do not understand. I do not understand how it’s ok to shove your only daughter away from you when you’re dying under the guise of wanting me to take care of my “own family.” What the hell is that?!? My parents aren’t my family?

To be honest I’m tired of understanding. I’m tired of walking on eggshells. I’m tired of pretending like everything is ok. I’m tired of acting as if my feelings about my father dying don’t actually matter.

I want permission to be angry. I want permission to fall apart. I want permission to be the mess that I am.

The angry, tired mess that I am.

On the Edge of Panic

We’re home again. And I am really, really crabby for some reason this evening. The drive was fine. The roads were, by and large, fine. I got to listen to a good portion of the awesome CD’s that D made for me. But I got home and The Boy was just bouncing off the walls hyper and full of attitude. And my husband told me about he had to call his parents and ask for money because we couldn’t make our car payment this month. And even though they, of course, graciously offered to help us out, I was mortified that he had to call and ask (their generosity has known no bounds the last few months but it’s one thing to have them send us money because they want to and an entirely other thing to ask for it outright). And I know the reason we can’t make our car payment this month is because of things like me driving back and forth between my parents’ house and home, having a powerful need to eat (can you name the movie?) and unfortunately needing things like shampoo all at once. It’s ridiculous that things like gas and groceries can screw up our entire budget. This whole awful bankruptcy process was supposed to make this better and instead we are still in dire straits. And I feel like I’m inches away from just succumbing to this state of panic and coming apart at the seams. Panic about my dad, panic about our finances, panic about what my mom will do after my dad goes…

And I have this idea for this week’s 52 story but I can’t quite get a handle on it enough to actually write it out. It centers on a woman who gets caught in this sort of dream loop/jump, popping from one dream to another without any control, rhyme or reason. I won’t spoil the end for you, but if I can get it all to work out on paper it could be pretty cool. If not then I don’t know what I’ll do this week, but hopefully I’ll come up with something.

Hopefully some quiet time tomorrow will lend some focus.

Food and Writing

Ah, civilization, how I have missed thee! Ok, that’s being dramatic. We’ve only been snowed in for a couple of days, but I’ve been completely computer and phone free during those days which almost NEVER happens, so it feels like longer. I half expected to get on the computer today to discover The Boy had started college and all of my friends were moving to Florida to retire. Instead it’s only been a couple of days and life has just kept on keeping on while I’ve been away.

My mom took The Girl and me out to lunch today at a new Greek restaurant in Farmington. And it’s the funniest thing to see how people react in this town not only to a new restaurant, but more so to a new “ethnic” restaurant. The place was packed with people oohing and ahhing over the food and the décor and, and, and! It just cracks me up. But it was yummy, and a lovely change of pace from the typical restaurant fare in town. The service was good, although I really wish cute boy servers would pay attention to the fact that all of their cutesy little one liners that they use on most patrons really only work if the customers next to your other table don’t hear you use them on someone else first. Again, it just cracks me up.

And today is my parent’s 39^th wedding anniversary. Although since they’ve been together for 41 years and this will be their last anniversary together, they’re splitting the difference and just calling it their 40^th anniversary. Seems fair to me. So I’m making them the dinner of their choice (linguine with clam sauce and Caesar salad) and another friend of theirs made them a cherry pie for dessert. So once again, we’ll at least have good food and good company if nothing else.

I’m fretting a wee bit about my story for this week. Last week’s story came so easily and has so much potential, but this week, I’m waiting for inspiration to hit. Hopefully it hits sometime soon. This challenge is proving to be a lot of fun, when I don’t have to force it.

1/21/10 - Blizzard

Holy shit ton of snow Batman!! I just spent the last 8.5 hours driving down to my parents’ house. The drive usually takes me just over 5 hours. But just shy of about halfway there I ran into a gigantic freaking blizzard and I never really came out of it. Over a couple of the passes I was putting down fresh tire marks in the undisturbed snow. I was struggling to just figure out how to stay on the road because the landscape was just one huge, consistent swath of white in front of me with no demarcation of where the road ended and the plunging drop to my death began. It was fun.

But we arrived, finally, safe and sound at my parents’ house to everyone worrying and waiting for our arrival. The Girl and I got out of the car, unloaded our stuff and started to get settled in when she abruptly went all whiny and fussy. She spiked a fever out of nowhere and was suddenly just not at all feeling good. I was pretty sure another febrile seizure was on the way with how she was acting, but I managed to get some Motrin down her throat and then she just feel asleep. So I am hoping it was just some weird little bug she picked up somewhere that is gone by morning. I really don’t want to deal with a super sick kiddo when we’re snowed in and I definitely don’t want a super sick kiddo around my dad.

Oh, and my dad. My dad fell on his face right before I arrived trying to carry in a bag of pellets by himself. I could just kick him. With all of these people around and he ends up slipping on the snow and going down. Now he looks like he has road rash across the top half of his face. But what can you do, right?

So I am now going to attempt to settle in with a glass of wine and enjoy the lovely company of our oldest and most loved family friends. I’m so glad they’re here. And I’m so glad to finally be out of the car!

Preparing to Travel Again

The Girl and I are headed back to my parents’ house tomorrow. The mountains pretty much all the way through are expecting a large snow storm tonight and tomorrow, which has me a wee bit worried. As well as the fact that the past couple of days every time I mention heading back to Nana and Papa’s, The Girl starts crying. That’s no good. I know it doesn’t really have anything to do with Nana and Papa. It has to do with her missing more school, missing her brother and dad and being away from her own space and stuff. I get it. We’re both starting to feel a little bit like refugees at this point I think. But this weekend is my parents’ wedding anniversary and I promised that we would help them celebrate since it will be their last. And several of our oldest family friends arrived to their house today as well. These are people that I grew up with, absolutely adore and am really looking forward to seeing. But I’m in no way shape or form ready to battle icy and snow packed roads.

So I’ll have to check the weather again in the morning to see what I’m up against. Right now all it says is “ice.” But overnight might change that for the better. And I think that as long as my dad is still doing ok when I get there I think The Girl and I will head home again early next week. I’m grateful for the chance we’ve had to spend so much time with my parents, but at the same time, I’ve got to work towards striking a better balance between them and my home. I don’t want anyone to feel neglected, and I’ve got a responsibility all the way around to be present and take care of the people I love.

Ever the search for balance. It follows me everywhere it seems. Always work ahead of me. Rightfully I suppose. And there is a part of me that is deeply grateful for the continued opportunity to keep learning. But mostly, right now, I’d rather have a cabana boy delivering me umbrella drinks on the beach.

Home Prep

We’re going home tomorrow. It’s just time. My dad has had three back-to-back fantastic days, I miss my husband, my children need to go back to school, I miss my friends and at this point, in the din of my screaming back, I miss my own bed! The Boy goes back to school on Monday anyway and I’m fairly sure if The Girl doesn’t get back into school, or at least regular playdates with her friends, soon, she’s going to drive us both completely batty. I realized today, as I was looking at the calendar, that The Girl and I have been here for more than 6 out of the last 8 weeks. That’s a long time to be away from home.

So I spent today going around my parents’ house gathering up all of my children’s toys, books and various asunder other items they’ve collected and/or brought with them. You’d think the house was actually my children’s little playhouse. That they deigned to allow us all to live here to with them as long as we didn’t muck about with their things too much. Seriously, they have totally taken over the entire property. Whether it’s the myriad of sticks The Boy has strewn around the deck and yard, the constantly fluctuating Star Wars battalion or the collection of books, DVD’s and Leapster cartridges tucked in and around every nook and cranny in my line of sight.

It is going to take a magic trick to cram all of this into my car tomorrow to trek it all home. Although if it doesn’t all fit, that’s fine too, The Girl and I will be back in a couple of weeks. So we can take another load back then I suppose. Although there’s a part of me that fundamentally objects to having to make two (three if you count the car full my husband took home with him on Sunday) trips to take all of my children’s toys home. I mean, that’s just obscene. But they had a year from hell too, so it’s ok for them to get spoiled rotten after that. I just kinda want to know when it’s my turn. Is that wrong?

12/25/09 - Merry Christmas!

Holy present explosion Batman!! I got a great picture of the two of them on first sight of the magnificent pile of wrapped goodies arranged perfectly behind two grand offerings from Santa. The looks on their faces were utter, unabashed joy. It was what Christmas mornings should be. It was what was so sorely lacking in last year’s Christmas.

The Boy’s Christmas was chock full of Star Wars. And that is pretty much it. Between Santa and all the grandparents, The Boy now has his very own Star Wars armada to cheerfully batter about. He was over the moon! Throw in a couple of super cool tie dyed shirts from Nana Ro, a bright orange Wolverine sweatshirt from mom and dad and super cool Spider-Man slippers from Nana and he was a very happy camper indeed.

The Girl’s Christmas was like a diva/princess/rock star Mecca made tangible. I removed the ban on all things Barbie this year so she was awash with tons of familiar pink bubble writing as well as getting her dress up box tripled with super cool princess dresses and truly divine shoes adorned with rhinestones and feathers galore. Round all that out with her first guitar and drum set and she was ready to rock and roll, literally. I don’t think she could have chosen a more perfect assortment of gifts if you had given her free reign and all the money in the world.

My darling husband surprised me with tickets to see Muse in Denver in April as well as playing to my recent embrace of adolescent obsession with Twilight. And in an effort to plug the one glaring hole in my culinary aptitude, my mom gave me a rice cooker. I seriously cannot make rice to save my life. But now I can! And my husband was happy to get iTunes money and new additions to his sci-fi library.

My mom loved the iPod we gave her and my dad looked like he really appreciated the writing journal I gave him.

Not to mention the fact that I absolutely nailed my grandmother’s cinnamon rolls. They were decadent and perfect.

I could not have wished for a lovelier Christmas.

Rambling On

Well I kicked into high gear today and jumped head first into all the Christmas stuff I’d been procrastinating on.

I got my niece’s tutu and hair tie made and I got half of our Christmas cards done. It felt really good to start getting back into the spirit of the season as well as ticking a few things off my to-do list. I had to drive into town halfway through the day to get some of my dad’s prescriptions re-filled as my mom was in bed sick all day (and let me just say right now that if I or The Girl get sick AGAIN, I am going to go entirely, irreparably and utterly mad).

My dad and I made dinner together – he grilled pork tenderloin while I made cold pasta primavera. It was nice to share a kitchen with him again.

And tomorrow we’re meeting with a lawyer to get my dad’s will done. So that should be nice and morbid. But the good news is that after that lovely appointment, I get to go have a manicure courtesy of my mom. Hopefully she’s feeling well enough to join me for her scheduled pedicure at the same time.

The Boy is counting down the days until he gets to come here. I’m fairly sure he thinks that The Girl is getting spoiled rotten while he’s not here (and he’s not far off), hence part of his hurry to get here. I think my husband and I are going to take him to see Avatar t his weekend as his weekly advent calendar surprise. I’m hoping against hope that it won’t be too much for him. But it’s only rated PG-13 and only for things like fantasy violence (so is Star Wars) and smoking and occasional language (he probably hears worse out of my mouth on a daily basis). He gets really excited about it whenever he sees a preview for it, so hopefully it’ll be an exciting thing for him.

The Girl gets a pair of ultimate, hot pink, sparkliest of all sparkly princess shoes for her surprise.

I cannot believe that Christmas is only nine days away. Where does the time go?

11/24/09 - A Little Diva and Lots of Stories

Remember how I was saying that The Girl was being the sweetest, most wonderful, atypical 3 ½ year old you’ve ever known? Yeah, I jinxed it. If it were possible, and legal, to punt my daughter, man she would have been sailing into the next county by now. I can usually blame these lapses of judgment of hers on lack of sleep or not feeling well. But she slept great last night (even slept in!) and she’s totally healthy. If I’m being fair, she’s just responding to the up and down nature of the emotional state of affairs right now. If I’m being as big of a brat as she is, she’s being a gigantic pain in my ass and I’d like for her to just stop it.

My mom, dad and I were up until almost 11:30pm last night listening to dad tell stories like only he can. Watching him remember days far gone in rural Nebraska and missing his own father more than ever, now that he is facing his own mortality. I think he’d really like to have his dad here to tell him it’s ok. That none of this is his fault and life is just life. It breaks my heart to see how much my father still adores and looks to his own father after all of these years. My grandfather died of a massive heart attack about a week after my mom and dad got married. So I never got to meet him and my parents never got a honeymoon. But I don’t think there has been a day gone by over the last almost 40 years that my dad hasn’t missed his own father.

I expect I’m going to get to know that feeling pretty intimately in the near future.

So I am going to give him a journal for his upcoming birthday. So that as these winding tales from his childhood surface to the top of his memory he can write them down. And later, I can weave all the threads together into a story. So we can all make sure that these glorious memories of times, and people, long past go on being remembered and loved.

11/23/09 - Play by Play

It’s Monday. The Girl is going to spend the afternoon with her Papa just the two of them. As my we were leaving to go into town late this morning, they were just sitting down to play with Moon Sand. The Girl doesn’t ever really get one on one time with her Papa, so it will be good for both of them. My mom and I were going to go to the library for a wee bit and get some lunch before she had to go to work and I had to come back home to relieve Papa so he could go in and get some blood work done.

I’m back in surreal world because my dad is walking, talking and acting pretty close to how he normally does (even if he is moving a bit more slowly). He’s playing with his granddaughter and regaling us all with stories from his childhood during and after dinner. He’s still smoking and having his nightly scotches. Although at this point I’d like for him to ditch the roll your own cigarettes he’s been smoking and put the cheap scotch down and walk away. Trade in the econo-models for some good smoke and drink. I mean, if you’re going to go out with a bang, it should at least be worthy of the trouble don’t you think?

It’s almost like The Girl knows that I need her to just be gentle with all of us right now. That I need her to be the sweet girl she is instead of the attitude driven diva she has been test driving as of late. She’s been so super sweet and helpful; it’s almost been easy to forget that she’s 3 ½ years old.

I miss The Boy and my husband. A lot. I’m ready for them to be here and I’m cursing, yet again, how rough this year has been because it’s left my husband with next to no vacation days left. My dad adores his son-in-law, as does my mom, so it will be good when they both arrive on Wednesday.

Sorry for the minute by minute post for today. But that’s just how I’m taking it right now.

Looking Forward

**I'll be at my parents' house for the next week, still writing everyday, but I may not be able to post everyday, please don't hold it against me!**

The Girl and I are getting in the car to drive to my parents’ house tomorrow. The Boy and my husband will be coming on Wednesday as they have school and work, respectively, until then. I never look forward to the actual drive; it’s just not very fun. Lots of two line highways, small towns and large trucks going much less than the speed limit, all of which make me very crazy. But it’s a fairly short drive and only having The Girl with me will make it go pretty quickly. I’m looking forward to seeing my parents. Each of them. I’m looking forward to hugging my mom and I’m looking forward to laying eyes on my dad. Even though I know when I do, lay eyes on my dad that is, they will be full of tears. But it will do my heart and mind good to remind myself that he is still here.

I am looking forward to watching the kids play with their Nana and Papa and maybe stealing away with my husband to watch a movie. I’m looking forward to having some non-scheduled time to just be. No school, no pick up times, no worrying about this or that. I’m looking forward to the change of scenery. I’m looking forward to some unadulterated family time.

The Boy is having his first sleep over tonight. We went over to P and M’s house for dinner with some other friends and The Boy begged to stay and they said it was fine. So we left him there. And I am terrified that he will freak out at bedtime and we’ll have to go pick him up. I trust them implicitly; it’s him putting P and M through the ringer that I worry about. Also? I’m not totally ready for my sweet boy to start having sleepovers necessarily. When did he get big enough to have sleepovers? It’s one of those benchmark points that you approach and pass as you’re growing up. And I am just not quite ready for any more benchmarks to go whizzing by my head. I have a sneaky suspicion however that they are only going to pick up speed.

Change it Up

Sesame Street has been on the air for 40 years today. NPR did a big story on how it’s changed throughout the years and what’s stayed the same. Apparently the biggest thing that has stayed the same is that the show could count on the kids loving pretty much whatever they did. Because it turns out that kids are super adaptable. It’s the adults who disagree with the change. I laughed out loud when I heard this.

Because here’s the thing: as parents we go out of our way to get our kids into routine pretty much from birth. Feeding schedules, sleeping schedules, developmental schedules, you name it and we have a schedule or recommended method for it. And the routines only get more entrenched and complicated as the kids get older. We all cuss out daylight savings time for screwing up the kids’ schedules and blame all the temper tantrums and sleep troubles on the slightest disruption in routine. Even when we don’t really think we have a routine. We stay home on week nights instead of having family get togethers because we don’t want to mess up the kids’ routines. We schedule our whole lives around naps and eating and homework and school and anything and everything else we can jam into our daily lives.

But according to all of the child development experts that Sesame Street calls on when constructing its programming, children are utterly and completely adaptable. They don’t care if Elmo is moved around with wires or if he’s computer generated. They don’t care if Big Bird says hello the same way every morning. They don’t care if the Sesame Street sets are the same every time they tune in. As long as the show is there and singing and engaging and giving them awesome Muppets to look at and believe in, they couldn’t care less whether Cookie Monster has teeth or not.

I guess it is nice to know that as long as my kids are engaged and being loved through every day that that’s good enough for them. Now, if I could just figure out how to let go of my need for routine we’d be getting somewhere.

Then and Now

When I was growing up I watched benign shows like Sesame Street, 321 Contact, Richie Rich, The Electric Company, Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, Looney Toons, Tom and Jerry and Scooby Doo. My TV time was populated with Muppets and overly enthusiastic adults, maniacally instinct driven cartoon characters of the rodent and feline persuasion and harmless frivolity.

Today however there are The Doodlebops who have rubber wigs and engage in very strange activities which start with one orange hair person compulsively having to pull a rope which douses him in water before he can start his day. There is Max and Ruby where two young bunnies apparently have no parents and free reign in the house at all times. There is Yo Gabba Gabba where fully costumed blobs get funky with different musical stars and actors; it’s like old school Sesame Street only with aliens in the place of Muppets and a strange guy in a big, orange, fuzzy pope’s hat in the place of Gordon and Maria. Then, of course, there are the updated versions of Scooby Doo and all of the superheroes (most of those I actually like better now than I did then).

Not to mention the changes that my beloved Sesame Street has undergone. Cookie Monster eating carrot sticks instead of anything even remotely resembling the shape or appearance of a cookie, Kermit being replaced by an annoying little red midget of a Muppet and the overall feeling of the show shifting from cultivating a kinder, gentler kiddo to political correctness dialed into cutting edge child psychology.

Not to say that they’re all strange in a bad way. The Girl loves The Backyardigans, which admittedly it took me a while to warm up to, but I now love. It’s clever, funny and well written even for preschoolers and who doesn’t like to watch four good natured cartoon characters rap to polka music? And we have always liked Ben 10 and The Clone Wars.

It all makes me wonder what my parents really thought of the shows I watched as a kid. I wonder if they shook their heads and rolled their eyes or whether they secretly tuned in as avidly as I did.

Handle with Care

I’ve sort of always had this impossible image set for myself.

One of the perfect friend who always remembers everyone’s birthday, how they take their coffee, always has something perfect on hand to say to celebrate or soothe and can always be counted on to come through for every imaginable situation.

One of a perfect mother who never gets frustrated with her children, who always has fun activities planned to further their education and creativity, who above all else puts their needs and wants ahead of my own.

One of a perfect wife who always cooks scrumptious meals in perfect timing, who keeps a clean and organized house, who is always ready and willing to support my husband in whatever way he may need.

One of a perfect daughter who is always grateful for her parents teachings and sacrifices, one who is always available for their need or want and one who is always willing to return those sacrifices.

One of a perfect citizen who is always informed and prepared to act on my civic duty, one who contributes whatever wealth I may have to those who have none and one who is constantly aware of my personal responsibility to my fellow human beings.

And I think my biggest self doubt comes from the fact that I’m very few of these things. I yell at my kids daily. I haven’t vacuumed for two weeks. I can’t remember the last time I watched the news. I hardly ever say thank you to my parents outside of cheesy greeting cards for one holiday or another. The list could go on and on, and it does most days. I reel through countless ways in which I do not live up to these images I’ve set for myself.

But I suppose one of the things I’m trying to learn is how to reconcile my need for my own personal perfection with the restraints of every life. In short, I’m trying to learn how to give myself a pass. Hoping not to let myself totally off the hook to pick up a life of mediocrity, but instead to handle myself with as much care as I want to handle others.

Hope for Payback

I applied for a job with my alma mater today. I’ve actually spent the last few years occasionally looking at their employment section, hoping that there would be something I was qualified for in the administrative offices. And today there was. I got really excited and pulled together my application really quickly, sent out emails to all of my on-campus contacts asking for them to whisper in any ears or pull any strings they may have available to them and sent out a direct request to the universe to please, please, please just let me get this one.

College was an incredibly cathartic time for me. I arrived on campus wondering what I was doing there; being a high school dropout, covered in ink and metal and hugely liberal didn’t quite make me the poster child for this prestigious mid-western college. But when I graduated I had the utmost confidence not only in my intelligence, but also in my being and purpose. I was surrounded by a huge group of people who loved and supported me for who I was and I them. Those four years saw me come into who I am with power, humility and confidence.

So I’ve been looking for a way for years to pay that back somehow. We’ve never had enough money to really be able to make any kind of sizable donations, so I knew it wouldn’t be as some financial contributor. I’ve been hoping I could go work on campus and be a part of the institution that has come to mean so very much to me. This could be the chance.

The fact that we still have some of our closest friends living in the area is a huge bonus. They’ve all started having babies of their own, so it would be like moving back to an immense extended family. And the standard of living is SO much cheaper than it is here, so that would help our financial situation as well.

The only con I can find is being that much further away from my parents. That will be really hard. But the potential for all the pros may just even that out a bit. Maybe.

Patience

I have a vivid memory of when I was younger and it was Easter. I can’t remember exactly how old I was, young enough to still believe in the Easter Bunny, but old enough that I can remember this. My mom had taken me to an Easter egg hunt in the lawn outside the May D&F in Cherry Creek. There were so many children there. All dressed up in their Easter finery. And we were all waiting for the hunt to begin. We must’ve waited for an hour or more. And I distinctly remember my mom looking down at me and saying, “You must be the most patient child ever known to man!”

The comment took me off guard, mostly because I didn’t really know that there was any other option but to be patient. I looked around at all of the other children and most were whining, or crying or running around with irate parents in tow. I had simply just been standing there, staring off into space, waiting for the event to begin.

There are a lot of other memories I have where my mom would comment on my level of patience and I remember always feeling the same way, that it was unremarkable. What else was I going to do? Throw a fit and then stand in line some more? It was just easier to wait quietly.

But now, at the ripe age of 32, I’m fairly certain that I used up all of my patience when I was younger. Because I now have very little. I love surprises, but I hate waiting for them to happen. Even when I was in high school and wanted to be a drama teacher, I knew I’d never make it because I quite simply didn’t have the patience it took to wait for students to grasp something.

Every time I’m vibrating with anticipation over something that is still days or weeks away or waiting for my son to put his shoes on, my dad’s voice makes its way into my consciousness: “Patience is a virtue,” “Practice makes perfect.” Ah, the mantras of my youth! Some things never change though, those words still make me crazy.