Ice: Storm and Cubes

Ice is dangerous.  It can down power lines.  It can crack hearts.  It can leave people stranded without warmth in cold temperatures.  It can break tree limbs that break fences and cars and roofs.  Growing up in the Midwest, snowstorms were normal; ice storms were to be feared – even more so down south.

As I sit here trees in our neighborhood are melting off the ice storm that is rumored to have ruined at least a third of Augusta’s tree population.  With the exception of a damaged fence and a few branches, our house and yard have remained unscathed.  And, thanks to living in a subdivision across from the substation and in which the power lines are all underground, we have been warm and happy and entertained the past two days.  And, as one guy at the grocery store said today, “Y’all, next Friday we won’t even remember this – it’s gonna be 78 – we’ll all be in flip-flops.”  He’s right.  We will have few long-lasting effects other than being even better prepared next time. 

However, the day before the ice rolled through here, another kind of storm hit -- small, personalized storm. It was the kind of storm that reminds you just how cruel and petty some people can be.  It was the kind of mini-storm that left no broken fences or car wrecks. It was subtle.  There were no icicles or damaged plants after this storm came by.  The fallout from this storm, however, will be longer lasting.

Earlier this week, a divorced dad that insisted his son spend a certain afternoon “with him” for the dad’s birthday.  The son initially didn’t want to go, but agreed because of the festivities and the birthday.  He was cajoled into going because it was the right thing to do – you know, Dad’s birthday and all.  Once the evening came, the son saw his dad for about ten minutes, and then the dad left the son with grandmother, telling the son he was going to a birthday celebration with his wife and kids.  The son was not invited. Son returned home defeated, angry, and hungry.  He had not had any supper because he thought he was going to the birthday dinner.  Despite his initial resistance to the event, he had gotten excited to see this part of his family. He felt included and happy.  But, his dad stopped by grandmother’s house, said a quick hi, and took off, leaving him behind; it was a small, personal ice storm that will have unfortunate lasting effects. 

We all have the capability to create an personal ice storm for someone else.  I vividly remember about six years ago when I was totally fed up with a student's excuses.  She came in to talk to me, and I just couldn't be kind.  I wasn't understanding.  I didn't say it out loud, but she knew that I was mad.  I froze her out.  After a class or two, I realized that not only had I given her the cold shoulder, but I could actually feel the lingering coldness of our encounter.  Before the end of the day, I had found her, apologized, listened to her, and been forgiven.  It was a slippery patch for sure, and I can tell you I've had more than one.  Haven't you?

There is a kind of ice that can grow in people’s lives.  It is a callousness that some people seem to be born with.  Maybe it is covetousness – saying “I’m so jealous” more often than “I’m so happy for you.”  It might be a desire to hoard instead of being generous. It is a self-centeredness that some cultivate as a defense against the world.  Perhaps it’s being so self-involved you omit someone from your birthday dinner. It might show up as hostility towards an innocuous but slightly annoying neighbor. It is an anger that is the result of unfortunate circumstances.  This ice has many manifestations.  We all have moments of ice in our lives, but as our communities do after winter storms, we really should try to learn from them.  From time to time we should take inventory and make sure we aren’t turning too cold when it comes to the things that really matter.

If we can learn anything from the big ice storm, it is that we need to recognize the bits of ice and slippery patches in every day life.  Everyone has a few cubes lurking around – so, instead of stock piling and letting such coldness overtake our interactions or lives, how about if we gather them all up and make drinks, get together, relax, and enjoy each other's company?

Frozen margaritas, anyone?

I'm Done Being a Mother

I said something over Christmas break when all three of my children were at the dinner table that I’ve been wrestling with ever since.  At first, I castigated myself and considered apologizing.  Then, after some thought – the kind some people might call soul searching – I came to believe that I couldn’t really apologize for something that I mean.

Apple slices.  I had simply forgotten to slice the apples and put them on the table. We had just sat down to one of the evening meals that I had spent about three hours on – planning, shopping, making sure it would have both carnivore and herbivore appeal, and preparing – and I realized I had forgotten the apples.  I asked if anyone really wanted apples, and the responses were varied.  Tired and not really willing to slice even one apple, I said, “Well, if you want apples, you can cut them yourself.”   There followed some jovial banter about if I truly loved them I would cut apples because that’s what mothers do.  My response: “I’m kind of done mothering.”

We proceeded to eat dinner amiably, but that last sentence stuck around.  It hung in the air for a bit, and then descended and started lurking in corners around the house.  One of my sons brought it up jokingly when I mentioned there were snacks they could help themselves to.  I even wrote a poem about it.  Since then, though, I have been embracing the truth in that statement.

Of course, I'll always be a mother.  Being a mother is one of the roles that I am most proud of in my life.  But, I am many other things.  My boys are growing up.  My mom once told me that "the point of being a parent is to work yourself out of a job."  In many respects that's true.  I don't change diapers any more; I don' t shop for Garanimals for them any more; and, as I have recently had to remind my youngest, I don't need to see anything below your waist unless you think something is wrong down there.  I'm in a transition phase of this mom job.

I’m done mothering in as much as it means I have to cut apple slices for men/boys who are 21, 18 and 12.  I’m done mothering in as much as it means I need to do laundry for those self-same people.  I’m not willing to plan perfectly balanced suppers any more, and I’m not going to pack healthful lunches with smiley face notes.   That’s the kind of mothering I am done with.  My youngest son suggested a few days ago that if I get lonely once they all leave home, I could adopt a child.  No.  There are women who want to keep mothering young children indefinitely; I know some of them.  I respect them.  I do not want to do that. 

I don’t really want to shoot baskets in the driveway any more.  I mean, I will do that but…get a friend or brother to join you.  I’m not picking up your belongings because you had a long day at school – so did I.  I have had twenty-one years of long days at school.  Make your own lunch for tomorrow, and you can help make supper, too.

I am not suggesting that my sons are sloppy or inconsiderate or demanding.  My middle son has done his own laundry since middle school. My eldest might tell you that he has always felt older than he is due to my parenting.  Overall,  I have put lots of effort into raising them to be considerate, kind, and thoughtful.  They almost always are.  They are pretty independent, too.  When I go to book club, they make their own supper and clean it up.  It's funny when I see a mother who plans to go to her child’s college town on the child’s birthday to celebrate with him.  Here’s a spoiler: the kid doesn’t want you to do that.  Send them a new sweater, a funny card, and some money.  Such mothers are trying to keep themselves occupied and their children young and dependent.  

Just like those birthday-celebrating mothers continue to do, I have put enormous pressure on myself over the years to make sure my sons’ socks match and their nice shirts are on the hangers and there's a vegetable and starch and protein on every plate at every meal.  I have been the slave-master and slave at the same time.  A slave to whatever I thought I “should do” or that I thought other mothers were doing and that I needed to do to “keep up” or risk having socially-stunted and unkind children going out my door each morning.  Now, I certainly don’t care if your socks match or your jeans are neatly pressed.  If you have french fries and cheese for supper when I'm at work late, then ok. I’m done embracing mothering pressure.   

I’m done mothering if your room is messy or your fail to brush your hair. I’m done mothering if you want a snack but can’t see the pile of clementines or box of granola bars or jar of cookies.  I will usually make supper, but just know that unless it’s a holiday, I’m not really feeling it.  I’ll help with homework if I can, but that’s unlikely.  You’ll probably have to stay after school for help from the teacher and study with friends.  I am happy to listen to laments about friends, girlfriends, boyfriends, finances, school, and jobs; that’s the kind of mothering I will always be available for.  I’ll discuss politics, religion, television, movies, and social trends.  I’ll always be there to hug you and tell you I love you.  Always.  But, I’m not going to make sure your sock drawer is in order or that your underwear is folded.    I’ll make sure you aren’t living in your own filth if you are in my home.  If you’re on your own, you really should clean up, but I’m not going to come by and check.

There are all kinds of mothers in the world, and I’d like to think that I have been a decent one for twenty-one years and that I will continue to evolve in this position.  I’m done mothering boys.  I’ll happily mother young men, but they are going to have to cut their own apples.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Today is the second to last weekend before Christmas. I don’t want to go out.  Stores will be packed; roads will be jammed.  As we all know:  Christmas is a commercial holiday – at least in part.  And, time is at a premium during this season.  We need time to shop, to bake, to decorate, to buy presents, to wrap presents, to plan, to send cards, to cook, to entertain, to be entertained; if you are a student, you also need time to study and take exams.  If you are a teacher, you are writing and grading said exams.  To all of the seasonal madness, you must not forget the laundry, grocery shopping, pet care, bathroom cleaning – whew – what are you supposed to do?  Where is all this time supposed to come from?

Middle son didn’t mean to, but he reminded me in the past few weeks.

Right after Thanksgiving, we went on a college visit from Georgia to Pennsylvania.  A twelve hour trip if you don’t stop for a Coke or the toilet.  Three days: one up, one there, one back.  On the way back, I mentioned that I had some friends in Virginia.  Son looked at me and said, “Well?  Let’s stop and visit them.”  I hemmed and hawed – I didn’t want to intrude on them; it was two hours off our intended path; they might be busy; we needed to get home. The whole thing came to this:

            Son: “When did you last see them?”

            Me: “1990.”

            Son: “Well, it’s time, don’t you think?”

These friends did not only want to see us, but they prepared lunch for us.  We hugged, talked, shared stories, and youngest son even got a piano lesson with a professional musician.  It took a few extra miles and one hour to bridge 23 years. 

It often seems easier to just click “like” on Face Book or post a meme that says something like “Share this if you love your family and friends at Christmas.”  This is especially true if one is introverted and likes home more than out.  (That’s me.)  Son unwittingly reminded me that face-to-face is better than Face Book. 

Like others I know, I often leave things until the last minute. After missing a family birthday some years ago, my mom said to me, “You know, Laura, birthdays and Christmas…they are on the same days every year.  You could plan ahead.”  I try.  But, I leave things until the second to last minute.

When one is rushed, it is easy to go through the holiday parties and gift wrapping robotically.  When that happens, we can end up feeling empty, tired, and frustrated.  When we feel badly, we don’t enjoy the holidays as we would like.  We don’t take the detour to see our friends.  Instead, we find ourselves saying, “Well, let’s go so we can get this over with,” about our holiday gatherings. 

Often admist our holiday rushings we hear and heartily agree with reminders to slow down and enjoy the season.  But we don’t do it.  Too much to do – too little time.  But, what amount of time to bridge a friendship?  To connect with colleagues over Jenga and wine?  To have cookies and watch “Charlie Brown Christmas” with our kids?  To reconnect over sandwiches and music?  The best gifts are those we make ourselves.  Make some time.

‘Tis the season.

Turkey Talk

The smell of the turkey, the sound of TV football, the torture of small talk amongst family members.  Say what?  Yes, for many of us, as much as we love our family and as much as we want more time to spend with them, the small talk of family events can put us to sleep or get under our skin or grate on our nerves or send us running to the hills proclaiming that we will live alone in a cave forever.  It can be a challenge to connect meaningfully with those you see a couple of times a year, and sometimes even more so with those that you live with, but now are spending a purposeful day or weekend of proclaimed FAMILY TIME. 

Little ones play and share together more easily than we adults do many times.  Teenagers and young adults run the gamut of helpful and cheerful to sulky and texty.   Adults range from pretentious and all-knowing to silent and judgmental.  We seem to be pretty good at talking with those who are at similar stages of life as we are, but shift the ages apart by fifteen or more years, and silence and resentment may take over.  Making intergenerational conversation can be rough.  Let me suggest a few things that might make connecting with each other easier.

Adults, avoid asking your teenage or young adult interlocutor about school, college plans, or majors right off the bat.  That’s all they are ever asked.  Start instead with what they have been reading, watching, or listening to.  Tell them about a cool TED talk you recently watched or a new hobby you are embarking on.  If you must talk school, ask them to tell you the funniest thing that happened in calculus class or about their most recent poetry analysis for world lit.  Start a real conversation. Remember, young people are people too.  They are not just automatons caught in the machine we call education. In creative writing class a few years ago a student wrote a poem about applying to college in which she lamented that the only question she was ever asked was “Where are you going to college?”  The response she wanted to give was, “Fuck you, where are you going to college?”  The repetition of the same themes is dull for everyone, and for the younger person, the answers to such questions can be filled with fear and angst.  Pretend the young people are real, then your time talking with them will be more satisfying for all involved.

Younger people:  engage your adult friends and family in conversation about something more than the weather.  Do not text or check your phone while talking to them.  Look them in the eye.  Smile a little bit.  If they must ask questions about getting into college or majors, answer and redirect to more interesting or comforting topics.  Ask them what they are reading, their latest promotion at work, or the community groups they are involved in.  If you absolutely can’t stand one more “What are you going to major in?”  - make up some unexpected answers ahead of time, give the answer, and walk away.  Use different answers with different people.  Don’t worry, no one will call you out on it, and you’ll give them something to talk about until Christmas. 

To wit:

What are you going to major in?                     Nuclear Biology 

What are you going to major in?                     Literature of Little People
What are you going to major in?                     Sculpture with a Concentration in Nudes

What are you going to major in?                     Genetics of Prehistoric Reptiles

Where do you want to go to college?             Hawaii-Pacific

Where do you want to go to college?             College of Southern Idaho

Where do you want to go to college?             Talmudic College of Florida

Where do you want to go to college?             FU*

What are you doing to do with that major?    Think “Dexter.”

What are you doing to do with that major?    Move to Vladivostok for graduate studies

What are you doing to do with that major?    Laboratory experiments on mole rats

What are you doing to do with that major?    Move back home

Adults, please, please, please do not condescend when a young person tells you what they want to do.  Don’t tell them it is a mistake.  And, whether you think what they are doing is a mistake or not, ask questions.  The more questions you ask about a young person’s goals or plans or ideas, the more you will understand their generation and that precious individual.  Avoid phrases like, “There’s no money in that…” or  “We never really agreed with what your dad did, and well…”  “Are you sure?  You used to be so good at math…”  Listen actively to what those younger have to say.  Make suggestions if you must, but these are young people who need questions asked and a sounding board that doesn’t try to negate away their ideas. 

Why is it so very easy to listen to what eight year-olds want to be when they grow up?  We can listen to their most far-fetched ideas, “I want to be a jewelry maker who is a vet and own a business that gives out milkshakes to children.”  Fantastic!  Even the kids who have no idea, “Well, I want to collect garbage” get a positive response:  “Then, be the best garbage person you can be!”  But, if a twenty year-old has decided a four year degree is not for her and she’s going to do a twelve month program in physical therapy assisting, part-time while bartending, we scorn her for not finishing college.  What is that all about?  Think of the negativity of the nightly news, the economy, the world disasters – these are people who are trying to create and launch a life and a career amidst all of this.  Be positive. 

Younger folks, if you find you are stuck with a negative or frightening family member or someone who is hell bent on telling you horror stories about their neighbor’s uncle’s cousin who went to school to major in that and then was unemployed and had to claw his way out of drug addiction just because of choosing the wrong college – well, stand up, politely offer to get that person another drink and be done.  Yes, many of those who are older than you are wise, have good suggestions, and really do want to support you.  Many of them have few real ideas on how to offer that support in a way that is meaningful and translatable.  Some of them believe they have the monopoly on truth and real life. 

In summary, it may all come down to remembering that we are all human beings with common interests and struggles.  We are all people who are trying to do something with our lives.  The more we are genuinely interested in each other and support each other, the better off we will all be – age be damned and pass the mashed potatoes.

*Note:  FU is the abbreviation for Furman University.  All of these are real colleges and very fine institutions in their own rights. 

Wait, What?

Every now and then I come across something, someone, or some comment that totally throws me for a loop.  Not often, mind you.  I am the kind of person who you tell your life story to in the grocery line.  I guess I just look sympathetic; and, I do that mirror listening thing without thinking about what I want to tell you about myself or trying to insert my own stories into yours.  (Yes, being introverted helps here, but I’ve got it down pat.)  Also, I’ve been teaching for twenty years, so to really, truly shock me is a formidable task.  Gay?  Cool.  Don’t know what you want to do when you grow up?  Join the club.  Want to move to Montana and live as a hermit with only books and a case of beer?  Have fun!  Confused?  Me, too.  Lost and just need a hug?  C’mon in.  In love with your cousin’s best friend’s ex-girlfriend’s dog?  Okay.  Dislike your parents and hate your friends?  I’m your sounding board.  Really – you cannot shock me.

But, just when I know I have heard it all and seen most of it, I’m blindsided.  This past week I was talking with a group of women.  To be precise, I was listening to a group of women talk. I did not know all of them; several of us had just met for the first time. The age range was 40-70. Topics ranged from marriage to children to in-laws to pets to jobs and back again.  At one point, one of the older ladies suggested, “I guess it’s about having a dream.  I mean, you have to have something you want to do.  A goal.  A dream. I’m retired and I still don’t have enough time to do everything I want to do.”  In less than half a breath a younger woman piped up, “Maybe that’s my problem.”  We looked at her expectantly.  “I mean,” she continued, “I don’t really have any dreams except to just be with my husband.”  Wait. What?  She went on to iterate a couple of dreams he has, but she concluded that comment with, “All I really want to do is spend time with him.”

Now, you’ll all be glad to know that I beat down the feminist in me that wanted to lecture her on losing her identity in a man.  I also shushed the counselor in me who wanted to tell her that she needed to do some kind of guided imagery in order to visualize who she wants to be.  You’ll also be relieved to know that I did not allow the reader in me to quote all sorts of literary ideas about becoming your own person.  And, yep, she did it.  This forty-something woman shocked me.  It really seems to me that hanging your one dream on another human being is a recipe for tragedy.

I don’t know lots of things “for sure,” as Oprah puts it, but I do know for sure that if you have one dream that you assign your happiness to and it  revolves around another person, you will be disappointed.  That kind of pressure will doom a relationship and poison a friendship.  My dream depends upon you?  No.  Who – male or female – thinks that wrapping up the sum total of all of your dreams into one person is a good idea?  Her dream is just to spend time with her husband.  Ancillary to cultivating herself as a human being and cultivating her own interests and dreams, it’s not a bad thing to want to spend time with one’s husband.  In fact, many would argue it’s quite excellent to want to spend time with loved ones.  Let me reiterate:  that’s her only dream.  Her one dream for the rest of her life hangs upon another person. Her one dream for the remaining 45 years on the planet is to spend time with her husband.  That’s it.  Wait. What? 

So, the husband-time-spending thing aside, this woman has only ONE dream for her remaining time in life.  That’s it.  One.  That One is a progression of a role in a family. Only that.  I know women here in Augusta, and I assume they exist all over this country if not the world, whose mission in life has been and continues to be:  graduate high school, go to college, find a husband, marry, have children, join the country club, take family vacations, help the children graduate high school, help the children go to college, help the children get married, help the children have children, enjoy the grandchildren and eventually die.  And, yes, before you ask, I have taught and counseling high school girls whose life plan is some iteration of the above sequence.  In 2013.  Yes, there are girls and women whose whole existence seems to bizarrely rotate around others.  Where, oh where, is the desire for personal development?  For cultivating your own talents?  Women, if you are reading this, you have hundreds, if not thousands, of opportunities to make a life for yourself.  And, most certainly, you may want it to include marriage or family life and many of your desires and dreams and talents may dovetail into family life, but please, oh please, I beg you not to roll up all of your dreams into what your husband wants to do or into some future children. God forbid he becomes ill or dies or leaves you – please have some thoughts about what it is that YOU want.  You and only you. What are your dreams for yourself? If you were totally on your own, what would you do to develop your interests and achieve your dreams?  Wait, what?

Yes, I know that what I’m suggesting might be a lecture for human beings, but it really seems especially applicable to women who roll up their own identity in a husband and family or who minimize themselves for any other person.  Who knows what will happen?  Please develop yourself – individually.  Surely you have interests and talents and desires for your own development.  Children grow up.  Children move out.  Spouses are not extensions of who you are – they are (hopefully) wonderful  additions to who you are, but you must always be you first and foremost. 

Perhaps this lady was simplifying what Jean Webster suggested, “I'm going to enjoy every second, and I'm going to know I'm enjoying it while I'm enjoying it. Most people don't live; they just race. They are trying to reach some goal far away on the horizon, and in the heat of the going they get so breathless and panting that they lose sight of the beautiful, tranquil country they are passing through; and then the first thing they know, they are old and worn out, and it doesn't make any difference whether they've reached the goal or not.”  Perhaps my new friend wants to just enjoy time with her husband, and I do wish her all the happiness doing so, but I still say she needs a goal.   “It must be borne in mind that the tragedy of life doesn’t lie in not reaching your goal. The tragedy lies in having no goal to reach. It isn’t a calamity to die with dreams unfulfilled, but it is a calamity not to dream. Something for ourselves that we are working towards.” (B.E. Mays) 

And that, my new friend, is a tragedy that can be avoided.

Peanut Butter and Comfort Zones

Comfort.  That’s what this season that we are embarking on is all about.  Religious inclinations aside, we are all seeking comfort in this season that covers the next seven weeks. Nothing wrong with that at all.  Comfort is, well, comforting. 

Comfort food leaps to mind.  For many of us, we associate this season with big warm meals and small warm drinks.  Turkeys, hams, buttery rolls, yams with small marshmallows torched on top, and plates of green beans smothered in something akin to what the cat leaves on the carpet from time to time…well, you get the idea.  We all have the meal that is our ultimate in comfort and very often it shows up this time of year.  My most comforting meal has little to do with the holiday season.  In fact, I have this meal once every six weeks or so, and it must meet certain standards to qualify as my comfort meal.  An open-faced smooth peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich with the jelly spread on the whole wheat bread so that all bites have a bit of jelly and peanut butter; sweet pickles (on the side, not on the sandwich) chilled and in a dish that will prevent the juice from soaking into the sandwich bread; three small pieces of extra sharp cheddar cheese; Lay’s potato chips, preferably from a newly opened bag; and, a large glass of cold skim milk.  That’s it. I’m not too picky, am I? 

It’s not just this season that urges me to look at comfort, but also the concept of what makes life pleasant on an on-going basis.  I read recently that it’s not what we do occasionally that makes a difference; it’s what we do regularly that makes the biggest difference in life.  Many people around me are constantly challenging themselves to do more, to be more, and to get more.  While such challenges can be part of what life is made of, comfort is important, too.

Consider this:  for about the past six months, I have been feeling unwell.  It has been difficult to get up in the morning, all too easy to go to bed unnaturally early, and to neglect that which I would not normally ignore.  In short, I have been horribly uncomfortable.  In examining a variety of causes of this unwellness, I realized that I have been waking in the morning, and the first thing I have been doing is checking work email and Face Book.  Innocuous.  One needs to be informed and know what the day has to bring.  Nevertheless, I have decided that I do not need to know what is going on at work until I get to work.  The world and all 1000+ of my close, personal friends will conduct their lives as they see fit whether or not I read their status or see the latest pictures of their cats.

Another thing I know is that I have been neglecting physical activity.  Part of this neglect is due to organic issues that are now being corrected.  However, I did think about driving from my home to the pool house where we have our homeowners’ meetings.  I don’t know how far this is, but I can tell you that on a bad day, I can walk there in less than five minutes.  Please note:  After 16 minutes of self-debate wherein I could have walked there and back at least twice I did not drive. I walked. On the scope of daily exercise: no gut pounding aerobics classes (I have never enjoyed that).  No boot camps where I am the last one to finish every exercise. (I did like boot camp for a while, though. Shout out to the instructor; you know who you are).  I will ride my bike in the neighborhood with youngest son.  I will walk or elliptical to tunes that make me feel like I’m in a Rocky training montage. And, I have realized that at the times when I felt best physically, I was swimming regularly.  I’m naturally buoyant and I have a strong stroke.  The pool is comfortable, and I am there a couple afternoons a week.

A thing that I don’t do is read the daily newspaper or watch nightly news.  I can’t.  The daily local newspaper is The Augusta Chronicle, and I cannot read this rag without a red pen in hand. When I first moved to Augusta, I applied for a job as a local interest writer with the Chronicle. (My shtick was:  new resident to the area discovers life in Augusta.)  I was told that I was overqualified.  Perhaps so, but if they had employed me, there would be many fewer misspellings and ill-placed commas.  The nightly news brings stories of tragedy from around the world directly into the living room.  I can’t have thousands dying in front of my fireplace every night. I can’t have the politicians screaming across the kitchen at me.  It’s too much.  I read news summaries and often read beyond those, delving into detail.  Still, I can’t experience every bus wreck and house fire on a global scale.  It’s too much.  And, yes, it makes me uncomfortable.   

In a variety of settings I have heard people talk and preach about “getting out of your comfort zone.”  This is code for challenging yourself: challenging yourself to get more involved in world issues or movements that need support or run a 10K.  While routine can be overdone, I say, “get into your comfort zone.”  Find your sweet spot.  Check Face Book less and watch the leaves in the wind more.  Give up the bone jarring run and stretch in the yoga studio.  Or, if you love Face Book, get on there more often and like more cat pictures before your seven mile run.  Watch the nightly news and debate politics.  Make a peanut butter sandwich.    Whatever works.  If you must challenge yourself, I would suggest challenging yourself to enjoy your comfort zone instead of feeling guilty.

N.D. Walsch suggests that “life begins at the end of your comfort zone.”  I disagree.  Life is based well inside your comfort zone.  Having a comfort zone wherein you are confident, feel good, can perform at optimum levels makes it possible to reach outside of your comfort zone.  And, perhaps you will expand your comfort zone.  But, it is precisely that life inside the comfort zone than enables us to do great things.  Without a zone of comfort, we will feel forever unsure, constantly doubtful and be rendered unwell. 

Find the comfort zone, the sweet spot that works for you. Then, keep that comfort zone.  Live in it.  Invite others in.  Visit outside of your comfort zone.  But, keep comfort as a mode of living, not a seasonal pursuit.

The Icing on the Cake

 “Mom, I think you're going to find the love of your life one day.” 

Son #3 and I went for a walk yesterday after school.  The walk is a new addition to our routine, and he has always been known for blurting things out.  These walks are designed to clear the cobwebs before homework time; they must also shake loose ideas he has floating around.  More often than not, his exclamations have granules or even cupfuls of truth.  Yesterday was no exception. 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes, you’ll definitely find the love of your life…just not here in Georgia.”

Yes, that is precisely what he said.  And, I nearly fell over.  What proceeded from there was a conversation about the time that we have in life and the things we choose to do with it.  “Being in love,” as this twelve year-old understands it is what everyone is looking for.  Of course, there are plenty of 50 year-olds that think this, too.  If you don’t believe me, go have a look at match.com or okcupid.com or some other equally heinous website.  True enough that in middle school there is a lot of effort being put into being liked.  Wearing the right clothes and avoiding saying the wrong things – these are key to success in the middle grades.  Son’s thoughts on this no doubt swirl around his anticipation of his first ever middle school dance. 

We do spend a lot of our time looking for love or wanting to fall in love or wanting to fall back in love or some variant.  But, it’s really so unnecessary.  As I told son #3 yesterday, there are so many, many things to do and thoughts to think and books to read…and…he added: “Doctor Who episodes to watch” that looking for the “love of my life” is pretty low on my list right now.  He looked a little worried.  He assured me I could find someone.  I couldn’t tell him it’s not on my list at all because I think that the cats eating your corpse story if you die coupled with the cat lady jokes that son #2 and I bat around when talking about my future may have gotten to the youngest. 

If I could convince pre-teens, teenagers, and young adults (or all those folks on match.com) of one thing it would be this: searching for love and/or having lots of sex should not be your primary activity in life.  You are worth more.  Do not waste time, money, or tears on these activities.  Go and live your life.  Find things that are interesting to you that have nothing to do with finding a significant other.  Read.  Write. Dance. Sculpt. Compose music.  Eat food.  Have friends.  Have lots of friends.  Quit making Pinterest boards for a distant-future wedding.  Quit hooking up.  Do not spend time pining for the “love of your life” or “the one that got away” or even “the one that sleeps next to me but I don’t trust him or her enough to not go through his or her phone when he or she is asleep.”  Quit.  Go and live.  Find things that fascinate you.  Live life.

This is a hard pill to swallow and there are certainly hundreds of clichés and self-help books that lurk around this pill but here it is anyway:  Fall in love with yourself.  By doing this, you free yourself and your friends to love fully.  So many young people seem to believe that “needing” someone is equivalent to loving someone.  They convince themselves that they need someone to complete them, to insert in their Face Book relationship status bar, or to spend Saturday nights with.  If you fall in love with yourself, you free those around you.  This bit of dialogue from the 1985 movie Out of Africa illustrates:

Karen: But I do need you. You don't need me.

Denys: If I die will you die? You don't need me. You confuse need with want. You always have.

Sure, most people want love.  Someone to come home to.  A partner.  A wife.  A husband.  A “love of their lives,” but it is not a necessity.  You won’t die if you don’t have that someone.  You very likely will wither up and die if you neglect yourself.  It may sound selfish, but in the moment when you fall in love with yourself, you will find that you won’t need anyone else.  If someone else is in your life and you love each other, it’ll be icing, not the cake.

“Well, son, I’m pretty busy right now; I don’t really have time for anyone else.”

“Okay, but, Mom…at least you have me and the brothers.”

And that’s my icing.

One, Two, Freddie's Coming For You...

 My youngest son thinks I’m a curmudgeon. I do not like Halloween.  I don’t recall ever liking Halloween.  Still, to my credit every year we carve a pumpkin; costumes are bought (sorry Mom, no sewing here); pumpkin seeds are roasted and dutifully stored in an airtight container until they mold; trick-or-treating candy is purchased; children are taken trick-or-treating; and, we even do a little display on the porch with a skull, a ghost, and lights.  I do not like Halloween.  This is the one holiday of the year that I really want to sit out.

I don’t understand the fun of carving pumpkins.  I’m not artistic, so perhaps my disdain in this area comes from barely being able to use even a good knife to fashion some triangle eyes and a distorted mouth.  A very distorted mouth.  So, then the gourd sits on your porch for a few days, molds, looks kind of yucky, and eventually collapses in on itself. Not good.

Costumes. I will stick to a review of children’s costumes and steer away from the women’s sexy anything costumes.  Commercial children’s costumes are a racket: money makers for movie makers.  Yes, of course, the more attentive parents fashion wildly fantastic costumes from three hairpins and a skein of multicolored yarn.  I’m not that parent.  Sorry, Mom, I’ve never sewn an Indian prince or wizard costume for even one boy.  I have, however,  pinpointed the root of my costume annoyance:  I grew up in the Midwest.  One October, you might have an elaborately hand-sewn and beautifully sparkly gossamer angel costume (thanks, Mom!) complete with wings and a halo. The temperature plunges.  It snows.  A record snowfall, mind you – not just some flurries.  So, you wear your angel costume under a heavy coat, snow pants, snow boots, and mittens.  No one knows you are an angel.  So, the next year, Mom makes you a heavy felt Indian princess outfit – complete with fringy heavy felt leggings, a warm headdress, and even sleeves long enough to cover your hands to avoid the frostbite which is sure to come.  October rolls around and it is the warmest one on record in a century, so you trudge, sweltering in your felt from house to house, begging melty chocolate.  Costumes were no fun.

Scary things.  No.  Just no.  My middle son watches “American Horror Story” regularly.  He has enjoyed going to haunted houses and the place called “Plantation Blood” almost every year since middle school.  He and friends watch scary movies throughout the year.  This son will watch a scary movie, recount the plot to me, and I will laugh.  The writers of most of these movies obviously drink too much cheap vodka to think coherently, much less write a well-conceived plot. But, ask me to watch one and I will run.  I am spooked by the smallest scary things; and, being the age I am, I see no reason to challenge or change this part of who I am.  I watched a number of the Nightmare on Elm Streets with my sorority sisters.  The nights that followed such viewings were filled with mini-heart attacks as I walked home from the library late at night.  The smallest rustle was transformed, “One, two, Freddie’s coming for you…”  

I know there is a crowd of evangelical folks who feel that Halloween is Satanic and therefore we should protect our children from this pagan holiday.  Whatever.  The vast majority of children in this country love Halloween because they get to dress up and get candy.  The majority of the adults that I know like Halloween because they have kids who like it, or they like dressing up and getting drunk.  I know a lot of people – I’ve lived across the ocean and back, and in several states.  I even lived in the purported witchcraft center of Europe: Latvia.  I have friends of all religions and non-religions, from all ethnic backgrounds.  I have never even met a Satanist.  Are our churches really worried that one night of candy collecting amidst lighted pumpkins will turn our children into Satan-worshippers?  That logic doesn’t hold enough water to bob for apples in.

Perhaps the combination of the costume disappointments of my childhood coupled with my feeling that children dress up and play whenever they want combined with the fact that I always keep a little bit of candy in the house for my kids have all caused me to be blinded to the point of joyfully participating in this holiday.  As an adult, I have no motivation to dress up as anything, and I most certainly don’t need Halloween to encourage me to have a drink.  Perhaps I am a curmudgeon.  But, just because I don’t like Halloween doesn’t mean I begrudge others their festivities. Have fun making your costumes and parading around.   Enjoy the candy-collecting; come by my house – I buy the good stuff; no tootsie rolls here.  And, when you want to get out of the freezing rain or steamy unseasonable eighty degrees, knock on the door.  I’ll have a light supper, a drink, and comfy chair for you.  I’ll sit out, but I’ll save you a seat.

On Single Mothers, Sex, and Making Choices

For four years I taught an introductory course called “Women’s Literature and Issues” at an independent high school in Augusta, Georgia.  The type of school and location is important.  Being independent, this school allows teachers to create courses, get them approved, and then, pending student enrollment of eight or more students, teach the course. Augusta, Georgia is worth noting because this is a conservative state and community.  Not just conservative politics.  To wit, there is a wildly popular program called “Social” here.  Starting in sixth grade, parents enroll their children to learn manners and various ballroom dancing throughout the next five years.  If you are among the elite, you will be selected to be in Cotillion – that is, you will be a student-teacher and then at the spring formal that is held yearly in the convention center, the girl will wear a white bridal type dress and present the best dances with her carefully selected be-tuxed partner.  Probably a partner her mother lined up for her back when she was in third grade; that’s when a mother approached me asking if my eldest would be her daughter’s social partner in middle school.  Because of the educational opportunities afforded by my school and in spite of the socially conservative traditions of the community at-large, I had a strong enrollment in a course that reviewed women in history and literature, as well as discussed the issues of women in the Middle East and across the world.  When I accepted an administrative position, something had to give – it was this class.  Well, evidently, I need to get back at it.  Too many comments and articles have crossed my screen recently about single mothers and feminism for me to stay silent.

Item One:  A New York Times Article: “Single Mothers With Family Values” http://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/27/opinion/sunday/single-mothers-with-family-values.html?_r=0

The thrust of the article is that family values are found primarily in Christian and Republican tradition. Not so.  Any single mother who is caring for herself and her children values her family, regardless of religion and politics.  To be fair the article notes a couple of democrats, a libertarian, and a Hindu.  However, the article centers on women who have embraced Christian and conservative ideals as a path to success.  The article notes, “Ms. Maggio credits God, not government assistance, with helping her climb out of poverty.”  Say what? This woman reportedly went from welfare to a six-figure banking career, and she is unwilling to give a nod to the assistance that helped keep her off the street?  Even more disturbing:  she doesn’t take any credit for her own, presumably, hard work or business acumen in the rise. 

Okay, so one can argue that if a person wants to credit God with their success, she is entitled to do so.  Granted.  However, her refusal to give any credit to assistance or herself can incriminate women who do take credit for pulling themselves up by their bootstraps.  Women who are smart and hard-working are being discredited by women who refuse to take credit for their accomplishments.  The implication is:  tithe, credit God, and it will all be okay.  Oh, let me mention that she is now married – that’s another perk of this self-effacing paradigm. Work hard, use government assistance, take and give no credit to anyone except God, and then you’ll have riches and a husband. 

I’m getting a little queasy.

Item Two:  Another New York Times Article:  “Sex on Campus: She Can Play that Game, Too.”  http://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/14/fashion/sex-on-campus-she-can-play-that-game-too.html

Women are hooking up on campus with no intention of finding Mr. Right or even pursuing a relationship.  Women want to do their own thing and have some uncommitted sex in their free time.  Dandy.  Men have been doing this for millennia.  However, there is a woman, Susan Patton who “wrote a letter to The Daily Princetonian urging female undergraduates not to squander the chance to hunt for a husband on campus, say that de-emphasizing relationships in college works against women.”  To be specific, Mrs. Patton suggests that, “For most of you, the cornerstone of your future and happiness will be inextricably linked to the man you marry, and you will never again have this concentration of men who are worthy of you.” 

Oh, dear.  Well, luckily Princeton is not handing out MRS degrees.  Certainly, many of us meet future partners in our college years.  We might debate whether or not that is a good thing.  However, the suggestion that it is incumbent upon young women to find a husband in college in order to secure the “cornerstone of …happiness” is ridiculous.  Many women do not want to marry.  Of those that do, a great many will divorce.  Furthermore, why is the advice to snag a smart wife not being given to men?  It would seem that the suggestion is that men can be successful on their own while women need a smart husband in order to succeed. Why, oh why, is a successful business woman (who, incidentally did not follow this advice in her youth), foisting such a load on younger women?  People  – regardless of gender - need to be educated and mentored to make informed decisions about marriage and relationships.  And, they need to know that they can be successful without a partner.  Marriage is not required.  Mrs. Patton – sit down.

I definitely feel nauseous.

Item Three:  The stay-at-home mom vs. working mom debate that has been aired nationally on television and in print media.

“What do you do all day?”

“Your children will be drug dealers and prostitutes unless you are home with them.”

“Must be nice to have the whole day to yourself.”

“If you give up your job, you’ll regret it forever.”

“If you stay at your job, you’ll regret it forever.”

The dialogue can go on and on.  The more it goes on, the more vitriolic it becomes.  I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for a grand total of ten months, plus summers when I was a classroom teacher.  The rest of my career, I have been a working mother.  I had my first child in the first five months of my first job. 

Web MD reports, “In a 2005 study, the U.S. Census Bureau reported an estimated 5.6 million stay-at-home moms. That is a 22% increase from 1994.  ‘It used to be more popular and widely accepted for moms to work,’ says Cara Gardenswartz, PhD, a clinical psychologist in independent practice in Beverly Hills, Calif. ‘There's been a backlash, because right now, there's actually more status to not be a working mom.’”  I take issue with Dr. Gardenswartz’s assertion.  I think the prestige of being a stay at home mother is highly dependent upon the area of the country one lives in and the profession in question.  Here in the South, there is a definite wealthier class perception that if the mom works there is something wrong with the family.  This is not something that I encountered when I lived in the suburbs of Chicago. 

One of the original points of the women’s movement was to validate and open up opportunities for women to have careers.  This point continues in the current-day conversation of salary equality and glass ceilings.  But, stay at home moms and working mothers have taken each other on in a battle that vilifies everyone.  Isn’t the point here for women to have choices in a wide variety?  But women have too long tried to prescribe ways of living for other women rather than encouraging each other in our different pursuits.

This idea is illustrated well in this clip from the movie Mona Lisa Smile that I used to show in my women’s lit class.  Joan (in white) has been grappling with wanting to go to Yale Law and wanting to be married.  Her art history instructor, Miss Watson, has spent the semester encouraging the girls in her class to make their own choices (so she believes):

Several important points rise to the top here:

1.       Ladies, if you are a single mother, you deserve a lot of credit.  Take it.  Take a bow.

2.      Men and women, you do not have to get married.  Unlike in the board game Life, it is not a requirement.  Having a partner is an option.

3.       There is a myriad of choices available to everyone – explore them. Take charge of your choices.  Don’t coast through marriage and family decisions on some kind of default setting.

4.      Rather than telling others to marry or not to have sex or to join a church, help others think through how they want to live.

I feel better now.