Here We Grow…again…

I feel like I’ve written about this so many times, but if the issue continues to rear its ugly head, I’ll keep swatting at it. Yesterday, my little peanut told some girls at school had been mean to her. Ughhhhh…can you envision my head erupting and lava pouring down my body onto the kitchen floor? Cause that’s pretty much what happens when my kids tell me someone was mean to them.

Now, these particular transgressions were mild. Passive-aggressive. Nothing outright mean. Also, let’s consider that this tiny kitten is my virtual clone, and one of my biggest shortcomings is reading stuff into what people say and do. It is possible she is overreacting.

Here are the facts: No one was blatantly mean to her, but there was undercover, shady mean stuff. She picks up on that nonsense though, and it’s my job to help her navigate through these issues no matter how big or small because they’re all big to her.

More facts: For the life of me, I do not understand this bullshit any better having dealt with it for more than 40 years than I did when I was her age. My girlfriend said we should write a book about it. Sure, I could write a book about how annoying and stupid and hurtful and damaging it is, but could I offer any insight about how to make it less so? I don’t know.

But today I saw an eagle at the lake, and that encouraged me to be courageous and stretch beyond my limits and pull together some advice people have given me, and I’ve given my girls over the years re: mean girls. Maybe something helpful will emerge.

Facts about Mean Girls
1. They are sneaky and sometimes snarky.
2. They bully people–overtly or covertly.
3. They are often jealous and insecure.
4. They sometimes grow up to be mean women who spawn the next generation of mean girls.
5. They probably just want love and acceptance and have a twisted way of seeking it.

Once you break them down into little pieces, it’s easier to find tactics to deal with them. And it’s fun to break mean people into little pieces. My mother’s advice re: mean girls? Just ignore them. I used to tell my girls the same thing. Just ignore them. I never could though. And last night, after hashing through this stuff with my itty bitty girl, I realized that ignoring isn’t always a valid coping mechanism. We had to come up with something better.

Here’s what we threw together:

1. Be kind. You don’t have to be everyone’s friend, but it feels better to be kind even when someone is mean to you. People who feel loved on the inside don’t treat others unkindly, so when a person treats you badly, it’s probably because she feels bad on the inside.

2. Don’t play with people who are mean. One of your “friends” always insists that you play the game she chooses. That’s okay. Play with someone else. But all your friends are playing with her? Make new friends. You don’t have to fight about it, simply remove yourself from the situation.

3. Speak up. The last thing passive-aggressive meanies want is for their behavior to be called out. “It’s not kind to whisper about people.” “I don’t want to play with you because you are bossy to me and our other friends.” “It’s mean when you threaten not to be my friend or to tell on me just because I don’t want to play this game.” This works for all ages with minor modifications. Try it. It’s empowering. And it’s almost as fun as breaking mean people into little pieces 🙂

4. My favorite advice is from my Queen Mother Maya: When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time. I’m not saying that people can’t change, but when someone is mean to you, pay attention. When you see a “friend” being mean to someone else, remember, tomorrow that someone could be you. Notice the person who gossips about everyone. What does she say about you when you aren’t around? Watch how people treat waitresses, fast food employees, bank tellers…people they believe to be…inferior. Trust me. It tells you a lot about a person. How do people act when they think no one’s looking? I can tell you with absolute certainty: The same people who were mean to me 20, 30, 40 years ago are still mean to me today. Even the ones who smile and hug me.

5. Finally, give people grace. Mean girls included. You don’t have to hang out with them, be their friend or even speak to them. But we don’t know what’s going on in someone’s life that makes them act the way they do. We don’t have to try to understand or figure them out. We don’t have to read into their actions. We can give them grace…freely…and maybe from a safe distance.

At this point, I’ve cut all the mean girls and people and even a few cats–cause some of them are just assholes–out of my life. I’m no longer trying to make people like me. I’m not interested in being the homecoming queen. And I have zero energy to give people who don’t bring joy to me and to our family.

Fortunately I am extravagantly blessed and grateful to be surrounded by smart, kind, compassionate people who love me for who I am while challenging me to learn and grow. And I’m trying my damnedest to be kind, compassionate, loving and forgiving while raising 3–or 2, is Chloe raised? gulp–people who will be the good…the change I want to see in the world.

And you know what? It’s working. My big girl excelled through three years at a women’s college. She met amazing people who encouraged and inspired, believed in, challenged, taught and learned with her. She didn’t have hardly any mean girl nonsense. It’s a slow process, but it’s working.

Full Speed Ahead

I just wanted to take a minute to thank you, my friends, for reading, commenting and sharing your reactions to what I write. I’m really vulnerable and transparent in this little space, and you always make me feel less alone in my struggles. That’s such a good feeling. Your kindness is an amazing blessing; thank you.

Since last week, I’ve been paying closer attention to my interactions with people and the vibe I give off. Men and women. Brad told me recently, “Sometimes you change the rules, and you don’t always let people know.” That is a very true statement. God bless my man who can lovingly point things out in me that I am unable to see. It took him about 23 years to master this without making me feel defensive (or for me to realize that he was actually being loving and not critical or condescending.)

Anyway, back to changing the rules. I do. All the time. Quick example: I decide that I no longer want to go to the gym because there’s a creepy guy there who stalks me–I’m kidding, a little–but I don’t tell my gym friend. I just start saying no. All the time. She thinks I’m mad at her, which is completely untrue, but I didn’t communicate the rule change.

Another example: I nearly always decline “going out” invitations. But when a bunch of my friends go out and post awesome pictures on Facebook, I would sometimes feel hurt. In the past, I said no, so if I decide now that I’d like to be included, I need to advise my friends of the rule change, instead of whining about being left out.

Evidently feeling left out is a huge trigger for me because on a few occasions, my extended family have done things and not invited me, and I have felt extremely hurt. Granted, I’m a hermit who declines about 97% of invitations, so very few people would ever consider that my feelings would be hurt by not being invited somewhere. Additionally, I am positive that none of my family would intentionally exclude me to be hurtful. Still…trigger.

Once a friend told me when she hears people talking about doing something fun if she wants to do it, she simply invites herself. She’s absolutely delightful, so of course everyone would want her to come along, but that was kind of a revelation for me. Oh, hey, just say you want to go. Huh.

Sometimes I get so upset over slights that have mostly occurred in my head that I cut people completely off from my heart so that they are incapable of hurting me again. They generally have no idea why or what they’ve done. I’m working on the whole “setting healthy boundaries” thing. It’s going swimmingly.

Despite the aforementioned neuroses, I am really, really close to a few people. These people know all my secrets. I’m actually very proud of that because up until a year or so ago, I desperately kept those secrets to myself, fearing that the baggage I carried around would alienate even the most loyal person.

But outside of my inner circle, and some wonderful friends whom I adore but try not to drag into my cyclone of crazy, I am better at one-sided relationships. I used to joke that I had enough friends and wasn’t auditioning new ones, but it wasn’t really a joke. I like to listen to people’s stories without having to share anything about myself. This usually works fine since lots of people would rather talk than listen. But I’ve also pushed people away because after sharing personal things with them, I felt they couldn’t be trusted with the information. I often advise girlfriends: People who gossip to you will gossip about you. But, it’s always difficult to listen to your own advice.

And as I continue to learn: I can’t change anyone else’s behavior, but I can control my behavior as well as my reactions and perceptions. I have had to rethink (or overthink) how I present myself to people. It’s natural to feel close to someone whom you feel gets you, and I get lots of people. I think God gave me that gift in order to show people kindness and compassion. However, there are people who will misuse and take advantage of gifts.

I really need to exercise discernment more consistently. For me, discernment usually comes in two ways. One: A sick feeling in my stomach that says, “This person is not genuine and does not want you to achieve your highest good.” Two: My husband saying, “Babe, you might wanna put the brakes on a little bit with this one.”

So it continues, revisiting the Boundaries book that has been collecting dust on my shelf, learning how to be kind and compassionate without becoming enmeshed, and finally back to The Four Agreements, which today sound like this in my head:

• Be impeccable with your word–don’t say mean things about people. Ever.
• Don’t take anything personally–no one thought you would even want to be invited.
• Don’t make assumptions–you have to tell people when you change the rules. No one else lives in your head, lucky for them.
• Always do your best–don’t beat yourself up; just keep trying harder.

NEWSFLASH: I’m not Skinny, Fast, or Crafty

Recently, I’ve gotten to spend time with some of my favorite people that I don’t see regularly. Women who inspire me, teach me, understand me and accept me. Women who are confident, independent, comfortable in their own skin and encouraging of others. Women who are amazing mothers, writers, researchers, advocates, friends and sisters. I love them all and am so grateful for their presence in my life.

A few weeks ago, I read The Prayer of Jabez by Bruce Wilkinson. It was a short, very interesting read that detailed the story of Jabez in Chronicles, his powerful prayer, and how to live a fully blessed life ourselves. So, I started praying the prayer of Jabez every day for myself and my family, for our church and our pastors, and for everyone who asks for prayer.

Right now, I’m gonna pray it for my dog as she is emitting an odor that suggests she may have consumed a cadaver. I sometimes pray for my animals. Some people think that is crazy, and maybe it is. I don’t think God censors the things you can talk about with Him though. “It’s Friday, and I, the Almighty ruler of the universe, am not taking prayer requests for stinky dogs.” When I say that I imagine that God sounds like the Wizard of Oz, you know, behind the curtain before we know that the Wizard’s just the door guy. That’s how the God from my Catholic childhood sounded. And sorry, if you haven’t seen The Wizard of Oz, I just kinda ruined that for you.

Phew. Sorry, imagine that, I strayed off topic.

Refocus. My beautiful friends help me realize that it’s okay to be okay with where you are and who you are. I don’t mean settling for mediocrity, but for instance, I think I’ve mentioned a time or two that I don’t like to run. Yet, in preparing to turn 40, I set a goal to run a race with my family. Chloe loves to run, and Brad runs but doesn’t really love it. In a recent conversation with my pastor’s mom (who is my age; my pastor is 18–kidding), she said that her workout consists of meeting a friend at the gym and casually using the elliptical and talking. “Sometimes we don’t even sweat,” she said. Wow. I don’t like to sweat. I don’t like to run. I will make a sign and cheer for Brad and Chloe and my brother, and I will drink coffee and snuggle with my little kiddos because I like to do that. And I’m good at it. Yes, I’m good at drinking coffee and snuggling. I’m not trying to be a runner anymore.

So, I’m gonna give myself permission to be better at the things I’m good at and to let go of the things (most Pinterest crafts) that I generally suck at. Fortunately, my dear little friend from church is super creative and talented. She makes beautiful crafts, and for a nominal fee, she’ll make something fabulous for me, and I remain free from glue gun burns.

I’m also giving myself permission not to weigh 110 pounds. Ya heard. My friend, Jen, is very thin, has two kids, eats like a 300 pound man, and has an underactive thyroid (yes, I know the difference, and no life is not fair.) She runs too. Not on a regular basis, but like, “Oh, I think I’ll run a half marathon,” every once in a while. And she does. The more I type the less I like her. (Kidding, again. I brought my A-game, Rivera) But, I am not made like that. I like to eat, but my body flaunts my love for food. That is O.K.

Initially praying the prayer, I believed that I was going to be stretched in all sorts of ways: running, crafting, writing, gardening, building, redecorating. But what I found instead is that God narrowed my focus. He gave me more people to talk with, listen to, and learn from. He gave me more people to encourage, pray for, and, gulp, forgive. He reminded me to focus on my gifts not someone else’s.

One more thing. For years, we have prayed for Peyton to grow. He went to high school this year and told me, “Mom, I’m the smallest kid in the school.” That hurt my heart. Over the years, we’ve prayed, bought nutrition shakes, set eating schedules, taken vitamins, and then, as I prayed the prayer for him over and over, God impressed this on my heart: “I made Him exactly how he is supposed to be.” When I shared that with him, I was rewarded with a full mouth dimpled smile, and we changed our prayers–not that he would grow but that he would be comfortable in his skin and that God would accomplish great things through him, exactly the way he is.

Please don’t mistake this is my attempt to start a slacker movement where we all give up trying to better ourselves. I’m just trying to be a better me and encouraging you to be a better you. But I’m not trying to be you. And please don’t try to be me, even though my mad snuggling skills are enviable. Be you. God Bless.

Dear Lord, My Baby Boy is a Teenager.

This weekend, my son turned 13. That was bizarro. It means he’s only 3 years younger than Brad was when we started dating. It means that soon girls will think of him the way I thought (and still think) about his dad. That makes me throw up in my mouth.

He’s just a little boy; right? He still crawls in my lap and snuggles with me. He still wants to hang out with us and doesn’t think it’s queer to go on a date with his mom. He’s not embarrassed by the notes I put in his lunch. A couple years ago he told me someone made fun of my note in his lunch, and I said, “Well, I’m sorry his mom doesn’t love him as much as I love you.” But I asked him if he was embarrassed, and I told him it would not hurt my feelings if he didn’t want me to put notes in his lunch. He said, “No, Mom. I like your notes.”

But very soon, he’s not gonna be a little boy anymore. He goes to high school next year. Surely, I can’t put notes in his lunch then. And I wonder if we will still be able to gush over him. He is the only boy in a family of strong female personalities. We love loud and expressively. We hug and kiss and gush.

My husband gets really uncomfortable and embarrassed when the womenfolk in his family gush over him. It generally only happens at events that serve alcohol; nevertheless, it happens. See, we were both pretty invisible in our families, so now when they “see” us, it’s awkward. For a long time, we only saw each other. For a long time, that was comfortable. It’s still comfortable when it’s just us. We see each other, and we are happy in that world.

Once, we lost a group of friends that meant a great deal to me. I cried, and Brad said, “We were fine before, and we will be fine again. All we need are the people in this house.” Our circle has grown to include others, but he’s right: If we just had God and each other, we’d still be just fine.

But someday, my boy is not gonna live in this house. Someday, my boy is not gonna need me. Someday, is his wife going to have to remind him to call me? Is she going to suggest that he should send me a card? Is she going to dislike me? Will she think I’m crazy and possessive? Will she think that his sisters and I are too overbearing and keep him away from us? Will he decide that he just needs the people in his house?

I don’t let myself go down that road too often, but I actually pray a lot about my son’s future wife. I pray that she will love and cherish his tender heart. I pray that she won’t run over him or take advantage of his gentle nature. I pray that she will appreciate and encourage him. I pray that she will want to be part of our family. I actually have a lovely young lady picked out for him at church, but I guess that might be overbearing. Course, if that happened to be God’s will, I would surely rejoice. This is the time where I imagine God shaking his head at me. Lovingly, of course.

In the meantime, I will keep praying and doing my best to cultivate a relationship that will stand the tests the teen years bring. And I will still snuggle my son every opportunity I get. I will ALWAYS cheer the loudest at his games and try to restrain myself from hurting anyone who hurts him. I prayed so much for him during the years I tried to get pregnant, and I didn’t stop when I had him. My prayers just changed from please to thank you.

Circles

Two days ago, my itty bitty girl came home from school and said, “Mommy, would it hurt your feelings if someone said that one person was their ‘best’ friend and you were just their regular friend?” Having experienced more than my share of my own and my oldest daughter’s mean girl interactions over the years, I confirmed that it would hurt my feelings. Especially at 6. We talked about it a lot and decided it wasn’t kind, and we would try not to single people out in some sort of importance hierarchy.

And while soothing my tiny girl’s heart, I realized that I talk about my “best” friend all the time. It never crossed my mind that it would hurt anyone’s feelings. Especially since one of my “best” friends never sullies her beautiful mind with computers and social media and such. However, when I used the term in a blog, one of my closest friends was unsure if I meant her or someone else.

Like many women, I’ve gone through plenty of friendship evolutions. I have known lots of reason and season people. I have walked away from friendships, had people walk away from me, and had God call people before I was ready to let them go. At this point, I am much better able to see why people are in my life or why I am in theirs.

I have not always had very many real friends, which is why I clung so tightly to my “best” friends. In the past few years, God has blessed me and opened my eyes to see the amazing group of women surrounding me. Women who teach me so much. Women who listen, support, hug, pray for and pray with me. Women who reach out to offer a kind word or just to remind you that you’re not alone in your journey.

To my girlfriends, whether we interact on Facebook, Twitter, at church, work, or a baseball game, I cherish you. Whether I have known you since we were little girls or I just met you, you are important to me, and I’m blessed God allowed our paths to cross. Whether we share DNA, a common relative, or simply an affinity for cats, we are connected, and I’m grateful to share this journey with you.

Reasons, seasons, and lifetimes

I’ve heard the phrase people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime, but I had never read the whole beautiful poem. For the past several years, I have paid close attention and watched in amazement as this phenomenon has happened over and over in my life. I have made some great new friends, rekindled some old friendships, revitalized existing friendships, and sometimes regrettfully and often relievedly said goodbye to some relationships.

I wept with joy as I hugged my very best friend from childhood when we reconnected in 2010 after losing touch for 8 years. I can think of few scarier days in my life than my first day at public school after seven years of homeschooling. It’s hard enough to be thirteen without that lapse in socialization that left me feeling out of place, out of touch, and out of style. But there was Lori. My soul mate. She’s my only friend who knew my brother Chris. In fact, she’s the only person in my life besides my mom and siblings who knew him. She has the distinction of having been my dad’s favorite among my friends. She’s real and true and knows everything about me good and bad and chooses to love me and be my friend. My BFF. She’s here for a lifetime.

My friendship with her, though, made me analyze a lot of other relationships to consider whether they were for a reason, season or a lifetime. My friend, Vickie, needed no analysis. She’s here for life. Biggest heart in the whole world. Kindest, sweetest, most thoughtful, loving person. She was my gift during a very dark time in my life, and thankfully, I get to keep her even though now God’s light illuminates my path.

There are more, blessings all of them, my girls. Friends through my husband’s friends, who became my card partners and then my life partners. Those who entered my heart through my kids but quickly took up residence there. The fellow baseball, football, and cheer moms, who became confidantes. Old high school, with whom I’ve been blessed–often through facebook–to reconnect. Some that I wasn’t close to in high school, I now find we have so much in common, and I am grateful for the opportunity to know them again. To meet for coffee and swap stories, book recommendations, family dramas, and chat away two hours as if it was a minute.

There are the reason friends, who turned into more. Several months ago, upon making a new friend, I hesitantly pondered her place in my life. Then my dad died, and I didn’t need to ponder any further why God had sent me a psych nurse.

Then there was the so-called friend, who talked behind my back at every opportunity. I tried to make a go of it, but realized it was futile. The reason she was in my life? Maybe to show me I didn’t need people like her in my life. There was the acquaintance, who was friends with all of my friends but never liked me. She told lies about me, tried to make others dislike me and ultimately made me search my soul and question everything about myself. Several years later, I realized none of that had been about me but about her own bitterness that she was projecting onto me. Since finding that out, I’ve become much more comfortable with the fact that not everyone likes me. I am still a good person, and I don’t have to convince my detractors of that.

So as I think about my reason, season, and lifetime friends, my heart swells. My soul is nourished by each of you, whether I picked you out and mentioned you, or I simply have written your name on my heart. Thank you for being my friend.