Panty Sniffer

I have been accused by someone, who shall remain nameless, of giving away too much personal information.  I'm not going to say who, but he is male, lives in my house, is half-Korean and his initials are Patrick Harvey.  I had to stop and think if he was right, if maybe I do give away too many details of my life that would be better kept private.  It's not so much the details of my life that I tend to give away, it's more the details of my thoughts, and since my thoughts are mine and mine alone, I quickly decided I can share them as I see fit - so that was easy. 

It also got me thinking about the general amount of sharing that takes place all the time between we humans and the strange shapes that transfer of information can take.  For example, you see a car driving down the road that has these three bumper stickers:

1)  Obama/Biden 2008 (and 2012).  Two stickers, but we will count those as one since it is one President.
2)  The Darwin "walking fish".
3)  The one that says "Support Your Local Farmers or Watch the Houses Grow" - you know the one with the wheat on it. 

We know the following things about this person (who we have never met):  they are liberal, they likely don't believe in God, and they enjoy a healthy, locally grown and well-balanced meal.  Maybe we don't really "know" that stuff, but we think it based on what we see.

Now you see a different car that has the following three bumper stickers:

1)  Romney/Who Was That Young Guy He Ran With Again?  No seriously, a Romney/Ryan 2012 sticker.
2)  The one that says "Abortion Stops a Beating Heart."
3)  The one that says "You Can Keep Your Hope and Your Change - Just Give Me Back My Guns and My Money."

 

We know the following things about this person (who we have, again, never met).  We know that they are a conservative, that they are likely Christian and pro-life, and that they enjoy shooting stuff and spending money.

I see these types of cars all the time on my commute, cars that allow you, encourage you to "size up" the owner and draw conclusions about what kind of a person he/she must be.  I am always surprised by the type of (what I would consider) private information people are willing to share about themselves with total strangers.  What I have realized is that when I know the person sharing it feels like an honor, a gift even to be let in on their life, their beliefs, their interests, etc.  When the sharer is a total stranger however, I feel like I am looking through their underwear drawer.  It just feels weird and wrong.

I am a Yankee.  That means there are certain things I just don't want to talk about.  I don't like talking about politics or religion or least of all - a womans right to choose.  I don't want to talk about these things with my Mom or my Grandmother, so I sure as shit don't want to talk about them on Facebook or with some perfect stranger.  That is not to be confused with not caring, or not having an opinion.  I have an opinion and I do care.  However, talking about what I would consider very personal issues with people who don't live in my house makes me feel like I am forcing someone to sniff my panties (if I wore them) and that just seems wrong to me. 

Based on the literal frenzy that surrounded the last Presidential election I would say that most people don't share my feelings on this topic.  The political slamming-down-the-throat of opinions that took place made me want to turn off every electronic device I owned until we had picked a winner.  I almost didn't vote (but I did) because the whole process just made me want to barf.  I think it's great that we live in a country and a time where we can say whatever the hell we want to whomever the hell we want without fear of consequence.  But like I tell my six year old son - just because you can get away with something doesn't mean you should.

Wouldn't it be nice if some things were still just ours?  Ours and the people who are absolutely closest to us - the people we trust with our lives?  Shouldn't there still be some things that only the bedroom or living room walls know about us?  Restraint is sexy.  I like the mystery that comes with not knowing every single detail of someone's life...it makes them more interesting to me.  It makes me want to get to know them better so that maybe I can be one of the lucky ones, the trusted ones who get to know their innermost personal thoughts.  One of the lucky ones who wants to look through their underwear drawer...instead of having my face smashed in it.

So I choose to save some things.  I save my most cherished thoughts for myself and my time alone with the people who know me best.  And for a dashing half-Korean man in his mid 30's, that I live with, who shall remain nameless - but his initials are Patrick Harvey.



the enemy of joy.

I recently read an interesting quote: "Comparison is the enemy of contentment."  It has also been said that comparison is the enemy of joy, which to me takes it one step further and really captures the spirit of the sentiment.  I suppose once one is content it is easier to experience joy, and if you are never truly content you can never experience true joy but whatever - you get the point.

I love this quote.  I love it because in the wold of social media, social networking, social schedules, and of course, good old fashioned socializing, it has become nearly impossible to not compare yourself to your peers.  It takes a tremendous amount of mental and emotional discipline to not allow ones self to become affected by the constant flood of information about the lives of others that we are faced with every day. 

We know when our friends get a new pair of boots, when they are taking a fabulous vacation to a tropical climate while we shiver in our cubicle, when someone has just fallen in love while our marriage falls apart, etc.  Nobody ever takes a picture of their sick child immediately following an epic puke session with the caption "today sucked so hard".  It's all too easy to fall down the slippery slope of why-do-they-have-it-so-much-better-than-me.  When in fact, they probably don't - social media just makes it look that way and in our minds we begin to compare. 

I think back to stories my Grandmother tells me about when she was raising her children in rural New Hampshire in the 40's and 50's.  Every family had only one car, which the men would drive to work in the morning leaving the wife and kids behind.  That meant if you wanted to be "social" you had to literally bundle up your brood and walk them to the neighbor's home for a cup of coffee and six million cigarettes, which my Gram did regularly to keep herself sane.  I don't blame her one bit, I would have done the same and worse, but aaaaaanyway.  Your social network consisted of three or four women in a similar socioeconomic situation as you with kids your kids age, etc, etc.  While I'm sure those four women were comparing themselves to one another in many ways, I don't think it had the same energy and impact as comparing yourself to your 416 "friends" on Facebook every day.

This raises another equally interesting point:  Why does it sting so much when we begin the mental tally of what someone else achieved in their life as compared to us?  I read Status Anxiety by Alain de Botton and found some good answers.  His book talks about our desire to "climb the social ladder" in society and how the result is various insecurities, anxieties and general unhappiness.  Here is a copy/paste directly from the on-line summary of the book Status Anxiety:

Causes:

• Lovelessness
• Expectation
• Meritocracy
• Snobbery
• Dependence

Solutions:

• Philosophy
• Art
• Politics
• Religion
• Bohemianism

One of the most interesting points for me was that when it comes to comparing ourselves to others we are most upset by those who we perceive most similar to us.  In other words, we don't get pissed when people like J.Lo and Brangelina have more than us - we expect them to, they somehow deserve it and it's fine with us.  They're so far beyond the scope of what we feel we could ever achieve that we don't find them to be a threat.  You don't ever hear anyone getting upset in the cafeteria during lunch because John Travolta just bought another jet and what the hell gives him the right?  No, we get irked because the middle-class family three doors down the street put an addition on the back of their house and then had the balls to take a ski trip to Utah.  We see these people as so similar to ourselves that it's harder for us to understand why they should have these things and we can't.  It seems illogical, but it's so true.  It is the people closest to us that have the ability to deprive us of the most joy - if we allow it.

As I get older I'm becoming very conscious of the human tendency to compare, and try to stop myself as soon as I become aware I'm doing it, but it can be hard.  This week I had two sick children and a sick nanny.  After trips to the ER, countless doctor visits and a straight week of no sleep I am officially cashed. Period.  It's February in New Hampshire which means grey skies and a "wintry mix" that just won't quit.  I'm dying for some sunshine, to get my hands in the dirt, to smell Spring and wear a skirt.  In short, I am completely bummed out. 

My parents are in Puerto Rico, my in-laws are in New Mexico and with it being school vacation week just about everyone we know is somewhere better than here.  I can't help but wish our daughter wasn't always sick.  I can't help but wish we had the extra cash or vacation time to go somewhere warm for a few days, I just can't.  I struggle to remind myself that Ekhart Tolle would say there is nowhere else I am supposed to be but here - because this is where I am.  This is the perfect place for me right now - except it doesn't feel so perfect. 

So I guess the answer is to keep trying, to keep fighting the urge to compare.  To remind myself that comparison truly is the enemy of joy, and that if I want to turn this award-winning case of the winter blues around I had better stop looking outside my life and start looking inside it for joy.  Because even in New Hampshire, even in February, even in a snowstorm, even with a sick baby the joy is there.  If we choose to see it.

Enough is Enough.

My six year-old son is obsessed with toys.  He is constantly browsing the Toys 'R Us catalog like it's the Wall Street Journal and pointing out the latest and greatest in plastic crap that Cartoon Network is pushing during commercials in between Ben 10 episodes.  It feels like the kid is constantly asking for something - even if it was just Christmas, his birthday, etc.  My big parenting line to him is that "want just creates more want".  The more you want things the longer the list of stuff you want gets and the more consumed by the want you become.  Eventually the wanting gets so big that it can never really be satisfied, the more material things we get the more we're holding our breath and waiting for the next thing that will finally feed the hungry want monster...except the monster is never full.

This is, of course, a difficult concept to explain to a 6 year old boy.  He's actually become very good about not constantly asking me for more stuff and now just goes straight to the source...his grandparents.  This post isn't about my son or his wanting however, it's really about mine.  I've noticed something about myself in my adult years - I'm becoming very aware of the passing of time and just how long it takes for my husband and I to finally get the things we want.  We're always putting the "practical" things we need like water neutralizers and well pumps before the stuff we'd really love to have...like granite counter tops in the kitchen.  The new Lexus RX330 I promised myself I would drive before the age of 30 seems maaaaany moons away from the 2003 Toyota with 147,000 miles I'm currently sporting.

I find myself reflecting on the past few years and making a mental checklist of the things we have acquired and the improvements we have made to the home.  It's amazing to think about how much we have done in such a short time, yet the list of things yet to be done is still so long.  Every room I walk into whispers the things it is missing to me.  My daughters bedroom windows that date back to 1837 whistle the cold winter air to me as I put her to sleep each night.  She drifts off to sleep thinking about My Little Pony while I lay next to her wishing we had the money to replace every window in the house.  There are stained carpets that need to be replaced, light fixtures that are fire hazards and bathrooms that are "charming" which is antique-home-code for "old and out of date".

I start crunching numbers in my mind.  I start looking online for ideas.  I start calling contractors for quotes.  I start wondering what our Christmas bonus and tax returns will look like this year.  I question if the money we put in will ever be returned to us when we eventually sell the house and then I realize that enough is ENOUGH.  When is it ever going to be enough?  How old will I be on the day I finally walk around our home and realize I have done all the things I ever wanted to do?  Something tells me the kids will be gone, the house will be quiet and boring and the new granite counter tops will bring me a very limited amount of joy and satisfaction. 

When that day comes I will likely look back on this time in our home with a different kind of want.  I'll want the kids to come home for more family dinners.  I'll want to spend more time talking to them on the phone, and I'll want to be young enough to enjoy the things together as a family that we are able to enjoy today.  So I try to quiet the wanting.  I try to remind myself that replacement windows will lead to new carpeting, which will lead to new counter tops which will lead to new tile in the mudroom, etc.  All of those things will happen and a new car will come and go and none of it will ever satisfy the wanting. 

The only thing that can satisfy the want is appreciation for what I already have.  Taking the focus off what hasn't been done or what's missing and putting the focus on what's already there is the only way to shut the want off.  I don't like resolutions, but if I had one for 2013 it would be to lock the want monster in a closet with wrist shackles and duct tape over it's mouth.  I am going to put my American-bred consumerism-worshiping ass in check this year and see how it feels to not always be waiting for the next big purchase.  When I walk into a room and hear the whispers of things it is missing I'm going to ignore it, and listen only to the voices of the people in it that aren't.

1953

I was home a few weeks back trying to juggle conference calls, stressful quarter-end related work activities, laundry, cleaning and kid drop-offs.  I made up this song in my head to a catchy little tune while I was crazily running around the house trying to be ten different people at once.  The chorus of the song went as follows: "When you come home my hair looks nice, your gin and tonic is chilling on ice.  why oh why can't it be 1953?  I'll fix your dinner then fill your glass, when I turn away you'll tap my ass.  Why oh why can't it be 1953?"

Needless to say this little ditty is about my June Cleaver/Martha Stewart fantasty of how dreamy it would be to only be responsible for one thing - my family.  Some days when the list of to-do's feels overwhelming and frankly, unfair, I long for the days when women took care of the house, their children and their husband and left the money making to men.  I think this is partly because I truly do enjoy domestic work and partly because the grass is just always greener.

This weekend, after a week-long tour of the Southwest in a mini-van with my family a-la Clark Griswald I was completely DONE with taking care of other people.  I was under-rested, under-fed, under-groomed and over-worked.  I was at a Mommy low and needed someone to take care of me for a second.  The baby started to throw a tantrum because she only wanted me to hold her and no one else.  I was trying to cook breakfast at the time and just didn't have a spare hand to give her which meant she was literally tugging at my skirt and crying.  My husband looked at me and said "why don't you just take care of the baby?" as if to say "why don't you just be the woman and take care of the offspring?" 

This little comment sent me into orbit mentally.  My response was an angry "DON'T TALK AT ME LIKE IT'S F'ING 1953!"  I angrily left the house and took the crying baby for a walk in the carriage to clear my head.  As I was strolling her to calm her down I thought about the irony of my unplanned comment.  Here I had made up an entire song (which I still think may be funny enough to put on YouTube) about wishing it were the simpler days of strict gender roles and not a couple of weeks later I am proudly flying my feminist flag and scolding my husband for treating me like anything less than his equal.

I guess the lesson here is that you can't have it both ways - and that perhaps neither way is really any easier than the other.  We can't be the bread-winners, mothers, wives, friends and housekeepers without a fair amount of stress.  I wouldn't however, trade the financial independence and the feeling of personal satisfaction I get from a job well-done at work for an apron any day of the week.  It wasn't eaiser for women trying to raise small children in 1953 - in fact in most ways, I'm sure it was harder.  Sure their only concern was taking care of their home and family, but they lacked so many of the freedoms and priviledges that modern-day working mothers have earned.  

What works is different for every family of course.  Some men stay home while their MD wives see patients all day.  Some moms I know have started consulting to give themselves more flexibility as far as their hours are concerned and some couples just match one another's 9-5 schedules like my husband and I.  What works depends on who earns a bigger salary, the age of your kids, the lifestyle you want to maintain and what kind of a person each partner is.  You have to prioritize what means most in your life and your family and take it from there, but I will say this:  aside from the fabulous fashion, costume jewelry and liberal consumption of cocktails at that time - I'm really grateful to be raising a family today and not 60 years ago.

walk slow.

I have heard the expression "burning the candle at both ends" countless times throughout the course of my life, but lately the message behind the expression is really starting to resonate with me. I seem to be literally tripping over people who are burned out, exhausted, harried and generally hanging by a very thin thread of energy. It's got me wondering if this is 1) a symptom of our over-producing society 2) our need to have more (money/status/things) or 3) the place most of my peers are at in life which typically involves a house, a job and a couple of kids.

Regardless of why it is we all seem to be so strung-out and stretched-thin the fundamental question remains: Is all of this running around actually getting us anywhere?

My new boss was rushing last summer to cut his grass on a Friday evening after working a long week before heading out to a concert with his wife that evening. He went over a hill in his back yard and the tractor landed on top of him. He was badly burned on much of his upper body and is lucky to be alive. When he came back to work with pictures of his injuries his comments were "I was moving too quickly trying to get too much done in not enough time. I need to slow down." I couldn't help but think this was the Universe sending a quiet message to me through him.

Not long after this incident my family and I went on vacation to a small lake in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. In the middle of the week my husband went mountain biking for the day with a friend so I took the kids to a local Farmer's Market. It was one of those perfect VT afternoons when the breeze smells like wildflowers and softserve ice cream and the sky is an icy blue. There were all sorts of fabulous local wares to be purchased and veggies fresh from the garden. A hippie was playing the guitar and the kids were running around eating homemade caramel popcorn. I can feel my happiness in that moment even now as I type this.

There was a man originally from Jamaica at the market selling authentic Jamaican spices and food. He made jerk seasonings and meat rubs and this wonderful jambalaya-looking stew served over rice that everyone was devouring for lunch. He was playing Reggae out of the back of his van and had the Jamaican flag flying above his food stand. Obviously I wanted to learn his story and then hang out with him all day long.

After chatting for a while I learned that he had worked as a cook on a cruise ship 30 years ago which is when he met his wife - who was from Vermont. They fell in love, got married and proceeded to raise five children in the Green Mountain State. When he spoke about his wife his eyes lit up and he got the dreamy look of a young boy in love for the first time. Talking to this Jamaican guy was magic and made me feel high (which I wasn't).

The part that I will never forget is when I said to him "Wow - your life sounds amazing. You are so happy and this place is so beautiful, living here must be as wonderful as it looks." His response was simple, he said "Yeah mon, we walk slowly here." My eyes froze on his for way too long. It took what seemed like forever for me to process the enormity of what he was saying and how much I needed this in my own life. How lucky I was to have met him and to have shared this small yet powerful exchange.

I've been trying to walk more slowly ever since. The slower we walk the more we see, the less likely we are to trip and the more memorable the journey becomes.

Hope For Us

This year Valentine's Day arrived with not one but TWO grown-up weekend obligations back to back. We had a charity fundraiser and a Valentine's Day Ball two consecutive Saturday nights. The usual routine of trying to line up child care while figuring out what in my closet is fancy enough to justify being worn to a "ball" began and we set off for our adult evenings filled with wedding food, good drink and good friends.

The fundraiser was to support friends of ours who are close with a family whose son has Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy (http://www.hopeforgus.org/home). This being my first charity event ever (I'm pretty sure) I had little idea what to expect. It ended up being a great night and such a fun deviation from the norm. It felt a smidge like a Republican fundraising event, which I have also never been to, but if I did, this is what I would picture it being like.

People were all dressed up milling about munching on "heavy apps" while trying to strike up interesting conversation with fellow party-goers. These types of things always remind me there are all these other worlds happening on Saturday nights while I'm at home putting a baby to bed in my Lanz of Salzburg nightgown...but I digress. Patrick and I dutifully bid on some silent auction items (two of which we won!) and chatted with the friends who had invited us. After a couple of hours Gus's mother spoke to the crowd about her family, her son and the reason they started the foundation to try to find a cure for DMD.

She spoke about overcoming her own cancer just in time to find our her healthy, happy baby boy had the most severe form of Muscular Dystrophy and would likely not walk past the age of 10 or 12. This is a mother of three children who works full-time, fought cancer and has STARTED A FOUNDATION for her sick child. As I listened to her I was not only amazed by her commitment to getting her son well, but by the matter-of-fact and often times humorous way she was able to explain the horror and heartbreak her family has endured since the diagnosis.

In my mind I kept thinking that if women like this exist in the world then there must not only be Hope for Gus, but there must also be hope for us. This mother was a reminder to me that the horrible display of human nature I had witnessed on the flight home from my business trip that week was not an indication of the direction this world is heading. There are people like this mom who get up every day and fight the big fight for their family, their children and ultimately society as a whole since we all benefit from people with this type of determination.

I left feeling completely humbled by the experience. I felt grateful to have to children who outside of a little asthma and some bad ear infections have been mostly healthy. I left feeling guilty for bitching about housework, parenting and being a full-time career woman. Mostly however, I left feeling lighter just knowing that after what I had seen that night there are people devoting their lives to making the planet a safer, healthier and better place for everyone to live - and that there is absolutely hope for her son Gus...and for the rest of Us as well.

Taking the Hit

With Christmas right around the corner I'm sure there are plenty of people out there feeling like the mental list of to-do's is a little longer than there are hours in the day to accomplish it all. I realize that this is a very busy time of year for everyone whether you are a man, a woman, a mother, a grandparent, a neighbor or a friend. We all find ourselves up to our elbows in Scotch tape and wrapping paper while we try to squeeze in some time to attend a holiday party and bake some cookies for Santa.

Yes, everyone is busy. At the risk however, of sounding like a martyr, I'm going to make the following statement: Nobody takes the hit at Christmas like the mother. Nobody.

Don't misunderstand, I love it all. I love the decorating, the cooking, the shopping, the wrapping, and generally creating something totally magical for my family to enjoy. I love going to Target for the new CD of Holiday Kids' Sing-a-longs and a bag of red and green M&M's. Hanging the tinsel on the tree with my 5-year old son is a gift in itself. Indeed, Christmas is a magical time and there is much to be thankful for.

For every action, however, there is an equal and opposite reaction and all this holiday spendor doesn't come without a price. The flip side of the festive coin is all the behind the scenes labor that goes into making this magical holiday spectacular. The Christmas cards that need to be addressed and mailed, the seemlingly neverending stream of gifts that need to be wrapped and tagged, or the six thousand bottles of wine that need to be stocked and brought to every house you stumble upon in your quest for holiday cheer.

The stockings need to be hung with care, the Santa gifts need to be wrapped in different paper so the kids don't get wise, the Elf on a Shelf needs to be strategically re-positioned every night, church needs to be attended and new holiday attire purchased for you and yours to be sure everyone is looking their Christmas best. Whew. Exhale.

No, of course no man would ever think of all these things. No man would ever concern himself with any of the inane items listed above and why? Because men aren't crazy. No self-respecting man would ever ask himself if candids would be okay for the family Christmas card this year since we didn't have a chance to schedule a professional photograph. What I'm trying to say is that we women put these things on ourselves and then we punish the people around us for the stress we've manufactured. It's a crazy, vicious cycle we create of piling more responsiblity on and then feeling sorry for ourselves because the list is too long.

My Christmas gift to myself this year is to keep my spirits high so the people around me can enjoy the season too. My gift to my family is not the decorations, or the presents or the trimmings and trappings. My gift to my husband and children this Christmas is a happy mom who will take the hit with a smile and a hug. Because that's what moms do, and besides...it's Christmas.