Is That a Cat In There?

In the past few months, I’ve become obsessed with podcasts, and one of my current favorites is Gretchen Rubin’s Happier. I love her books, and the podcast is chock full of her simple, commonsense, non-woo-woo-even-though-I-really-like-woo-woo-too suggestions to live happier. Make your bed, for instance, embrace good smells, do simple tasks right now instead of putting them off. Lots of quick easy ways to add a little more happiness to your day.

Yesterday, her suggestion might have changed my life. She said, “Give yourself permission to stop reading books you don’t enjoy.” I was currently slogging through a book that I really didn’t like. But I have a hard time quitting a book. A really hard time. When I finally gave  up on Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, I had a psychic crisis. How can I hate this book and still consider myself a writer? What is wrong with me that this amazing author doesn’t inspire me? Well … nothing. You don’t click with everyone, and Joan Didion and I didn’t click.

So I stopped pushing myself to embrace something I wasn’t really into and allowed myself to enjoy something that made my heart sing. And that felt amazing.

And that is what this year is about for me. I didn’t make any resolutions because, it’s so much darn pressure and then I get overwhelmed and crawl into my shell with chips and chocolate and darkness surrounds me and … it’s ugly. However, I did set some goals, and one of them was to give more energy to people and activities that bring me joy.

Fortunately, the universe responded by bringing some fabulous, inspiring, loving, wonderful NEW people into my life. Since I was already surrounded by fabulous, inspiring, loving and wonderful people, this seemed like a crazy bonus.

But I have to remind myself to shift my energy all the time … especially lately in terms of my kids growing up. For so long we’re celebrating firsts that before you know it you are clinging to one last after another. Those lasts can be gut-wrenching if you dwell on them.

My kids are never gonna be babies again. Chloe will never twist my hair around her finger and Peyton won’t ask me to take my earrings out so he can rub my ear to fall asleep. Lily still snuggles, but there are no more naps on my shoulder.

Focusing too much energy on those things makes me put the cat in a sling and bounce him around while hot tears splash on his head. Disclaimer: I do carry the cat around in an infinity scarf, but he’s old, and well, I’m not going to try to justify that. I own my eccentricity.

You get it though. It’s sad to think about all that has gone by in a heartbeat. I had to answer a questionnaire about Peyton’s college choices, and even as a tall, lanky teenager stood in front of me, I saw a chubby, curly-haired, dimpled baby snuggled in my lap.

So, I can cry all over the cat or I can shift my focus from what was to what is. And, if I really need to cheer up, what will be. Yes, he was a precious baby, and today he’s a cool, funny kid, and tomorrow who knows.

Lately Brad is gone a lot for work. Sometimes it feels overwhelming. Sometimes I cry myself to sleep on Sunday night because I don’t want our weekend to be over. But instead of dwelling on that, I try to focus on the time he is here and make our weekends mini-vacations when we only do fun things and spend quality time together.

So, I’m looking for more suggestions. I wonder: How do you shift your perspective? What simple things do you do to add a little happy to your day? Do you force yourself to finish books you are hating? And are any of you doing the Daniel Fast this year? I gave myself permission not to, and it’s pretty fabulous I must say.

Oh, and what are your favorite podcasts? I LOVE: This American Life, Magic Lessons, Serial, Dear Sugar, Strangers, Happier, Detective…

I’m Right Here

One and a half weeks ago, on a Friday afternoon that was of little consequence to many other people, my firstborn graduated from college.

We were so excited. Like the people you see celebrating the very first person in their family to graduate from college. So stupid excited. She made it. Consequently, we made it. We got pregnant, young, unmarried, naïve, and we beat a boatload of odds. To the naysayers who bet against us, we raised a girl who grew up to be a fucking bad ass. She did it. We did it.

Yeah, we’ve still got two more in process, but let me just bask in this moment…for a moment.

As the processional of graduates entered the gym, I slipped down onto the floor to take a picture of my baby girl. She walked in, and I watched her face light up as she saw her dad, her boyfriend, her siblings, and then I watched her face go blank as her mouth formed the words, “Where’s my mom?” I was literally 2 feet away from her, but she didn’t see me because she was looking up. I said, “I’m right here, Beebs!” She beamed. I took her picture, and she said, “Go! Go!” I wasn’t supposed to be on the floor.

It was another of those moments. Those physical representations of an emotional lesson I need to learn. It was my friend with her arms full of everyone else’s shit. It was my daughter not seeing what was right in front of her because she was looking up.

I spend a lot of my life looking up, overthinking, improving, seeking, reaching and a lot of times missing the beauty of what is right in front of me. I’ve spent too much time not realizing that everything I have ever wanted and more is right here.

For as long as we’ve been a family, I’ve tried to make lots of fun traditions that will turn into happy memories for my kids. While I have some treasured memories from my childhood, too many are unpleasant. One of our traditions, picking out a Christmas tree, has gotten to be rather hectic since Chloe moved out. This year, in fact, it resulted in dragging the children out of bed and into the rain, and some tears–mine–and it crossed my mind that the memory they would probably recall in adulthood was, “Remember how Mom used to freak out and drag us to get the damn Christmas tree every year?”

And I realized that the traditions were as much for me as they were for the kids. I needed to make happy memories to replace the unhappy ones. But I don’t need to force it, I just need to live. Our life is happy. Our kids are happy. It’s not perfect. It might appear to be perfect on Facebook, but for every picture where we are all smiling, there are 5 where Lily is scowling or my eyes are closed or Peyton is making a funny face. And many of the ones where we are all smiling is a result of my screaming, “CAN WE JUST TAKE ONE NICE PICTURE?”

Still…when I was a little girl dreaming of how my life would be when I grew up? I could never have conjured up a life that even compared to the glorious craziness that is our Bellville. So on today’s leg of the journey, I am reminding myself to look not up but at the blessed, silly, wonky-eyed imperfection that is right in front of me.

Can You Hold This for Me?

It’s a big week for us. Chloe’s graduating. She’s going to a grown up interview for a grown up job. I’ve spent a lot of time crying. Not sad crying. Not emptying nest crying. Just feeling all the feelings crying. Pride and hope and where the hell did the time go…all at the same time. I’m crying right now just writing about crying.

The past few months, I’ve had shoulder pain. Can’t raise my arm, can’t do much yoga, can’t spot Lily on back handsprings kind of shoulder pain. I went to the chiropractor, and he got my back and neck in better shape than they’ve been in for the last 10 years. I highly recommend chiropractors, by the way. No pills, no shots, no scalpels, just good old fashioned adjustments.

Unfortunately, it didn’t help my shoulder. At all.

So, I’ve spent weeks researching, stretching, icing, heating, taking more ibuprofen than I’m comfortable with, but nothing seemed to help that much.

Stretching helps some.

Meditation helps more.

But then…

Yesterday, Lily and I went to the Christmas Spectacular at Lakepark Farm with some friends. It’s wonderful and magical, and the kids and adults alike had a great time. As we neared the end of the evening, when the kids were all tired and sugared up and slap happy, I noticed my one girlfriend sitting on a bench holding her purse, children’s coats, toys they made in Santa’s workshop, two cups of hot chocolate and a bag of giant turtles–the chocolate variety–as she stared blankly ahead.

Seeing my friend bogged down with so much stuff sent a bolt of clarity directly to my heart.

I’m carrying too much stuff. Some is mine, but too much of it belongs to other people. I’ve been unwittingly carrying around bad days, hurt feelings, secrets, confessions, judgments, expectations, insecurities and so much more.

No wonder my shoulder hurts, I’m like a freaking pack mule.

Reaching my own full hands toward her, I joked, “Can you hold this for me?”

She laughed. We laughed.

But…It’s too much.

It makes my joints ache.

When the kids were little and wanted to bring a special item along somewhere we would always tell them, “You can bring it, but you have to carry it.” We’re not carrying it for you.

So, day by day, item by item, I am giving stuff back. I can’t carry this for you. Here you go. This belongs to you. This is yours. I can’t carry this for you.

You can bring it, but you have to carry it.

Whew.