Category Archives: being happy with what is

February 7, 2013 · 11:13 AM

Thankfulness … even in chaos

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We’ve been doing a lot of running around this week.  After being home-bound by sickness for way too many days (despite my best efforts, the plague that had stricken the kids eventually caught me as well), the busy-ness was a sort of reprieve, except….

Lots of running around is not my favorite thing.

I mean, I adore watching the kids do things they love.  I do.  I love seeing them so happy in gymnastics class, and at karate, and at Scouts.  I love seeing them light up with interest at the park, or the zoo, or the aquarium.  I love having new adventures, and new experiences, and new interactions.  But, well,  I’m an introvert and a homebody, both of which seemed to have intensified lately.  Too much craziness and I’m off-course and stressed out… desiring nothing more than to have a quiet day at home with my kids and coffee and pens and laptop and sticky notes.

A few weeks ago, we closed on a refinance of our house.  It was a hugely positive move for us financially, and as one of the conditions of the new loan, we needed to commit to staying here for at least five more years.  And I don’t know, between that and the new year and just where I am in life right now, I’ve sort of been… nesting.  Reclaiming my house, and by extension reclaiming a bit of my life.

I’ve also been working hard on practicing my eucharisteo – grace and thankfulness, at all times.  Inspired by the book, One Thousand Gifts, I finally started a list to remind me.

5.  The hot water on my skin when I rinse the dishes

6. The sound of coffee brewing

7.  Fuzzy slipper socks

The more days that pass, the easier it comes:

40.  Shiny kitchen counters

41.  Tegan’s curls peeking out from under the covers.

42.  Colorful yarn

It occurred to me yesterday that it’s a practice that I’m better at when I’m home, in my element, and that that needn’t be the case.  Shouldn’t the fact that I’m running around, driving from here to there, getting too wrapped up in my head… in to-do lists and deadlines and the time on the clock… shouldn’t that be MORE of a reason to be mindful, and present, and focused on the blessings of the moment?

aquariumtunnel

So when we got home from a wonderfully fun but long day out at the aquarium and the mall, I went straight to my notebook, and out they tumbled:

50.  Singing at the top of our lungs in the car

51.  Random compliments

52.  The kindness of strangers

53.  Soft pretzels smothered in butter and cinnamon sugar

Goodness is out there.  It’s always out there.  Even on the crazy days.  I just have to open my eyes and see it.

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Filed under about me, being happy with what is, gratitude, life

November 29, 2012 · 1:39 PM

Expectations

 

For the past three years, the end of November has meant two things:  I’d 1) be furiously and joyously and manically finishing up my 50,000 word novel for NaNoWriMo, and 2) be going all gangbusters on the house, setting up the tree, getting out the decorations, hanging the stockings, and stringing up the advent calendar, painstakingly filled with 25 carefully planned out activities to do with the kids.

This year, I decided against Nano about 5 days in, just a couple of days before my surgery.  In hindsight, I’m very glad I made the decision when I did, because I would have been forced to make it anyway.  Even now, three weeks later, typing for any great length of time is still painful and exhausting.

And as for Christmas preparations?  We have no tree.  Our decorations are still safely abiding in their boxes in the garage.  We haven’t bought one present for the kids.  I haven’t planned a single advent activity.  And if I can be totally honest, just the thought of doing any of the above is, well…. painful and exhausting.

I don’t know what I was expecting when I signed on the dotted line for this surgery, I really don’t.  I just so very badly wanted to be better, wanted this 7 month ordeal to be over.  But it’s so much easier to tell you what I did NOT expect:

I didn’t expect the pain to be this bad, and this persistent.   As it turns out, knowing intellectually that I was facing a 3+ month total recovery time is a very, very different thing than to feel the stark reality of the pain and frustration of week three, knowing that I still have several more weeks (and possibly months) to go.

I didn’t expect to need powerful narcotics, beyond a day or two.  Again, I’m at three weeks.  The one night I tried to sleep without Percoset, I woke up in tears.

I didn’t expect to be so incapacitated.  I don’t know why I didn’t, because the past several months have shown me very clearly how instrumental our shoulders are in our day-to-day tasks.  But I didn’t.  I can dress myself (with some pain), shower (with some pain), brush my teeth (with some pain), and as of a few days ago, drive (with some pain).  But five minutes ago I had to call in the 12 year old to open a can for me, because the can opener was just too much.  There are multiple can opener-esque scenarios throughout the day, and it frustrates me.  Which brings me to:

I didn’t expect to be so frustrated.  With the pain, with the situation, with myself, with the need to just HURRY UP AND BE PATIENT ALREADY.

I didn’t expect the big black dog of depression, who’s once again been flirting with me for months now, to not just embrace me but engulf me… to suffocate me… to consume me… like an unwelcome old friend who won’t take “no” for answer.   A friend whose presence is so familiar and so easy that I’ve let myself fall deep, deep into its depths before I even realized it’s happened.   Because there’s a sick kind of safety in the darkness, and because it’s just too damn much work to take that first step to start climbing my way out.

But.  (And may I just say, thank God for buts?)

I expect that the pain will lessen, and God-willing, eventually go away completely.  I’ve learned that healing is very much a one step forward, two steps back process.  I can’t compare to yesterday, but I can compare to two and a half weeks ago.  Just because today is a bad day, doesn’t mean tomorrow will be a bad day too.

I expect that I’ll eventually be able to rest without the aid of any prescriptions.

I expect that with time I’ll be able to open cans again.  And do a downward dog.  And pick up my daughter. And be even stronger than before.

I expect that my current frustration will teach me great lessons, and that if I allow myself to feel it, that it too will go away.

I expect that I will take that step, and the one after that, and the one after that, until there’s not so much darkness.  And I expect that if I rest in the presence of where I am – fully rest, and lean, and breathe – instead of fighting, that it won’t seem so hard.  I expect that if I allow myself to feel how I feel – without letting it define me – that the promise of something better will find me, and meet me halfway.

Finally, I expect that this coming month, and the Christmas holiday in general, will be different than years past…. but that different is okay, even good.  This is a season of great growth and learning to be sure.   If the past three weeks are any indication, the lesson is HUGE.    And that’s better than a perfectly executed advent calendar any day.

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Filed under about me, being happy with what is, Christmas, learning, life, update

April 27, 2012 · 8:02 AM

Where I Need to Be

“Life goes by pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” ~ Ferris Bueller

One week ago today, we were packing up our hotel room in Chicago.  Saying goodbye to our little four-day getaway, and getting ready to board a plane back to Phoenix.

It was a perfect excursion, one that I hadn’t realized how much I needed.  From the nightly Happy Hours, to the wonderful restaurants, to the walking and touring of the beautiful city… it was a literal breath of fresh air.   Everyone’s asked me what I did every day when Mike was at his conference, and the fact is, I just was.   I walked.  I nursed a huge cup of coffee at Starbucks while I watched all the passers-by.   I did yoga.  I took myself to the movies.  I sat(!)  I took a nap (if like me, you’re unfamiliar with that term, it means to lay down and voluntarily sleep.  On purpose.  In the middle of the day.)  It was an introvert’s dream vacation.  The best part though, was that both when I was alone and when I was with Mike, time just stood still.   There was no where to be, nothing to do, no one who needed us.  For four days, time stood still.

Now that we’re home, there’s no easing back into real life.  As if a switch has been flipped, it’s once again full-speed ahead.  Do not pass go, do not collect $200.  It’s basketball practices and gymnastics classes and park days and cub scouts and physical therapy appointments.   It’s life.   And I’m reminding myself – again – to breathe.  God’s got this.  I’m finding myself having to trust, more than I ever have before, that no matter where I am… whether it’s driving to another appointment, sitting in the bleachers, racing the four year old across the park, running an errand, or swirling around in the housework that just. doesn’t. end… I’m exactly where I need to be.   Right there, in that place, in that moment, in that point in time.

One week from tomorrow, I’ll add another giant helping to my plate when my yoga teacher training starts.   Right now though, I’ll breathe.  I’ll sit.

The house is quiet.  The birds are singing.  I’m exactly where I need to be.

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Filed under about me, being happy with what is, life, not sweating the small stuff, perspective, vacation

April 24, 2012 · 9:06 AM

Dreads at 3 Months: Redefining Beauty

My dreads are three months old.  Which means for ninety something days now, I’ve been carrying around these ropy, tangly, matted knots, instead of the long, thick wavy hair that partially defined me for all of my previous 38 years.   And they look, well…  they’re a huge mess.  Their current appearance does not do much to help the opinions of my mom all the people who think that dreadlocks are unkempt or unwashed.  Despite my tender loving care, some days they look a little bit – or a lot – of both.  I feel this overwhelming need to say that out loud, because I can feel the looks.  I can feel the wordless stares.  Not necessarily because I have dreadlocks, but because I have crazy, messy, rebellious teenage dreadlocks.   They’re a mess.  I’m aware.

They are filled with crazy loops and twists and lumps and bumps.  All of which are a normal progression in the journey of dreadlocks (and actually a good sign that they are doing what they are supposed to do), but somehow very different in reality than they were when they were merely hypothetical.   There are things to do to “tame” the loops a little quicker…  there are techniques that involve basically poking and threading with big needles, and/or I could always find a salon that does dread maintenance.

BUT.  And it’s a big but.  I’ve decided to embrace the chaos.

Some of the “maintenance” recommended by certain websites and schools of thought can actually cause a lot of damage.  And the last thing I want is to commit to a long-term hairstyle, only to have them thin and fall out because I didn’t treat them properly!  More than that though, is this linear idea that neat, perfect and uniform = beautiful.   Did I decide to take this drastic and bold step with my hair, only to make it look like everyone else’s?  If I’d wanted that, I could have gotten perfectly round extensions.  No, what I signed up for was a journey.  I’m surely not done with my own journey of growth, so why should my hair be any different?  I have bad days and bumpy days and setbacks… but I am learning to trust that there is beauty, not just in the end, but in the process.

I didn’t like what I’d started to see in myself over the past several weeks as my hair changed.   Me, forever proud not to be overly attached to things like make-up, hairstyles, and fashion…   I was mourning my old hair.   I’d be fine for a few days,  hiding it all under a buff or bandana, and then I’d take a good look in the mirror, wanting to look nice for church or dinner or just a day out.  On one shoulder would be the confidence. “You can own this!  You’re awesome!”  And on the other, would be that insecure teenager again.   “But.  But.  It’s not pretty.”

I am so much more than my hair.

At the same time, my hair’s become an outward symbol of an inward process, more so than I ever could have imagined when I started this journey three months ago.  I look forward to having mature, beautiful dreads in a couple of years.  I do.  But now, I look forward to the journey even more… loops, bumps, and all.

Once a little boy was playing outdoors and found a fascinating caterpillar. He carefully picked it up and took it home to show his mother. He asked his mother if he could keep it, and she said he could if he would take good care of it.

The little boy got a large jar from his mother and put plants to eat, and a stick to climb on, in the jar. Every day he watched the caterpillar and brought it new plants to eat.

One day the caterpillar climbed up the stick and started acting strangely. The boy worriedly called his mother who came and understood that the caterpillar was creating a cocoon. The mother explained to the boy how the caterpillar was going to go through a metamorphosis and become a butterfly.

The little boy was thrilled to hear about the changes his caterpillar would go through. He watched every day, waiting for the butterfly to emerge. One day it happened, a small hole appeared in the cocoon and the butterfly started to struggle to come out.

At first the boy was excited, but soon he became concerned. The butterfly was struggling so hard to get out! It looked like it couldn’t break free! It looked desperate! It looked like it was making no progress!

The boy was so concerned he decided to help. He ran to get scissors, and then walked back (because he had learned not to run with scissors…). He snipped the cocoon to make the hole bigger and the butterfly quickly emerged!

As the butterfly came out the boy was surprised. It had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings. He continued to watch the butterfly expecting that, at any moment, the wings would dry out, enlarge and expand to support the swollen body. He knew that in time the body would shrink and the butterfly’s wings would expand.

But neither happened!

The butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings.

It never was able to fly…

As the boy tried to figure out what had gone wrong his mother took him to talk to a scientist from a local college. He learned that the butterfly was SUPPOSED to struggle. In fact, the butterfly’s struggle to push its way through the tiny opening of the cocoon pushes the fluid out of its body and into its wings. Without the struggle, the butterfly would never, ever fly. The boy’s good intentions hurt the butterfly.

Struggling is an important part of any growth experience. In fact, it is the struggle that causes you to develop your ability to fly.

 

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Filed under about me, acceptance, being happy with what is, dreadlocks, life, self image

January 6, 2012 · 12:26 PM

You’re not good enough

I have been sitting on this post for two days now, and while I’ve certainly held onto posts for longer than that, this time I just can’t stay silent any longer.   I feel sick to my stomach about this.

‘Human Barbie’ Sarah Burge Gives 7-Year-Old Daughter Breast Implant Voucher

Now, setting aside any moral or parenting issues for a moment, I have to start off by admitting a bias.   Cosmetic plastic surgery in general sort of…. well, it confuses me.  It seems to me that successful plastic surgery should be no different than properly applied makeup, ie:  you shouldn’t be able to tell you even had it.  You should look like the best version of YOU, not like a plastic caricature of Barbie someone else.   So when it’s taken to the extreme and you’re walking around with a frozen, expressionless face that screams, “I had plastic surgery!” doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?

I don’t want to judge this mother though, I really don’t.   I feel sad for her.  I can only imagine what kind of issues lead a woman to spend $800,000 in a quest to look like a Barbie doll.    Those are not the actions of a healthy, self-accepting, well-adjusted person to be sure.  But the fact is, this really isn’t about her.  This is about an innocent and beautiful and perfect-the-way-she-is child who is being robbed of the most important thing a parent can give:  unconditional love.  This is about a child who is being told,  “You’re not good enough.”

“Happy Birthday sweetheart!  When you’re sixteen, you can get big boobs like Mommy.”  You’re not good enough

“Come watch me get my next dozen procedures, and see what you have to look forward to.”  You’re not good enough

“I’m going to help you become beautiful.”  You’re not good enough

Mom is quoted in the article as saying, “Poppy begged me for a boob job, so I gave her the voucher so she can have it after she’s 16, when it’s legal” If that is in fact true, am I alone in thinking that it’s heartbreaking that a 7-year-old would be begging for a boob job?   I have a 7-year-old.  He thinks about video games, playing with his friends, getting ice cream from the ice cream truck, and what sport he’s going to try next.  He does not think about body-altering elective surgeries.

And my little girl….

Tegan is not quite four at the time of this writing.  She is strong, and funny, and intelligent, and beautiful.   I love her, and more importantly she loves herself, exactly the way she is.   The only thing that disturbs me more than the thought of her looking forward to a hypothetical breast-enlargement surgery a decade in the future, is the thought of knowing that it was something *I* made her think was necessary.   Something that I in fact gave to her as a gift!

God knows I have my own insecurities.  But I will be damned if I pass them on to my children.  Having children, and especially having a girl, has pushed me to examine my own sense of self-worth and my own acceptance of my body, flaws and all.   And,

(I’m going to talk about boobs for a minute, so you might want to turn away if that’s too much for you.  Or if you’re my dad)

I have small boobs.  Small, as in bra shopping inevitably turns into a humiliating exercise in “Yeah… you may be more comfortable in a double A”, at which point I’m directed to a tiny rack with exactly 4 styles of bras, of either the plain training bra variety, or with padding from here to Pittsburgh.   But you know what?   I’m perfectly okay with it.   Not only am I perfectly okay with it, I’m happy.   This is what I’ve been given.  They suit me.   They’ve nursed 4 babies.   Now, I truly hope that my girl continues to accept her body, and eventually her breasts, in the same way… whether they’re big, small, or somewhere in between.   And if she ever decides to change them, or enhance or nip or tuck any other aspect of her body, it will be her choice, and not a desire born out of a mother teaching her that she won’t be beautiful until she’s spent nearly a million dollars on cosmetic procedures.  It won’t be because she’s learned at SEVEN that beauty is something that you buy.

This little seven-year-old girl has had the choice taken from her.  She’s never had the chance to know what it’s like to accept and love her body just as it is.   She’s never had the chance to know what it’s like to have her own mother accept and love her just as she is.  And that’s inexcusable.  She should be told, and shown, that she is perfect just the way she is.  She should be told, and shown, the truth in the old adage about “beauty coming from the inside.”  She should be told, and shown, that your value and worth as a human are not dependent on your outward appearance.  A seven-year-old should be innocent, soaking up the world, goofing off with her friends, running around the playground, dreaming of becoming a doctor or an astronaut or a world class equestrian.  She should not be dreaming of getting a big set of silicone boobs.

To this mom, I want to say that I feel for you.  I do.  You’re chasing after something that you’ll never grasp.  You’re telling yourself day after day that you’re not good enough either, and that is undeniably sad.   But it’s not about you anymore.  Once you become a parent, it’s never just about you again.

Yes, you’re an adult, and you make your own decisions.  Make yourself look like Barbie.  Hell, make yourself look like a Squinkie.  But telling your 7 year old she should aspire to do the same thing is not okay.

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Filed under acceptance, being happy with what is, hot topics, mindful parenting, parenting

April 25, 2011 · 10:44 AM

Good Enough

A confession, if I may:

I have a sort of ongoing, internal struggle when it comes to perfectionism. In the moment, I’m okay with unpredictability. I’m cool with things not going according to plan. I’ve built an entire lifestyle (and an entire blog) around appreciating life’s detours… which aren’t always pretty, and aren’t always perfect. There is still beauty to be found, even in the imperfections. I know this. I know this.

So I must be a slow learner. Because I still get hung up on details. I still worry about things turning out the way they’re “supposed to.” (And really, who can decide how things are supposed to turn out?) I still lay awake at night double-checking everything in mind, especially when it comes to things like holidays. And birthdays. And Tuesdays. Did I do everything I should’ve done? Should I have done something differently? Would the kids be happy?

It’s exhausting and unnecessary.

Yesterday was Easter.
It was not perfect.
But it was wonderful.
And wonderful was good enough.

It all started with the eggs. I really wanted to dye eggs naturally this year. I even found links for dying naturally, and shared them on Facebook (you’re welcome). But I didn’t use them. I used the very UNnatural kit that’s been in the cupboard – from months ago, when our neighbors brought it over when they were moving and cleaning out their kitchen. That’s what the kids wanted to use, and we already had it, and we didn’t have any extra money to buy the ingredients for natural dying anyway.

So egg dying looked like this this year:

It wasn’t what I’d wanted, but it was good enough. The kids were happy, and that makes me happy.

But then there were the baskets! Talk about an internal struggle… over something so completely silly. Spencer and Paxton are old enough that they’re not interested in the standard fare of things like bubbles and stickers, but I wanted to think of something that’d be fun for them. I didn’t want to spend a bunch of money on cheap little toys that’d end up buried in a toy bin in a couple of days, but I wanted them all to have some cool surprises. I definitely didn’t want to fill a basket with hydrogenated oils, high fructose corn syrup, and other artificial junk, but I didn’t want them to miss out on some of their favorites (which they have so infrequently anyway). And I didn’t have the budget for the healthier alternatives.

But, but, but. I have friends that manage to do it… manage to make holidays natural and healthy and perfect and wonderful. Manage to have lovely days with pressed kids in their Easter finest heading happily off to church. Why can’t I do it? And there’s that perfectionism. There’s that taking myself too seriously, and stressing myself out with trying to do everything *right.* Wasn’t I just berating my sixteen year old self for doing that very thing??

So I took a big, huge breath.

The baskets (which were filled with totally unhealthy chocolate, and a couple small and carefully chosen gifts) were not perfect, but they were good enough. And they made all four kids very happy.

Everyone was bathed and clean, but Tegan didn’t want me to even touch her hair. So it wasn’t as nice and cascading as I would have liked. She also had a rip in the back of her pretty dress – the only one she wanted to wear – that resisted all our best efforts to repair/hide/cover it.

Her and Everett were both over-tired from getting up too early, and had a hard time sitting through church. That was my daughter you heard saying, “I’m done with this. The singing’s too loud,” before her dad whisked her away to play outside.

But it was okay. It was all okay. It was in fact more than okay, because after the baskets, after the egg hunts, after church, we all went to my sister’s and spent the day hanging out with family… playing, eating, laughing, and remembering – once again – what’s important (and what’s not)

And when we finally went home, tired, stuffed, and spent, all four kids declared it the “best Easter they’ve ever had.”  And it was.  It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than I could have planned, even without vegetable dyed eggs and all-natural chocolate.  Even without rip-free dresses (which she of course ditched once she got to my sister’s house anyway)  Even without tangle-free hair.  And I certainly couldn’t have planned the excitement that this would bring:

I don’t know why I ever worry beforehand. I really don’t. Yesterday, like every day, was not perfect. But it was perfectly imperfect. And it was lovely, and it was joy-filled. And that is – and forever will be – good enough for me.

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Filed under being happy with what is, family, holidays