I Guess I've Got the Look

© 2011 elizaIO, Flickr | CC-BY-SA | via Wylio

Last week I mentioned that I had a crazy busy week that involved a ton of planning.  One of the major events that required me to run around town like a chicken with it's head cut off was Bingo.  About a month prior, I got asked to be the chairperson for the PTSA Bingo Night at the boys' school.  I reluctantly agreed.  I love bingo and I knew how hard the five people who run the volunteer parent group work to support the students and teachers.  I wanted to get more involved, but chairperson?  That may be too much for me.  I realized they saw me as fresh meat and needed someone to organize this extra event.  Plus, they all had already put a million hours into all the other events and fundraisers so I figured it was my turn to step up.

After I put my name on this project, Christmas happened, then we vacationed in Texas, then my side of the family came over to celebrate the holidays.  Before I knew it, there were two weeks to go until the big night happened and I hadn't really given it much of a second thought.  Yeah, I know, I know, procrastinate much?

I love details though.  I love when things finally come together.  I see a vision of how the end product should be, then I break it into chewable pieces.  In my quiet office or ordering things behind a computer screen, I slowly gather all the moving parts together.  It's kind of fun.

Don't get me wrong, I definitely had a few freakouts mid process.  I absolutely hate asking for donations.  Talking to people I don't know scares me enough, but when you throw in asking for money, it's like hearing nails on a chalkboard.  My soul cringes, I twitch and I just want to hide under a warm blanket.  A couple days in a row, I had planned to make the rounds in town to ask local businesses to help us out and donate prizes.  Instead of crossing that off my list, I panicked and went grocery shopping instead.  I got an amazing amount of work done that day, trying my best to do everything BUT ask people for money.

I admitted my failure to Tim through a face full of tears.  He graciously offered to ask the scary business people for offerings but I knew I had to do this for myself.  It's for the kids, I told myself.  Suck it up and get it done!  I got some boosting encouragement from friends the next day and set out.

Success!  I was surprised that most people were happy to help the local school out.  I even found some cool shops and restaurants that I didn't know existed before this terrifying mission.  I came home with a car load worth of donations and promises of more to come later.

Most of the time, I like to compile all these details all by myself.  It's easier than explaining exactly how I want it done.  But in order to practice self-care and preemptive reduction of stress, I knew I needed to ask for some assistance.  I needed help, so I delegated.

I'm learning to prioritize by figuring out which bits to hold close, the parts I want to artfully complete.  Those other things that aren't as important to me, I hand off to other, most of the time more capable, people.  That person can figure out how they want to get that puzzle piece together, without my specific input.

When planning out this Bingo night, I knew right away I would need to find someone to MC the event.  There was no way I would be standing in front of a whole bunch of people holding a microphone.  Luckily, I found the perfect person.  I guess at one point in her life she had been a stand up comedian.  Perfect.  I could hand that off to her.

Just before she went on stage, we were prepping in a side room by going over the little details of the night's schedule.  She interjected with, "Are you sure you don't want to be the caller?  I mean, I don't mind doing it, but I also don't want to take the  show away from you."

"Are you kidding me?  I absolutely hate being up front.  That's not my thing; you go for it."  I would stick with my role as floor walker and even that was a bit too much stage time for me.

"Okay, but let me tell you, with your look - you could go really far and do a lot of great things."

Ummm.  Thank you?  I guess that was a compliment.  I was flattered that she thought my "look" was something that would render success, but I'm perfectly comfortable being a wall flower.  I like standing in the back, out of view, making sure everything runs smoothly.  I like that position, I'm good at it and I really didn't feel like hyperventilating or breaking out in a rash that night.

I completely understand she meant that statement as a compliment.  And I am aware of my tendency to read way too much into what people say.  However, I can't deny that I felt a little put down.  It was demeaning that I was wasting my "look."  I felt like, because I wasn't comfortable up on stage, or at least because I didn't want to get over my fear of that, I wasn't doing all that I could to help.  I wasn't the whole package apparently.

Of course, there are also a lot of other explanations for her comment.  She could have been having little misgivings or stage fright.  She could have also been not confident about her "look."  My overplanning of the details for the night may have been slightly irritating.  She also probably just wanted to check in to make sure she wasn't steamrolling my project.  All of those are more likely options.

I know it was just my sensitivity kicking into high gear.  My brain was working overtime after that comment and I started looking inward.  Rather than focusing on what it meant toward me, I should have been focused on what might push her to say that.  Either way, both of us were probably stuck on what we couldn't give, rather than everything our strengths had accomplished.  Why is that always our knee-jerk reaction?

We need all contributions.  We need MC's and comedians, and we also need people like me.  The ones who never really grew out of being a shy, four-eyed, goofy little girl.  The ones who will quietly pull all the neat little pieces together.  We need all types of people.  Everybody has something different to give; there are varying strengths to be offered up.  Life is like bingo.  If we want to win, we need different numbers called in order to get that five in a row.

Just a Typical Monday

*Since it's #throwbackthursday, I'm doing a repost today.  This was originally posted on February 27th, 2012, I just made a few edits and touched it up a bit.  Enjoy!

After a fun weekend filled with friends, relaxing, church, snow and a trip to the indoor water park, it was a morning of getting back to business.  Tim was getting ready for work, Luke was packing up his backpack for school and Jack and I were getting ready to go to preschool. 

Sometimes, Jack takes his own sweet time in the shower and I have to remind him that there might be a time crunch if he doesn't get his butt in gear.  The shower seems to be his stage and he sings to his heart's content while locked inside the tiny bathroom.  Normally, he won't even sing along with us in the car.  With the shampoo and body wash as his only audience members, he'll make up his own tune to artfully serenade the soap at the top of his lungs.  Some mornings, I'll just hang around outside the bathroom door, listening.  That will turn my grumpy, non-coffee mood back right again.

He had been in there for a while so I tromped down the stairs to give him a gentle reminder.  When I peeked in the bathroom, the shower was turned off.  The mirror was still foggy and steam came rolling out as I opened the door.  I expected to see a soggy preschooler head, wrapped in his Lightening McQueen towel, but a naked Jack was in the fetal position on the bottom of the shower stall.  That was weird.

When I asked him what was going on, a calm and serene voice came out of the stall, "I'm stuck."

"How are you stuck?"  I opened up the shower door.

"My finger..."  His left pinky was stuck in one of the holes of the shower drain cover.  It was stuck past the second knuckle.

Keep in mind, this is a child who fuh-reaks out if his shoes aren't tied tight enough.  Since there were no hysterics, I didn't take him quite seriously.  I giggled and called for Tim to come downstairs.  I figured we would get this situation fixed in a few seconds. Easy peasy.

When Tim came downstairs, we realized it might be more serious than I previously thought.  Tim tried plain old pulling.  We tried soap and lotion and water and ice.  Nothing worked.  Both of us kept calm faces but we were internally panicking.  

Luke quietly cried in the corner of the room.  His empathetic super power was working overtime so he knew it might be serious.

I grabbed to toolbox, madly dug through it to find the necessary item.  I finally found the screw driver and tossed it to Tim.  He unscrewed the drain cover so we could get better leverage.  Jack's finger was puffing up and turning a strange color. We were running out of options so we decided to head to the ER.  

There was also the puzzle of how to get him dressed so he wouldn't freeze to death in the sub-zero North Dakota winter terrain.  The lower half was easy but finding a shirt he could wiggle the huge piece of metal through an armhole proved more difficult.  We found a huge t-shirt that workd but there was no way he could wear his much needed coat.  Tim grabbed a blanket, swaddled him tightly and carried his little butt off to the van.

On the way, we dropped Luke off at school with the promise that the doctors and nurses would know what to do.  We also promised to return to let him know that Jack was okay once we got finished at the hospital. That seemed to ease his worry a little so he soldiered on to perform his Kindergarten duties.

At the ER, Jack marched in, calm and brave, with a shower drain cover for an over-sized ring.  At the front in-take desk, the lady asked why we were there.  Both Tim and I were at a loss for words, "Ummmmm...."  We both just looked over to Jack and he poked his hand out of his blanket swaddle and held it up like he was carrying an Olympic victory torch.

"Oh!  Well now.  Let's get you in here straight away!"

They tried multiple methods.  Jelly got smeared on his finger first, but that didn't work.  Then they tried wrapping his finger with some sort of twine in order to compress it.  Still stuck.  They brought him over to the sink to run it under cold water.  Fail.  Another nurse brought in a bucket and plunged the pinky and drain cover into some icy water.  After a few minutes in the ice, they tried again to pull it off.  Freeeeeeeedommmmmm!  The finger and the circular metal piece were separate entities again.  Hallelujah!

The trusty van took us back home.  Midway we stopped by Luke's school to give him the update and then started back on our not-so-typical Monday.

We are averaging one ER visit per year and I'm not liking those stats.  Oh, the life of daredevil kids.  Jack's first two visits to the ER were in Charleston, the third in Meridian, now the fourth in Grand Forks.  With Luke making an appearance in the Bellingham ER at two days old, our tally is five visits in six years, coast to coast and in the middle.  I'd be fine with taking a break from those visits for a few years or twenty.  But since we like to live life on the edge and stick our fingers in shower drains, I'm thinking that's not going to happen.  I can cross my unrestrained fingers and hope for the best though.

**Since this story was written, Jack went to the E.R. one more time in Grand Forks for an extremely high fever on Christmas Eve, then again when he fell off a playground toy in Edmonds, and then another time, just a couple months ago, here in our new town.  So far, we haven't impoved the rate of emergency visits per year.  Lovely.

Different finger, different town a couple years later.

The Parade

We've been in a state of mourning for the past few days.  We were three freaking handoffs from winning the Super Bowl!  Three.  And with plenty of time left too.  We are still die hard fans though so nothing can shake our love for our Seahawks.

Instead of dwelling on things I can't change though, I'll reminice today on fonder times.  It goes back to last year about this time.  Seattle was actually celebrating because we blew those Broncos out of the water and held the title of World Champions.  A little sidenote:  The Seahawks very first Super Bowl appearance was when Luke was one month old.  In the nine years since he's been born, they've made three appearances at the big game.  Considering the fact that before Luke was born, they never made it, they should be thanking him for all their success.  Maybe they'll make him a mascot, or a coach.  According to Luke, his nine year old self would make a better coach than Darrell Bevell.  That may be true.

Last February, the city of Seattle planned this huge homecoming celebration for all the players and team personel.  There was going to be a huge parade in downtown so Tim and I decided to be spontaneous.  That morning, we woke the boys up early and told them to get all their blue and green gear on.  We were going to skip school and work that day to see the parade.  Since downtown parking is a headache on normal days, we thought it would be smart to take the bus.  We drove up to the park 'n ride and hopped on a double decker.  What normally consisted of business commuters turned into other fans and families like us.  Seems that a lot of other people had the same idea of playing hooky.

In all our well thought out planning of the day, we figured we would run downtown, see the parade and then jet back home so Tim and the boys could finish the afternoon half of their work and school day.  Little did we know but everybody else had that idea too.  A later estimate was that over one million people drove into Seattle that morning from the surrounding area.  When it was done, all the busses home were packed to capacity and we got stuck until my sister came to rescue us and drive us home.  Even that took forever because fan traffic on all major roads and side roads alike was a nightmare.  We ended up getting home after dark and after bedtime.

I'm jumping ahead a bit, sorry.  Back to the bus ride into town.  Business men and women had traded in their briefcases and laptops for twelve jerseys, flags and anything else blue and neon green.  We knew the parade route so we got off as close to it as possible.  We walked a few blocks uphill and found a great spot on a corner, midway through the planned route.  By eight o'clock a.m. we were set up and putting dibs on our prime spot.

Because this was a spontaneous planning of the day, I didn't even think to check the weather report.  It was February, so I knew it would be cold.  Seattle cold though, normally only requires a winter jacket, cotton gloves and maybe a hat to keep your ears warm.  I started to get little sneaking pangs of worry when I saw other kids in full-on snow gear, boots, insulated pants and gortex gloves.  Oh shoot.  I looked down at my own boys, who were wearing normal jeans and tennis shoes.  We might be in trouble.

After standing on that cold cement curb for about an hour, we were all fidgeting.  It turns out that cool, crisp, clear sunny day's high temperature was 11 degrees.  My only defense for being an ill prepared mom was that Seattle is NEVER that cold.  I should have brought blankets and other insulated gear, but we were going to have to improvise.

Tim and the boys stayed in our perfect spot with a perfect view while I trudged down the hill to the first Starbucks I saw.  Maybe coffee, hot chocolate and scones would distract us all from the cold.  After standing in the coffee line that went out the door for half an hour, I finally got our order and walked back up.  The hot drinks warmed us up for about fifteen seconds and we were all cold again.

Tim decided to try and find at least some extra socks or something else to layer up the boys.  This time the boys and I planted ourselves in our spot while he went a few blocks over to the mall.  Meanwhile, while we were shivering, but still enjoying the fan fare of it all, people started to filter in around us.  This nice family with a few kids came and stood right next to us.  We were all happily chatting and waiting for everything to start.  Cars were driving down the road with twelve flags, honking like crazy to the cheers of all the waiting people.  When the police finally closed off the road, people on bikes, and one guy in a skin tight neon green suit and blue wig came roller skating down the road.

More and more fans were filtering in and room was beginning to run out.  The sidewalks were about four rows deep and I saw people finding their way up onto roofs and balconies of the surrounding buildings.  We were on the front row edge of a corner so I knew our spot would yield great views of the players.  People were starting to push gently from behind, but we held our ground.  The side street next to us finally got closed off by the authorities so people filtered in to the other side of us.

By the time Tim got back to us, there wasn't a lot of standing room left.  He had found some extra socks just in time because both boys were starting to whimper and complain that their feet hurt.  He knelt down to layer up their toes.  The nice mom to the left of us, graciously offered some of her extra toe-warmers.  Even though I was a bit self conscious that we weren't more prepared, we accepted.  Sometimes it takes a village to keep those appendages warm.

As the boys' feet were slowly warming up, Tim's 6' 4'' self stood back up and took his place back, right next to me.  Then I hear a scratchy, lady voice pipe up from behind.  "OH, NO, you can't do that!  You can't just come in here and stand in front of me.  I was here first!"

I turned around and tried to explain, that actually, if we were acknowledging that arrival time was the trump card, we were here long before she ever set her foot on this frozen curb.

She went on to explain that she was with her whole family and they had been in this spot for a long time and they wouldn't be able to see anything if Tim were standing right there.  She quickly got wound up and her voice was getting louder and louder and angrier and angrier.  Tim kept listening to her and repeatedly interjected in a slow and steady voice, "You need to calm down.  There are kids around."

Meanwhile, I was getting angrier as well.  Who was she to assert that this spot had her name on it?  And if we were really looking at the facts, we had more claim to it than she and her hundred family members who showed up thirty minutes prior.  At one point she was trying to explain the angle of her view.  I guess Tim was in her 90 degree angle view.

I got sucked into the heated conversation and it all began to fall apart.  I can use my logic tool when I am in a calm environment, but I am completely useless in a heated debate.  I was trying hard though.  I guess trying to convince her that, actually, more of a 60 degree angle view was better because of the trajectory of the parade coming down from the north side of the street.  She wasn't having it and I wasn't thinking anymore anyway.

"HE CAN'T HELP HOW TALL HE IS!" Those words just vomited out of my mouth.  And since it was such an intellectual zinger, she was kind of confused.

Then I decided to give my old pal, passive aggressive, a turn.  I simply turned back around to face the street.  I scooted my body right in front of the short nasty lady and threw in the calm jab, "He could have stood right here instead."

Obviously, she wasn't too pleased with that move, so she grabbed my official sideline Seahawks beanie and threw it on the ground.

Now, Tim had been engaging her the whole time.  He had been extremely calm and reasonable, unlike his lovely wife.  He's normally even keeled unless, UNLESS, you go after me or the boys.  So this was definitely crossing his line.

He looked down on her and told her, "You can't touch someone, sister, that's called assault.  You can't touch my wife!"

This change in Tim startled her so she started to irrationally back peddle.  "It's not assault!  I speak English!"

"Umm, your abilitiy to speak English has nothing to do with your intelligence."

" I'm a .....

Tim had had enough.  "You're a what?  Please tell me you do something really important for a living to excuse your behavior."

I think she was noticing all the stares and slight steps away from the situation.  We were too and so when she finally shut up about everything, I grabbed my hat off the ground and turned around.  We waited on the parade to start while our teeth chattered away. The nice lady next to us, took pity on us and offered to share her family's blanket with our boys.  She was probably thinking, "Oh my gosh!  I feel so bad for these boys.  Their mother didn't even dress them warm enough and besides, she's certifiably crazy."  She earned her stars that day by taking care of the boys who were destined to be dragged around downtown Seattle with a lunatic for a mom.

If you haven't figured it out already, there is no moral to this story.  It's just one more example of my inability to express clear thoughts when put on the spot.  Then again, maybe it's my lesson that I should keep my mouth shut when I know my brain will definitely not back me up.  Selfishly, this also may be one teeny reason why it might be a good thing we lost the Super Bowl this year.  No championship, no parade, no ridiculous irrational debates in the streets.  Granted, we live a five hours drive away from Seattle now, but those kind of obstacles have never stopped us from showing our spirit before. There's always next year.  I'll try to reign the crazy in if that happens, but I can't make any promises, because BEAST MOOOOOOOODE!

100 Percent

A few months back sickness wreaked havoc on our extended family.  It all started with the preschooler, because, you know, preschools equal giant germ factories.  And generally, said preschoolers aren't really known for their amazing hygiene.  I question sometimes if we have graduated from that stage even though the ages of the boys should prove otherwise.  I still have to tell them not to touch the garbage cans in public restrooms.  There must be some allure of magic treasure inside because the seven AND nine year old still stick their faces pretty much inside the nasty cans.

About the same time, Jack was finishing up his basketball camp.  In other previous years, Jack played hockey, soccer and baseball.  He was pretty good at those but basketball is turning out to be his thing, at least for now.  He really really excels at it already and I'm not biased at all.  Every Sunday he would go down to the high school gym and practice on his ball handling skills.  The coach taught him how to sling the ball in a figure eight around his legs and how to do some cool close to the ground dribbling.  The normal things like dribbling and passing were covered too.  Every afternoon after school he would work on his Every Day Drills to reinforce all the things he learned each Sunday.

He worked really hard and was so excited to show off his skills at the end of camp performance.  All the kids in the program would get to be a part of the half time show during the high school boys' game.  They had a whole routine, set to music and would get to dazzle the audience with their awesomeness.  All the family who lived in town planned to be in the stands to see all that Jack had learned.

The above mentioned virus changed these plans a little.  I let Jack know that even though they really wanted to be there, the sick ones may not make it to his big time performance.  He was bummed, but understood.  Luckily, some of the family hadn't caught the bug yet and some were on the mend so Jack had a cheering section.

He was quite nervous and excited all at the same time.  It was written all over his face during the first half of the game.  When it came time to line up, he bravely shook off those butterflies and got busy.  He ran across that court, dribbling and passing and figure-eighting to the amped up music.  He was amazing; he killed it.

He came back up to us in the stands with a huge smile on his face.  He had conquered the world.  Well, more like he conquered those ball handling skills, but it sure felt like I had just witness him conquer the universe.

We went out to get frozen yogurt after the big show, because those kind of things deserve celebration.  And what a better way to celebrate than a late-night cold sugary treat.  As we were chatting and eating, Auntie Sarah reminded Johnny not to share, just in case the bug was still hanging around.  I appreciated her caution and assured her we'd be fine.  I pointed out Jack, who we all know from the above basketball scenario doesn't give anything but 100 percent.  He was hunched over the table, licking the table top.  Some froyo had spilled and he was going to eat it all.  I guess you never waste good froyo, no matter what bugs are flying around.

Unwell

"Unwell"

All day staring at the ceiling

Making friends with shadows on my wall

All night hearing voices telling me

That I should get some sleep

Because tomorrow might be good for something

Hold on

Feeling like I'm headed for a breakdown

And I don't know why

But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell

I know right now you can't tell

But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see

A different side of me

I'm not crazy, I'm just a little impaired

I know right now you don't care

But soon enough you're gonna think of me

And how I used to be...me

I'm talking to myself in public

Dodging glances on the train

And I know, I know they've all been talking about me

I can hear them whisper

And it makes me think there must be something wrong with me

Out of all the hours thinking

Somehow I've lost my mind

-Matchbox 20

I get it Rob Thomas.  I know how you feel.  I'm right there with you.

I've been called overly sensitive, selfish, rude and probably a lot of other nastier things behind my back.

There were times that those labels and names were probably valid and well earned.  I've always been a little socially awkward so I don't always pick up on the normal cues.  I am also a recovering know it all, so there's that too.  I have ruined some friendships and other relationships because of my short comings. There have been times in my life where I have been extremely inward focused.  It would not be a lie to have called me selfish and narcisistic.

These amazing qualities also contributed to a time when I put myself up on a religious pedestal.  I was following all the "right" rules.  I wore the "right" clothes.  I put the "right" things in my schedule.  I said the "right" thing, I acted the "right" way.  I was winning and everybody who wasn't doing things the way I was doing them was wrong.

Good thing Jesus saved me from that.  Now he teaches me about grace and unconditional love.  I mess up every day and Jesus is okay with that.  Quite frankly, he loved me when I was a religious nut, even though he was just sitting on the sidelines shaking his head.  "Oh, Lindsey, I can't wait until you get it.  You're sucking it up right now, but one day, you'll see it and it will be beautiful."

Those shortcomings are all layers that I have been trying to peel off for years.  Sometimes they served me well in creating a shield of armor but those things are isolating and, as it turns out, a horrible way to life my life.  We are on this planet with actual people who have feelings and I don't want to be constantly walking around with poison spines and bumping into everyone so destructively.

I believe that my life mission is to love everyone, no matter what.  Even though I feel like I've grown up a lot and the selfish, unloving tendencies have faded away a bit, they are still there.  It will always be an internal competing battle.  Sometimes people need to have their needs met, even when I don't agree with the way they go about it.  They need to win this battle so we can all win the love war.  This one is really hard for me though, because I'm competitive and sometimes a bit shortsighted.  I never want to lose any battle and can't they see how ridiculous they are acting?

The part if this that is really hard for me, is knowing when to stand up and say something or when to let it slide.  I tend to be an all or nothing person so I either let people walk all over me and never say a word.  Other times, I'll pipe up at every teeny thing that irks me.  Actually, most of the time that's not true.  I'll let all those teeny things irk me so I'll just passive agressively be rude all the time so I don't have to confront anything.  Any sort of confrontation makes me break out in hives.  It's easier to be rude.  Yeah, just reading that back sound horribly unhealthy.  I've got a long way to go.

As I said before, these negative behaviors have impacted my social and family life.  But not all of those faded or abruptly broken off relationships were all my fault.  Some people just lack a sort of empathy that is required to be around me.  I try to return the empathy most of the time, but that's a struggle for me too.  Others are just plain in the wrong.  Some of the times, people just didn't get me.  I know I come off as a little unwell, but they also have their own stuff to work on.  And if you cross the boundaries and go after my husband and kids, there will be hell to pay.  I can't be held responsible for my reactions with that one.  Maybe I'll work on having healtier reactions in regard to this area, but not now and most likely never.

Walking through life feeling like not a lot of people "get" me wears me down sometimes.  I really don't care if most people understand me, I've got my small circle of people and that's all I need.  Some days though it frustrates me.  What's so wrong with being sensitive?  I've come leaps and bounds in the social department too.  I kind of have to treat it like an algorithm.  If X behavior happens or X words are said, it is most likely can be interpreted as Y.  I also have my partner in crime, who excels in everything social, to whisper tips in my ear.  He's amazing.  Have I told you that lately?  Probably, but indulge me.

When I get written off as different or weird it sucks sometimes.  "Oh, that Lindsey, she's just overly sensitive, it's too bad."  Oh yeah?  I know I have my own shortcomings, but maybe you should stop being such a jerk.  Have you ever though of that?   And I like the way I am sometimes.  Being sensitive can be a good thing.  I feel things and that spurs me to action.

It's just that when the overly sensitive part becomes more self centered and crowds out other people's well intentions or needs is when it becomes a problem.  Are they doing this to spite me on purpose?  Most likely this weird, irritating behavior is not because they are out to get me.  There is a larger picture here and it's not all about me; I need to remember that.  It will probably be something that I will always work on.  The internal battle will rage, but if I'm cogniscent of it, I might be able to get ahead of it to control it rather than letting it control me.  I hope I get to a place where I can grow to let my sensitivity can be more of a strength, rather than a hindrance.

I may be crazy AND a little unwell, but I kind of like me that way.  It makes life spicy.  How boring would it be if we had everything all figured out?  This journey of life is supposed to be hard and confusing, but because of that we get to team up with others to try and figure it out together.  And I promise to keep working on my stuff too.  I may just need a little space for it though.  If you give me grace, I'll try to return the favor.

Colorful Words

Warning:  This little diddy of a story contains foul language.  Actually, it involves teaching children bad words and thinking it's hilarious.  If that offends you, feel free to come back another day and read another not-so-foul post.



When Luke was three years old, we were living just outside of Charleston, South Carolina on Daniel Island.  The weather was beautiful there about 360 days every year.  The island was beautiful and super family friendly with all these parks and walking trails.  Luckily we didn't have Clementine then because it was kind of risky walking your dog past all the little ponds with gators in them.  I might have been a little paranoid that my two and three year old would get snapped up but I swear, there were warning signs like this:

photo cred here

Here is an actual picture I took:

This story has nothing to do with gators, so I should probably get on with it already.  I get a little side tracked sometimes, sorry.

Since we were a one car family back then, I figured out ways to get out of the house and keep the boys busy while Tim was at work.  The parks and walking trails were perfect for us.  Side note:  I wasn't much of a hermit when both boys were home with me all day.  When I could either strap them into a car seat or stroller, they were content and I was happy that they weren't driving me crazy, screaming, jumping on things and beating each other up.  The quiet was nice and I veered the stroller as far away from those gator ponds as possible.

On our almost daily walks, we found all sorts of fun parks right there on the island.  It wasn't a big island, but there were at least four really elaborate parks with all sorts of fun things to do for toddlers and parents alike.

So when the grandparents came to visit, the parks were on the top of the list to explore.  Papa loves flying kites so he took the boys down to the local store and bought the perfect one.  We packed up all of our necessities, picked the perfect place for optimum wind and set out.  Just our luck though, there wasn't even the slightest of breeze available, which was rare for us there.  Papa, Tim and the boys were still determined to get that kite up in the air.  And maybe, just maybe if they could throw it up high enough, it might catch the rogue breeze that eluded us down closer to the ground.  Three year old Luke was holding the spool.  Papa was there with him for moral support and Tim was holding the kite and trying to throw it up as high as he could.

After about 55 tries and a lot of sweat later, everybody was getting frustrated and disappointed, especially Luke.  When Tim threw up try number 56 and the kite came crashing back down.  Luke hung his head, shot a disgusted look at the spool and threw it down on the ground as hard as he could.  He muttered under his breath, "Fuck this kite!" and sulked off toward some bushes.

Both Tim and Papa were quite surprised, but couldn't help themselves.  Both had to walk off and hide their faces because they were cracking up.  They knew they shouldn't condone a cussing three year old but that shit is funny.  I don't care who you are.

About a month later, we were back in Washington visiting my family on Camano Island.  Nana was so excited because she had found this huge train set for the boys.  Two year old Jack and three year old Luke were obsessed with trains so this was perfect.  Nana and the boys had just started setting up the track but since it was on carpet, the track pieces kept unattatching and becoming unlevel so the train couldn't chug smoothly all around.

I probably should have warned Nana about what happens when Luke got frustrated.  But I didn't.  As you can guess, after the train got stuck too many times for Luke, he threw it down.  "Fuck this train!" and skulked off.

After hearing about the situation, I had to let my mom know that was just something we were working on with him.  We were trying not to react, either positively (laughing) or negatively (scolding).  We were just trying to ignore it and let him try the word out for a bit.

Of course, we knew he had heard that word somewhere; obviously it was from us.  We let him know he probably shouldn't say it in public, around his friends, or when he went to school.  But we couldn't deny that a little f-bomb thrown in here and there was a bit therapeutic.  And when used sparingly, can actually make something funnier.  We weren't the language police and a little fuck here and there wasn't going to damn us all to hell.

Seriously, I bet Jesus threw in some colorful words when those nails got pounded through his wrists.

I knew we would be fine in the language department.  I wasn't too worried.  Actually, now the boys aren't totally shocked if they see or hear something with a four letter word in it.  We don't go around promoting it or anything, but I'm not hovering around covering their ears and eyes all the time.  And six years later we haven't gotten any calls from other parents or school yet, so I think we're fine.

Fast forward a little to last year.  We were dropping Tim off at work one morning and I saw the most hilarious thing.  Someone had graffitied, "Shit Barf" on the side of a newly cemented wall at a construction site we were driving by.  I meant to take a picture but there was nowhere to pull over and besides, the boys would probably be late for school if I didn't keep driving.  I told myself that I would capture this genius message that afternoon when we picked up Tim from work.

The reason I though "Shit Barf was so amazing was because I had concocted a whole story in my head that explained it.  So the way it went down was two 13 year old boys were walking down the street in downtown Seattle.  Probably walking home from school or something else mischevous like that.  The construction workers were done for the day and all was quiet.  They are just shooting the breeze when they noticed a few spray paint cans laying on the ground.  They grabbed them and tried to come up with something ingenious or funny to write on the wall.  They both had competing ideas and couldn't settle on one, so they lightly argued about it when all of a sudden, they heard footsteps.

"Oh crap Arnold!  We're going to get caught.  My mom's going to kill me!  What do I write?"

"Just give me the spray paint Gordon!  I'll handle it!

Quick, thirteen year old humor gets sprayed up onto the wall and they booked it down the road, safely home.

Now, I have no idea what really went into the planning behind those words, but Shit Barf just stinks of young teenage boy humor.  To my dismay, some good samaritan, or probably someone on boss's orders painted over that gem.  I never got a picture of it, but I sure told Tim all about it, within hearing range of the boys, because I don't care who you are, that shit barf is funny.

Okay, okay, the responsible part of me is officially reminded to let the boys know that it's wrong, and also illegal, to graffiti someone else's property.  But if I find, "Fuck This Kite" scrawled somewhere on our walls, I'll probably leave it up for a few weeks before I make the perpetrator paint it over.

Being Present Update

So it turns out, this was the worst week to push my "Get Things Done Now" list to a lower priority.  I signed up to organize Family Bingo Night at the boys' school.  That has to all come together and be ready for this Friday night.  Then Luke's birthday party is happening on Saturday and I haven't deep cleaned my house since before Christmas  Then our beloved Seahawks went and made it to Super Bowl XLIX so we are having a party at our house on Sunday.  And to top it all off, Tim is gone on a business trip all week and won't be home until about a half an hour before Bingo starts.

Last weekend, I was dreading this week.  Don't get me wrong though, I was excited for all those events, I just knew the lead up and aftermath would be hard on me personally.  Can someone anticipate and dread something at the same time?  I guess so, because I'm that someone, even if I'm the only one in the world that it happens to.  I felt I had made significant changes in my priorities, for at least a couple days, and successfully reshifted my focus.  This week was going to challenge that.

But then something magical happened.  I anticipated all the craziness so I made a million lists and planned everything out according to what I needed to get done each day.  Somehow time multiplied.  I was able to make check marks on my list and also make time to pay attention to my family.

Another amazing thing occurred when I actually asked for help.  For the record, I hate asking for help, but this whole blog-writing-therapy is worming it's way into my everyday life.  I am actually forced to put into practice all the thoughts I put on here.  So, thank you.  I don't know if you realized it, but you are my stand in therapist/accountability partners.

All the people around me know what a hermit I am and so, they stepped up and offered to help.  They are taking care of my boys for bits of time.  They are helping me set up for the party.  They are bringing over dinner one night AND helping me clean up one party to get ready for another.  They are amazing.  They weren't looking for ways they personally wanted to help, they looked for ways they knew I needed to be helped.  It's a selfless bunch and I'm lucky to have them.

Normally, I would have smiled and said no, I don't need help, I can do it ALL BY MYSELF.  Usually I would have projected that, look at me thing, I'm so great, I can do everything, I don't need you, I'm fine.  And then I would have crumbled inside and had multiple freakouts that Tim and the boys would have had to witness.  To top it all off, I would have been resentful and begrudging each event and all the people the whole time.

So my lesson this week, and not to be forgotten for the rest of my life, is ask for help and take it when offered.  Also, let my people know how crazy these things make me so they know when to step in.

I also came to the realization that I was off the hook to "be present" for my family every minute of every day.  I took my cues from them.

I like to think of myself as being the parent who is somewhere in the middle of helicopter hovering and the free range, see you in two days parenting.  Of course that's my perfect view of myself and who's kidding, I probably slide too close to both of the extremes at times.

There were times when Tim and the boys wanted my full attention and I was able to mentally drop the to-do list and focus on them.  There were also times they were busy and didn't want me around.  Playing with the neighborhood kids doesn't really sound fun with mom tagging along.  Also, there were times that I had to multitask and I didn't feel guilty (well almost, that self guilt thing is hard to shake).  Not every week is going to look as full as this week.  And because I had militantly organized my to-do list, I was able to take breaks when I Jack wanted to explain to me all about a new level on Skylanders or Luke wanted to play Uno or when Tim had a quick break from all the work in Seattle and could chat for a bit over the phone.

I also took teeny me-breaks to recharge my batteries a bit.  Chatting on the phone or messaging friends, going to the gym, eating lunch out or reading a quick chapter.  All these gave me little boosts to get on with the day.

As I mentioned before, there is a balance with everything in life. When things are evened out, life tends to run more smoothly.  Each day, week, month and year I need to take a hard look and figure out how to get that balance.  That'll definitely be a challenge because half the time I have no flipping idea what I'm doing.  I guess I'll be balancing and managing freakouts here and there too and that's okay, I'll deal.

I'm not going to lie to you though.  This week has tapped me out and I will probably hibernate next week.  I will take some non-people-interaction time to heal myself and get my energy stores back to full.  And if my people need me, I will be there for them.  But they are big boys and they can pour their own cereal and call it dinner!

Leaving a Mark Photography

On Tom Brady and Being Needy

(Leaving a Mark Photography)

If you have known Luke for a while, you know that he is ridiculously empathetic.  He's always been that way, even as a baby.  During the childhood stages where most kids are focused inward, he has had this uncanny ability to feel what others are feeling.  It's his superpower.

Recently, he taught me something extremely important.  I don't think he knows this but I'll be sure to tell him how awesome he is and hopefully it will put some extra boost power in his rockets.

Okay now, keep the above superpower in mind.  I promise my long winded self will tie it in eventually.

Last week, I wrote what was supposed to be a flattering piece about how Tim is rocking the whole dad thing.  When I re-read it a few days later, I realized that it was laced with undertones of my own insecurities as a parent.  I meant to show you what a great dad Tim is but it kind of turned out weird because I was a bit resentful.  Lately, I have felt like I can't connect with the boys like I used to do when they were littler.  As they are growing and maturing I feel like they are slipping away from me.  I know that it is a natural part of parenting, separating themselves from us and becoming individuals, but all I keep thinking is, "Not yet!  Not yet!"  I also can't help but think that I haven't put them at the forefront because I have had tons of things to do.

My inadequacies in parenting have been floating under the surface for a while now.  Without realizing it, they even came out in a joke I told last week.  If you have been following the NFL lately, you'll get the joke.  If not, google Deflategate, and you'll understand.  Before school, Jack was trying to zip up his backpack but he couldn't get his football to fit all the way inside.  I told him, "You could just be like Tom Brady and deflate the football a bit."

Tim and the boys looked at me in awe.  Tim shouted from the office, "Whoa Babe!  Nice one."

I smiled and replied with, "See!?!  I'm cool too!!!"

I didn't realize it yet, but Luke took that response into his mental account and went along with his day.  That afternoon, we went doorbelling as a family to promote voting for our local schools in the upcoming election.  Sidenote:  always vote in favor of helping out the schools.  It's really a no-brainer.  Help schools = help kids and promote education = help economy and really all of life in the long run.  Simple.

When we started out, Tim and I decided if we split up we could cut the time in half and get back to our Friday afternoon.  I took one side of the street and he took the other.  Luke shouted out, "I want to go with Mom!"  Awww, that made me feel good, but I still had no idea what was going on.

After we got home, Tim and Luke were hanging out on the front porch just chatting when it came out.  I guess Luke was really affected by my comment after the Tom Brady joke.  He wanted to show me that he still loved me and wanted to be around me.  He went out of his way to show me that.

Tim relayed the conversation to me and my first thought was, "Awwwwww, shoooooooot.  I messed up big time."

I shouldn't have let him know I was feeling like a dumpy mom.  All my insecurities and inadequacies should have stayed hidden behind a smile.  I could have worked on them without him knowing.

But then, maybe, just maybe, this was good.

Was this a lesson for me?

Probably.

Why do we as a society and culture have such a problem with needy people?  Are we afraid they really aren't needy and they just want to exploit us?  What about the people who really need help, how do they get it?  Do their problems and situations get shoved under the rug because of our fear of the small few who are just out to get us?

I like being needed.  I like helping and showing the way.  Teacher, mom, all my past and current occupations reflect that.  Helping is what I want to do for the rest of my life.  If no one ever asks though, how will I know how and where to be?

I like being on the giving end, but it leaves me feeling powerless when I am the needy one.  What if there is power in being needy?  The act of admitting you are powerless is harder to do sometimes.  There is inner strength in honesty, even when others perceive you to be on the energy sucking end.  What if it was an esteemed position to ask for help as much as it is to offer service?

As with everything in life though we need a balance.  I get that.  We can't be the giver all the time and we can't be the taker all the time either.

There is strength and power in knowing who you are and being honest with those close to you.  Not everything looks like Pinterest.  I am actually always skeptical when I see someone beautifully put together with a rosy life.  Maybe that make me a cynic, but I always think, "What are you hiding?"  Vulnerability may seem like it eeks the power out of you, and it might, but I don't think that's a bad thing.

Life is messy and imperfect and that fact brings people together, but only if they are honest about it.  It's like, phew, I don't have to pretend to have it all together because you don't either.  It's a breath of fresh clean air.  So much work has to be put into appearing perfect.  I don't have enough energy for the regular craziness of life so I don't want to add any other facade I have to put work into keeping up.  For me, interacting with people sucks a ridiculous amount of energy from my overall store, I can't spare any amount for stupid reasons like pretending to have everything figured out.

Can't we all just be needy together and then help each other out?  And by help, I mostly mean just listening and being vulnerable together, instead of offering solutions and fix-alls.  When action is needed, we'll know because we will be asked or the situation will present itself.  I really wish we could take the guess work  out of it though.

Back to the parenting piece of it.  I'm the mom, I should be the one teaching and setting the example.  But here is Luke, teaching me about empathy and responding actively when he saw a need.  He was the one teaching me and helping me out.  This time, we flip flopped roles and I am becoming more okay with that now.

Maybe I was doing a bit of teaching too though.  Through this I got to show him that it's okay to voice insecurities to the ones you love.  We are better for it.  How else will we be able to lean on and support each other?

So I guess both Luke and I taught each other something.  It's kind of fun swapping the teacher/student parts in our Pell Play.  I am looking forward to learning more about life from him.  He's a pretty awesome dude.  If Tom Brady only knew his Deflategate was the catalyst for an important parenting lesson, he would totally blast it in the media.  Your welcome Patriots, this is the only positive thing that will come out of Super Bowl XLIX for you.

Go Hawks!

At Top of the List

What do you do all day?

Remember how hypersensitive I am about this question?  I measure my own worth by how much I can get done.  My friend Val referred me to this article.  I loved it because it gave me a new perspective and validated my chosen occupation.

Back to the question at hand.  "What are you up to?"  "What are you doing?"  That's often a normal first question on a regular check in phone call.  It's a routine way to start an everyday conversation, but sometimes I panic a little when someone inquires about it. Is what I'm doing at that current moment productive?  What will it portray if I can't come up with any tangible doing?  Will I get judged if I am truthful about the fact that I was just zoning out on Facebook or Instagram?  Will I get looked down upon if I say that I was just shooting the breeze with my family in the midst of an extremely dirty  house?  Will it sound lazy if I tell them that I was just lounging on my couch reading or binge watching a new tv show obsesson?

At the end of each day, I feel good if I have checked off at least ten chores.  Done.  Did it.  The more lines I scratch through tasks, the more awesomeness I achieve.  I've beat this day to a pulp and now I win.

But what I'm finding is that the more activities and assignments I plan to undertake each day, the less present I become in my own life.  I am less available to the people I love, to the people who need me.  I need those same people but I push them away in order to get all the things done.

Maybe I need to write, "Be present" at the top of my list each day.

But now, what does that look like?  This is a hard one.  I was always taught in teaching that your goals and objectives for your lesson plans need to be measureable.  How do you measure being there for someone?  How do you know if you have accomplished your end goal?  Maybe it's looking Jack in the eyes when he's telling me about his day, rather than half listening while I fold laundry.  Maybe it's truly hearing Luke when he's giving me a summary of the book he just finished.  Asking follow up questions to let him know that I really understand what he's telling me, instead of, "Mmm hmmm.... sounds like a cool book," while balancing the checkbook at the same time.  Maybe it's putting off vacumming for another day so Tim and I can sit and chat during lunch in the rare quietness of our mid-day boy-free house.  Maybe it's rescheduling the evening trip to the gym because it will interfere with family hangout time.

All those tasks and more still need to be done.  Some of them I need to do to stay sane and healthy so I can be a whole enough person to actually be in the moment.  But remember how great I am at multitasking? Remember the priorities I set earlier?  When I focus on getting that checklist scribbled on, when the dark, cross out lines are agressively promoting my worth, my priority list gets flip flopped.  Those things begin to rise above my people and that is not okay with me.

So, now I guess it's on to the To-Do LIst for today:


1. Get this post written so it will be cemented into my brain.  For me, pencil on paper makes things more permanent.

2. Be present.  Just be there for those that I love.

3. If there is down time - take some "me" time without feeling guilty about it.

4. And then if there is time, and only after the above have taken place, eek out some teeny tiny chores.  But remember, if I get interrupted and my people need me, revert back to number two.


I'll let you know how it goes.  I might fail and flop right on my face, but there's always tomorrow to try again.

The Dark Side

I've just come to the realization that my boys have gone over to the Daddy Dark Side.  If you were to ask all three of them, they would call it the cool side.  I kind of agree, but whatever.  Even the neighbor boy would agree.  His standard question when I come to answer the door is, "Can Luke and Jack play?"  If the answer is no, the next question is always, "Okay then, where's their dad?  Can he play?"

The other night I came into the office and found Tim jamming with the neighbor boy; we'll call him J.  Both Luke and Jack were playing football with all the other neighbor kids in the front yard.  It was bitter cold and getting dark by the second.  J decided to come in because he didn't want to wear his shoes anymore and his fingers needed to warm up.  Typical five year old reasoning.  I guess he saw the guitar we have just sitting in the corner of the office.  None of us know how to play it and it just gathers dust, but having a guitar set up in a corner implies that we rock, so we keep the dusty thing around.   He asked Tim if he could play it so of course all late evening work duties got postponed to plug the guitar into the amp.  When I came in, J was plucking those strings to his heart's content and singing the improvised verses at the top of his lungs.  And there sat Tim, trying to hold his laugh back, but giving J his full attention.

I realize that this is a good problem to have.  There are many uninvolved dads out there and Tim has never put his toe in that dark pond.  The boys probably won't realize how lucky they are until later.

It has taken a lot of hard work and patience on Tim's part.  In the beginning the boys physically needed me and he didn't have the goods dripping out of his boobs so I was the "It Girl".  I was also home with them all day so I was the go-to filler of all snack bowls and sippies.  I chauffeured them to fun places like the mall kiddie playground and the local muddy pond to feed the ducks.  I bought them popcorn to eat in the red Target shopping carts while we wandered the aisles and gazed at all the treasures.  I was pretty high on their list.

We have a joke between the four of us that Jack hated Tim for the first two years of his life.  Now, while that's not necessarily true, Jack was a major mama's boy.  If he was hungry, thirsty, tired, or hurt he wanted me.  If he was bored, I was the selected entertainer.  In the middle of the night, he would wake up just to make sure I was still there.  "Oh hey Mom.  Is it really 3am?  Cool.  I love you, wanna hang out?"  I had two choices when Jack was little.  Either pick him up and carry him around, or listen to him cry, "Mamamamamamamamama," while he follow me every-freaking-where.

During those early times, I tried to convince both boys that Daddy was actually cooler than me.  He could actually fill those cracker snack bowls and sippies faster than I could.  But to no avail.  All they wanted was me.  And at times, all I wanted to do was to sit on the couch and read without any toddlers sitting on me, laying on me or touching me.

I guess Tim's been going for the slow play.  Smart dude.  He was sneaky patient through the baby and toddler years.  He'd make up goofy songs and make weird noises at the chance of getting a smile or giggle.  He changed diapers and bounced teary babies.  He tried to outrun me when one of the boys got hurt so they would see him first and he could console them.  He's way faster than me, so he always won that one.  I told you, sneaky.

Now he's convinced them that his childhood hobby of collecting cards could be their childhood hobby too.  Granted, the boys threw him for a loop when they chose Pokemon as well as sports cards, but he rolled with it.  While they have been taking trips to the local card shop and scouring eBay and YouTube, the boys have been learning about pulling the coveted Michael Jordan signed rookie card.  In turn, the boys have been educating him on Mega Charizard EX.

Ah!  Now I get it.  He's buying them off with cards.  Genius!

I guess I can see why they like him so much.  A few weeks back he even upped his fun rating when he set up a Nerf battle ground in our unfinished basement.  He used our left over moving boxes to set up two base camps.  Each battle begins with a gun draft and strategic ammo set up.  Then they get busy trying to obliterate each other with foam darts.

Sometimes he pays the price for his awesomeness though.  Last week he got nailed in the eyeball with a Nerf dart.  That shot bruised and reddened his eye just in time for a business video conference call.

I'm at a disadvantage now too because he isn't annoyed like I am at potty humor.  I can appreciate a good burp or fart like the best of them but after twenty in a row, I lose interest.

So I've come to this transition realization just recently.  I'm slow, I know.  Looking back on it, he's been slowly gaining ground for a few years.  Jerk.  At the airport a few weeks ago, the boys beautifully negotiated on who would get to sit by the window on the plane.  The thing that got them stuck was who would get to sit by Dad.  Jack sited a previous flight six months prior in which Luke got to sit by Dad.  Therefore, it was his turn this time.  Luke could appreciate the logical argument so he consented to sitting with me only if he got to sit by Tim on the next trip.  See?  They are all in this against me!

After the "who gets to sit by dad" incident, I mentioned my sadness that I wasn't the cool one anymore.  Of course they all went on about how much they love me and need me.  On the next flight, Luke even shouted out that he wanted to be the one who got to sit by me.  All of Tim's Jedi mind tricks on teaching empathy and affirmation worked.

I know I'm going to have to up my game, but sometimes I get the feeling that my work is futile.

"Cute fart Mom." <>

"Thanks for the homemade veggies and hummus, but where are Dad's Doritos?"

I've been getting better at coming up with good material like Ding Dong Jiggly Butt and Cheesy McNuggett Fart Face.  I'm still bigger than them so I think I can still pin them in a living room carpet wrestling match.  I'll have to google more moves though; they are quick tricky buggers.  And those basement Nerf battles are actually quite fun.  I even out the numbers so having me works to their advantage.

I'll get them back somehow.  And I'm pretty sure my awesome husband won't mind sharing the popular throne.  He's nice like that.

photos courtesy of Leaving a Mark Photography