it's me, Lisa. I'm hoping you'll be a little kinder in some areas than 2011 was and perhaps break even with 2011 in other places. I'm not going to judge you based on what came before (I have a habit of that, ask any ex-boyfriend), but I am likely to bring some of the baggage from 2011 with me and I'm likely to compare you to the the previous 12 months, good and bad. In other words, welcome to my hell 2012.
If you've been with me for that last couple of years you know I usually have a list of resolutions. There's always at least one that applies to my rear end, typical resolution stuff. This year I decided that maybe I should try something different. So with a little help from my friends, here's what we think is a more practical list, because if you know me, you know my ass isn't likely to change much in the next 365 days. My dear friend Kelley has decided not to resolve anything, because if she wants to change something she will and if she doesn't she won't. Someday I hope I'm as much of a grown up as she is.
That's it, you realize, 365 days. It's not really much to reform oneself from habits you've had for a lifetime. 365 days to make you into a better(?) self. Wow. That's a lot of pressure. Here goes...
I resolve to make an honest effort to not worry about things I can't control. Now control is one of my very favorite things in the world, so when something is beyond it, I kind of freak. It's not healthy and it serves no purpose, so perhaps the real resolution here is to not do things that serve only negative or no purpose. I also resolve that if I'm angry about something, I'm not going to apologize for that anger. Nor am I going to immediately accept an apology. People piss you off, let you down, and sometimes abandon you when you need them. If that happens, no when that happens I have a right to get a bit upset, don't you think?
Stick with me here. I'm not sure if it's a girl thing or just a me thing, but when I'm pissed and I express that anger, I immediately feel the need to say I'm sorry for it. As if I don't have valid angry feelings. I think that sort of goes with my immediately accepting an apology, even if I'm still hurt or angry. I think we were all taught as children to say "that's ok" when someone said they were sorry. Even if we didn't mean it. I still do that. If someone has hurt or angered me, I just accept the "sorry" as soon as it's said and then spend the next few times in the shower having the conversation I WISH I'd had. The one where I tell the person how I really felt about what happened. The same with when I get mad. Now, I have a very long fuse. Ask anyone. I don't get truly pissed over nothing. But light me up and I'll go. However, as soon as I see my anger is upsetting someone else, I say I'm sorry for getting furious, as if I shouldn't have reacted in the first place. What the fut? If someone pisses me off, unless I'm being unreasonable, don't I have a right to let that be known to someone besides my shower head? People aren't mind readers, and if I'm sending mixed signals I'm being unfair to them. They can't know I'm hurt or angry unless I say I am. They also can't know I'm NOT over it when what I'm putting out there is that I am. This is all on me, folks. I need to stop being fake about my feelings. Crap.
Along the line of pushing down their true feelings and servicing things that have no purpose beyond creating emotional upheaval, my friends Holly, Colleen, and Sarah want to not feel guilty about all the stuff they do or don't do involving their families. Sarah jokingly says she wants to drink more, which really means she wants to realize that doing things for her, things away from her kiddos isn't neglect it's necessary. Holly feels guilt about working and being busy dealing with influences outside her immediate family who take her attention away from her priorities, which are her husband and boys. Holly's guilt is really just her beating herself up that she can't be all things to all people. She's going to resolve to speak up and tell folks, no matter who they are, to back the hell off so she can decide what her life looks like. Colleen is a mommy and a damn good one. She's going to be a mommy again very soon. But she's still Colleen and still wants to be Colleen, so she's working on her mommy guilt too. She can be and do whatever she wants, because one of her core values is being an exceptional parent. She's going to trust herself that the decisions she makes regarding her family are right, because she's the last person who would do things that negatively impact them. Right girls? Jill is in the same boat, I think. More focus on her immediate family and less on things that are outside her reach to fix or help with. She's realized that sometimes focusing on the beyond means missing the beautiful right in front of her. Well done my friend.
Kate was going to resolve to stop behaving so much like a middle child. A constant peacemaker, the world's therapist. But then she decided that the world needs middle children. See, she's doing what makes her feel good, what she can live with. I'm hoping that Kate will resolve to bake more stuff and give it to her friends whose names rhyme with Pisa. Rebekah wants to just do things that make her feel happy, quit smoking (do it!), read more for pleasure, and exact some revenge. I like all of those.
Kelly wants to curse less and make more wise decisions than not. I for one could do less cursing (try explaining to your 6 year old niece why your blog HAS to have the word "hell" in it) and the wise decision making is a noble aspiration for everyone. I think that perhaps falls into the "do less harm to yourself". And actually all these perfectly lovely, amazing women could use that as the overall theme of their resolutions. Worrying, feeling guilt, stressing about things you can't control is all doing harm to you. So just stop that. I'm going to guess that could be a lot of you folks' resolution.
My fabulous friend Dora wants to "put herself out there more". She's funny and kind and generous and has the prettiest smile. I don't know if she realizes she's really something to see. She deserves happy and fun and amazing. She deserves to be loved. The guy who really gets that is one lucky fella.
Do less harm to me. That covers exercise and diet and drinking and swearing and sleeping around. Worry and fear. Those are likely our two biggest enemies in life. Neither helps. We use them as excuses and crutches and sometimes they make us feel safe... I'm too scared to do that so I'll just stay in this safe little spot. Fear maybe keeps Dora from "putting herself out there". I know it does me. What if I get hurt? I guess maybe this year I'll decide "so f**king what?!". I've done hurt in 2011, a couple of times, and oddly I'm still breathing. Worry keeps my mommy friends from pushing back sometimes at those who take time away from what they really need and want from their lives. And damn it, you moms (and dads for that matter) deserve some time to yourselves. Based on what my friends all say (yet don't do for themselves, ahem!) taking time for you makes you a better spouse and parent. Maybe just try and see how it works. You can always start over next year if it doesn't.
We've also resolved to say "no" when that's what we mean. No excuses, no fibbing, just "no, I don't want to do that." And we're going to make that NO stick. We said it; we freaking mean it. We're going to ask people, politely, to step back if they are in our personal space at checkouts or in lines or while we're having a conversation. WTH is up with close talkers actually moving a step closer every time you try to step away? We're going to tell people we like having that hair or lint on us, it's part of the ensemble actually, when someone starts picking stuff off of us like we're chimps. We're going to have more sex that still makes our spines tingle the next day. Or maybe that's just my resolution.
So as a recap, less worry, fear, stress, guilt, cursing, fretting, bad life choices. More doing things we want, saying no (except to good sex), time spent as we choose regardless of what others think, expressing what we feel instead of trying to be nice. More sticking up for ourselves, less wondering after the "what ifs". Less time thinking about what other people are thinking about us. As Hemingway said, "It does not matter what other people think of you because what other people think is none of your business." And what the fresh hell, less ass.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Strange isn't it...
Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he? -- Clarence, Guardian Angel Second Class to George Bailey. Wings or not, that guy knew what the hell he was talking about.
Last night, as is my usual Christmas Eve tradition, I watched "It's a Wonderful Life". I almost know it by heart. I love it every single time and I cry every single time. I know how it ends, yet I still can't help but hope Mary breaks a window with that rock, I still get so annoyed with Uncle Billy losing that $8000 and I still think George Bailey is the richest man in Bedford Falls. I love so many things about that story and, although I'm past the point of seeing anything new (40 years of watching it people!), I still get excited when George kisses Mary for the first time (albeit awkward kissing) and cry when George is praying for a miracle while sitting at Martini's Bar, and laugh when Annie the maid chips in to save George and says, "I've been saving this money for a divorce if ever I get a husband."
But while I was watching it last night I thought that just maybe I had missed something. People could perhaps think that George is settling for his life. He's decided that simply being alive, even if he's not living the life he always wanted, is good enough. Maybe he decides on that bridge not that he had a wonderful life, but that what he has is "better than nothing". I think to some, that just wouldn't be enough. And I wonder if I'm more like George than I've realized. Good enough, better than nothing, I'll take that please. Because what if those things are really amazing but I'm too busy looking for more to realize it.
Selfishly, I wish Clarence would show up and show me what kind of gift my life looks like. I know that sounds pathetic at best, but think of it this way... what if you had proof that what you're doing and where you've been all has some greater purpose. Like seeing the end point on a map so you know the middle is worth it. If you could know if your life really would leave an awful hole, would you want to?
I think on that bridge George realized that maybe he didn't really know what he wanted. He held on to what he imagined would be for so long that he didn't notice that what he wanted had changed. He thought he wanted to build big things and have adventures. He was so fixated on that stuff being outside his little hometown he didn't realize that he was building big things... homes for families and a home and life for his family... or that he was having adventures... raising four kids during the depression had to be some kind of adventure, nevermind working with a crazy man who loses $8000.
It occurs to me while I'm getting ready to take down my tree and think about celebrating the new year that we all, every single day, get to decide our lives. Sometimes what we decide feels forced upon us, like we can't change it, at least right now. And sometimes we wake up and decide enough is enough and we need to get on the path that will lead to something happy instead of just good enough. Then there are the times that we realize that you just have to hold on to "better than nothing" for a while longer to get to the wonderful life stuff.
The amazing thing about a new year is how it truly feels new. If you had a bad 2011, you can shake that dust off and leave that bad behind if you choose. If something amazing happened to you in 2011, you know you'll have so much to look forward to in the new year. Either way, you get a restart. I'm not naive enough to think that I won't carry some of the dents and bruises from 2011 with me into 2012. Life isn't a Frank Capra movie after all, but I also know that I feel myself slowly but surely pushing forward and deciding that "better than nothing" is good enough for now.
I hope your Christmas was merry. If it wasn't, I hope you can't even remember it by this time next year. One thing is for certain, even if 2012 has some hell, it'll at least be fresh.
Last night, as is my usual Christmas Eve tradition, I watched "It's a Wonderful Life". I almost know it by heart. I love it every single time and I cry every single time. I know how it ends, yet I still can't help but hope Mary breaks a window with that rock, I still get so annoyed with Uncle Billy losing that $8000 and I still think George Bailey is the richest man in Bedford Falls. I love so many things about that story and, although I'm past the point of seeing anything new (40 years of watching it people!), I still get excited when George kisses Mary for the first time (albeit awkward kissing) and cry when George is praying for a miracle while sitting at Martini's Bar, and laugh when Annie the maid chips in to save George and says, "I've been saving this money for a divorce if ever I get a husband."
But while I was watching it last night I thought that just maybe I had missed something. People could perhaps think that George is settling for his life. He's decided that simply being alive, even if he's not living the life he always wanted, is good enough. Maybe he decides on that bridge not that he had a wonderful life, but that what he has is "better than nothing". I think to some, that just wouldn't be enough. And I wonder if I'm more like George than I've realized. Good enough, better than nothing, I'll take that please. Because what if those things are really amazing but I'm too busy looking for more to realize it.
Selfishly, I wish Clarence would show up and show me what kind of gift my life looks like. I know that sounds pathetic at best, but think of it this way... what if you had proof that what you're doing and where you've been all has some greater purpose. Like seeing the end point on a map so you know the middle is worth it. If you could know if your life really would leave an awful hole, would you want to?
I think on that bridge George realized that maybe he didn't really know what he wanted. He held on to what he imagined would be for so long that he didn't notice that what he wanted had changed. He thought he wanted to build big things and have adventures. He was so fixated on that stuff being outside his little hometown he didn't realize that he was building big things... homes for families and a home and life for his family... or that he was having adventures... raising four kids during the depression had to be some kind of adventure, nevermind working with a crazy man who loses $8000.
It occurs to me while I'm getting ready to take down my tree and think about celebrating the new year that we all, every single day, get to decide our lives. Sometimes what we decide feels forced upon us, like we can't change it, at least right now. And sometimes we wake up and decide enough is enough and we need to get on the path that will lead to something happy instead of just good enough. Then there are the times that we realize that you just have to hold on to "better than nothing" for a while longer to get to the wonderful life stuff.
The amazing thing about a new year is how it truly feels new. If you had a bad 2011, you can shake that dust off and leave that bad behind if you choose. If something amazing happened to you in 2011, you know you'll have so much to look forward to in the new year. Either way, you get a restart. I'm not naive enough to think that I won't carry some of the dents and bruises from 2011 with me into 2012. Life isn't a Frank Capra movie after all, but I also know that I feel myself slowly but surely pushing forward and deciding that "better than nothing" is good enough for now.
I hope your Christmas was merry. If it wasn't, I hope you can't even remember it by this time next year. One thing is for certain, even if 2012 has some hell, it'll at least be fresh.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
It's almost here...
the night when hope and belief mix with magic and make our hearts a bit bigger. Can you feel Christmas in the air? Just stop for a minute and wait for it. It's there, I promise. It's just behind the rolls of wrapping paper, the rush to finish your holiday cards, the waiting for that last gift to be delivered so you can put it under the tree. Christmas is there in those still moments, but you have to stop moving long enough to feel it.
I see it with Sydnee, who is trying very hard to be on her best behavior for this last chance week. I see it when she sits and stares at the tree and asks how Santa gets into her house since they don't have a fireplace. (The Elf on the Shelf unlocks the door, silly!) I see it in kids who aren't quite sure if they still believe and just need an adult to remind them of the magic of last year.
And, believe it or not, I see it in the grown-ups. The thought of warm Christmas pajamas and star shaped cookies with a glass of milk. Remembering their Christmases past and hoping they are making the same sort of merry with their families. I see a kiss under the mistletoe and hear people humming along to the holiday music in stores.
We cuddle on the couch in front of our trees and doesn't it just feel warm and safe and joyful? Don't you feel, at least for a little bit, peace and faith and fantasy meeting somewhere under that tree? You know you can if you let yourself.
Hot cocoa, popcorn, Christmas movies, twinkling lights, the promise of snow in the air, picturing a child opening the gift that they most wanted but didn't dare hope for. Happy squeals of pure surprise, silly Christmas socks and headbands with antlers attached, snuggling with someone you love after all the wrapping is done and wondering if that noise you hear outside just might be Santa.
Late at night on Christmas Eve I like to go outside and hear the silence. Most folks leave their lights on all night so Santa can see them, so it's this still and soft land of white and blue and red and green, where you can barely hear a sound. It is peace on Earth and good cheer and pixie dust and promise. It is Christmas and it is beautiful.
Merriest of Christmases to you and those you love. May it be truly calm and bright. No hell, just joy.
I see it with Sydnee, who is trying very hard to be on her best behavior for this last chance week. I see it when she sits and stares at the tree and asks how Santa gets into her house since they don't have a fireplace. (The Elf on the Shelf unlocks the door, silly!) I see it in kids who aren't quite sure if they still believe and just need an adult to remind them of the magic of last year.
And, believe it or not, I see it in the grown-ups. The thought of warm Christmas pajamas and star shaped cookies with a glass of milk. Remembering their Christmases past and hoping they are making the same sort of merry with their families. I see a kiss under the mistletoe and hear people humming along to the holiday music in stores.
We cuddle on the couch in front of our trees and doesn't it just feel warm and safe and joyful? Don't you feel, at least for a little bit, peace and faith and fantasy meeting somewhere under that tree? You know you can if you let yourself.
Hot cocoa, popcorn, Christmas movies, twinkling lights, the promise of snow in the air, picturing a child opening the gift that they most wanted but didn't dare hope for. Happy squeals of pure surprise, silly Christmas socks and headbands with antlers attached, snuggling with someone you love after all the wrapping is done and wondering if that noise you hear outside just might be Santa.
Late at night on Christmas Eve I like to go outside and hear the silence. Most folks leave their lights on all night so Santa can see them, so it's this still and soft land of white and blue and red and green, where you can barely hear a sound. It is peace on Earth and good cheer and pixie dust and promise. It is Christmas and it is beautiful.
Merriest of Christmases to you and those you love. May it be truly calm and bright. No hell, just joy.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Unexpected hell...
can sometimes make or break you. Those closest to me know that recently I've not been me. I've been... struggling. When I read back over my past three months of blogs, I can see it. Maybe you've sensed something a bit off too. I had planned to keep it to myself but as Big D often says, outside your head is better than in.
This time of year everyone is supposed to be filled with good cheer and mirth (whatever the hell that is). But just because a calendar mandates it, doesn't necessary make it possible. Often the holidays remind us of those we've lost. Perhaps it's the first Christmas for empty nest parents, and they are sad that things are so different than the past. There are parents who aren't concerned about getting the last thing on their child's list because they're more worried about how they'll feed their children during the holiday break from school. For those people, the constant images and signs that if they aren't happy they aren't doing something right can make this time of year a time of dread instead of joy. What I'm about to write is something that December 25 can't make better.
As I've told you before, telling my story is sometimes telling someone else's. But this one feels very much mine alone. Alone because I'm so damn alone in living it. So here we go...
We tend as humans with an astounding capacity to remember, to mark our time, our lives in befores and afters. Before marriage and children, after Dad died, before I lived here or worked there. We can all look at finite points in our lives and see a very clear before and after. September 8, 2011 is just such a line for me. Seventeen days before September 8 I found out, shockingly, joyously, terrifyingly that I was pregnant. Shocking because I knew at this point in my reproductive life odds of me getting into the family way were slim to none. Terrifying because I'm old enough to know that I had no real idea what I was getting myself into.
I took the test on a whim before I'd even missed a period. Four days before to be exact. And when I saw the faint pink line, I ran from room to room looking at it in different light to see if I'd find a different result. I called the "donor" (nothing negative or accusatory in that word. A potential pregnancy had been discussed and a firm conclusion prior to the pregnancy that I would solely raise our child had been agreed upon. That part of the story isn't mine, so I'm keeping it as private as possible.) His reaction was "I'm really happy for you."Then I called my sister-in-law and she said "take another one". So I did. I took twelve tests over the next few days. Each one increasing in its positivity that the old girl was indeed knocked up.
Then on September 8, they (yes twins) were no longer. Since then, I've been wandering through what seems like a wide dark forest of grief. Those around me who knew were at a loss as to how to help. "I don't know what to say." "I don't know how to help." "Please tell me what I can do." All of those became a soundtrack of my trance-like days. I'd stand in the shower so lost in shock, grief and disbelief that I'd forget if I'd washed my hair yet. My skin felt removed from my body. So raw and exposed it felt as if all my physical and emotional nerves were on the surface. It was as if everyone around me was moving at the speed of light and I was glued in that place on September 8.
A week later I went to a beach house in Alabama to get through the physical manifestations of a pregnancy not meant to be. A change of scenery, a place where my broken heart could rest if not heal. That time is a blessing and a blur. Almost as if it were something I'd watched or dreamed instead of lived. I didn't know that girl who sat by the water for hours in a grief induced haze. I didn't know her because I'd never met her. She is the "between girl". After the loss, but not quite through it.
The me I knew has spent three months trying to figure out how to get her to leave. I'd like to kick her ass, because she's some of the worst of me. She's a stranger living in my head and body and she's completely in control. I really really don't like not being in control. She's angry and sad. Sometimes she seems better only to be filled with despair moments later. She can't cry hard enough. She's a fake and a fraud as she moves through my days, answering phones, smiling and laughing and feigning participation in my life. She has exhausted me. She comes home from work and climbs immediately into bed. Because pretending is tiresome. She is furious and mean and too sensitive. She never says what she really feels because all she feels is "I'm so bone-weary sad." or "Help me, hear what I'm not saying ." "I'm beginning to scare real Lisa."
I had tried everything to get her to leave. I've ignored her, succumbed to her, fought her and hated her. The anxiety she has caused me, that in-between Lisa, has kept me from friends and family because I can't predict her behavior. She alternates among nauseatingly fake, oppressively introverted, and quite simply lost. Like a temperamental toddler, it's best to just stay home with her.
But when she and I are alone, she's the loudest sound you've ever heard or she's deafeningly quiet. Both equal in their ability to create confusion and fear. A couple of Sundays ago I thought for a brief moment that if she wouldn't leave, I'd either have to become her or make her die. And in that moment, I wholly finally realized I am her. That she isn't the between girl, she's me right now. So that me right now goes to sleep sad and wakes up sad. But she can laugh a little easier than she did September 8. But mostly, right now, I feel hopeless and frantic and afraid.
That is until yesterday. Wednesday night Big D, out of absolute frustration of being unable to help me said to me "You are screaming to be heard, but you're not saying anything." As is my way, I keep everything close and then lash out because no one can see or hear me. The reason they can't is because all I'm saying is "I'm OK." and all I'm showing is a carefully crafted facade of "I'm fine." Big D was right, I was the guy in the painting on that bridge, mouth wide open and no sound.
See the grief I feel is truly mine alone. No one else feels what I feel about those babies. It's not like when my dad or my grandma died. There were others around feeling their own personal loss of the same person. With those babies, they were solely mine to lose, so I can't find anyone else to share in that loss. Lest you get the wrong idea, the father grieved in his way, mostly he grieved for my loss. They were an abstract thought to him still and knowing that they wouldn't be a daily part of his life, he'd let them go before they even were.
Wednesday night in a desperate state of mind, needing to find some measure of solace, I dug in and searched for something to bring me peace. I know what I'm going to tell you may seem silly, odd or ridiculous, but I'm hoping what you see, because it's what is truly there, is me simply trying to find my way. Up until her death four years ago, my way usually went through my Grandma Elsie. So I decided to go see her.
I sat on her headstone and told her everything. I couldn't do it sitting in my living room because of real life distractions. At the cemetery in the cold overcast afternoon, I finally felt heard. Big D took me and waited in his car, because I'd cried so much the previous night and most of the day that I couldn't have taken myself. I had cried because I knew talking to Grandma was going to create a line in this grief -- before I started to finally move forward. Before I finally realized that I had to accept that those babies, my babies, were never going to be with me, no matter how much I cried or how angry I got or even if I died. Before I realized that moving forward didn't mean leaving them behind, it meant gathering up my pieces which now would include their loss and finding my way to the after.
I know what Grandma would say beside "Get your damn dirty boots off of me!" She would say that I need to have a good cry and that there would likely be lots of times in the future when I'd need more good cries. But that was just how it is, cry until you're done and then know you're probably never going to be fully done. It's not a failure to revisit grief, it is part of the grief to find yourself feeling it again.
She'd also tell me to wash my face and get on with all the stuff that needs to be done, because standing still for too long in that sad place begins to make it feel like home, and no one should live in a house built of sorrow. Except Grandma would say all of this while using lots of profanity.
I still feel unsure of me. I'm still aware of that "Other Lisa", who will likely resurface and bring the heartbreaking memories with her. But after talking to my Grandma (who sounds a lot like the voice of my inner Lisa), instead of looking away maybe I'll embrace her for a little bit, just so she knows she's being heard. Then hopefully I'll let her go and start finding my way out of this unexpected hell.
Thank you, you know who you all are, for calling my name loudly enough that no matter how lost I am or how much I want to stay lost, I know I can follow your voices back.
This time of year everyone is supposed to be filled with good cheer and mirth (whatever the hell that is). But just because a calendar mandates it, doesn't necessary make it possible. Often the holidays remind us of those we've lost. Perhaps it's the first Christmas for empty nest parents, and they are sad that things are so different than the past. There are parents who aren't concerned about getting the last thing on their child's list because they're more worried about how they'll feed their children during the holiday break from school. For those people, the constant images and signs that if they aren't happy they aren't doing something right can make this time of year a time of dread instead of joy. What I'm about to write is something that December 25 can't make better.
As I've told you before, telling my story is sometimes telling someone else's. But this one feels very much mine alone. Alone because I'm so damn alone in living it. So here we go...
We tend as humans with an astounding capacity to remember, to mark our time, our lives in befores and afters. Before marriage and children, after Dad died, before I lived here or worked there. We can all look at finite points in our lives and see a very clear before and after. September 8, 2011 is just such a line for me. Seventeen days before September 8 I found out, shockingly, joyously, terrifyingly that I was pregnant. Shocking because I knew at this point in my reproductive life odds of me getting into the family way were slim to none. Terrifying because I'm old enough to know that I had no real idea what I was getting myself into.
I took the test on a whim before I'd even missed a period. Four days before to be exact. And when I saw the faint pink line, I ran from room to room looking at it in different light to see if I'd find a different result. I called the "donor" (nothing negative or accusatory in that word. A potential pregnancy had been discussed and a firm conclusion prior to the pregnancy that I would solely raise our child had been agreed upon. That part of the story isn't mine, so I'm keeping it as private as possible.) His reaction was "I'm really happy for you."Then I called my sister-in-law and she said "take another one". So I did. I took twelve tests over the next few days. Each one increasing in its positivity that the old girl was indeed knocked up.
Then on September 8, they (yes twins) were no longer. Since then, I've been wandering through what seems like a wide dark forest of grief. Those around me who knew were at a loss as to how to help. "I don't know what to say." "I don't know how to help." "Please tell me what I can do." All of those became a soundtrack of my trance-like days. I'd stand in the shower so lost in shock, grief and disbelief that I'd forget if I'd washed my hair yet. My skin felt removed from my body. So raw and exposed it felt as if all my physical and emotional nerves were on the surface. It was as if everyone around me was moving at the speed of light and I was glued in that place on September 8.
A week later I went to a beach house in Alabama to get through the physical manifestations of a pregnancy not meant to be. A change of scenery, a place where my broken heart could rest if not heal. That time is a blessing and a blur. Almost as if it were something I'd watched or dreamed instead of lived. I didn't know that girl who sat by the water for hours in a grief induced haze. I didn't know her because I'd never met her. She is the "between girl". After the loss, but not quite through it.
The me I knew has spent three months trying to figure out how to get her to leave. I'd like to kick her ass, because she's some of the worst of me. She's a stranger living in my head and body and she's completely in control. I really really don't like not being in control. She's angry and sad. Sometimes she seems better only to be filled with despair moments later. She can't cry hard enough. She's a fake and a fraud as she moves through my days, answering phones, smiling and laughing and feigning participation in my life. She has exhausted me. She comes home from work and climbs immediately into bed. Because pretending is tiresome. She is furious and mean and too sensitive. She never says what she really feels because all she feels is "I'm so bone-weary sad." or "Help me, hear what I'm not saying ." "I'm beginning to scare real Lisa."
I had tried everything to get her to leave. I've ignored her, succumbed to her, fought her and hated her. The anxiety she has caused me, that in-between Lisa, has kept me from friends and family because I can't predict her behavior. She alternates among nauseatingly fake, oppressively introverted, and quite simply lost. Like a temperamental toddler, it's best to just stay home with her.
But when she and I are alone, she's the loudest sound you've ever heard or she's deafeningly quiet. Both equal in their ability to create confusion and fear. A couple of Sundays ago I thought for a brief moment that if she wouldn't leave, I'd either have to become her or make her die. And in that moment, I wholly finally realized I am her. That she isn't the between girl, she's me right now. So that me right now goes to sleep sad and wakes up sad. But she can laugh a little easier than she did September 8. But mostly, right now, I feel hopeless and frantic and afraid.
That is until yesterday. Wednesday night Big D, out of absolute frustration of being unable to help me said to me "You are screaming to be heard, but you're not saying anything." As is my way, I keep everything close and then lash out because no one can see or hear me. The reason they can't is because all I'm saying is "I'm OK." and all I'm showing is a carefully crafted facade of "I'm fine." Big D was right, I was the guy in the painting on that bridge, mouth wide open and no sound.
See the grief I feel is truly mine alone. No one else feels what I feel about those babies. It's not like when my dad or my grandma died. There were others around feeling their own personal loss of the same person. With those babies, they were solely mine to lose, so I can't find anyone else to share in that loss. Lest you get the wrong idea, the father grieved in his way, mostly he grieved for my loss. They were an abstract thought to him still and knowing that they wouldn't be a daily part of his life, he'd let them go before they even were.
Wednesday night in a desperate state of mind, needing to find some measure of solace, I dug in and searched for something to bring me peace. I know what I'm going to tell you may seem silly, odd or ridiculous, but I'm hoping what you see, because it's what is truly there, is me simply trying to find my way. Up until her death four years ago, my way usually went through my Grandma Elsie. So I decided to go see her.
I sat on her headstone and told her everything. I couldn't do it sitting in my living room because of real life distractions. At the cemetery in the cold overcast afternoon, I finally felt heard. Big D took me and waited in his car, because I'd cried so much the previous night and most of the day that I couldn't have taken myself. I had cried because I knew talking to Grandma was going to create a line in this grief -- before I started to finally move forward. Before I finally realized that I had to accept that those babies, my babies, were never going to be with me, no matter how much I cried or how angry I got or even if I died. Before I realized that moving forward didn't mean leaving them behind, it meant gathering up my pieces which now would include their loss and finding my way to the after.
I know what Grandma would say beside "Get your damn dirty boots off of me!" She would say that I need to have a good cry and that there would likely be lots of times in the future when I'd need more good cries. But that was just how it is, cry until you're done and then know you're probably never going to be fully done. It's not a failure to revisit grief, it is part of the grief to find yourself feeling it again.
She'd also tell me to wash my face and get on with all the stuff that needs to be done, because standing still for too long in that sad place begins to make it feel like home, and no one should live in a house built of sorrow. Except Grandma would say all of this while using lots of profanity.
I still feel unsure of me. I'm still aware of that "Other Lisa", who will likely resurface and bring the heartbreaking memories with her. But after talking to my Grandma (who sounds a lot like the voice of my inner Lisa), instead of looking away maybe I'll embrace her for a little bit, just so she knows she's being heard. Then hopefully I'll let her go and start finding my way out of this unexpected hell.
Thank you, you know who you all are, for calling my name loudly enough that no matter how lost I am or how much I want to stay lost, I know I can follow your voices back.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
These are a few...
of my favorite things (now Big D is singing that song and I seriously regret making it the title. That song, not one of my favorite things.) I know I said I'd do this next week, but here it is because yesterday's entry made me feel a little like I promised lobster for dinner and gave you Cheerios. Truth is this hell is a little bit of a collaboration with some of my friends (who are some of my favorite things). It's from a list we made and then things gleaned from everyday conversations. So thanks to all of you, because you've helped.
Let me just get this smarmy stuff out of the way up front, obviously my family and friends and health and job (Big D is reading this over my shoulder) are some of my favorite things. I'm not taking that for granted, I'm just thinking I'll save that for an annoying Facebook status on Christmas Day.
Thing 1: The time of night when you're low on sleep and high on coffee and every single thing is funny. You know, "slap happy" or "punch drunk". This mostly happens around people you really trust and love. Or at 3 a.m. listening to my brother's nicknames for people like "Hill-Billy Highlife" while wrapping presents.
2: Party. Bus. Cannot say how much love I have for the party bus. If you get a good mix of people on it, it's fun on an entirely new level. If you get the right bus (air conditioning, potty and a driver who wears a cap) you feel like a freaking rock star. Throw in some mini sandwiches and you'll want to just stay on the bus. But there must be aisle dancing and lap dances and someone has to fall asleep by the end of the ride or you just don't deserve a party bus.
3. Britney Spears still being alive. I think my friends Kate and Sarah have willed that woman to live and be less wacko. You have to admit she makes you shake your ass a little, and she rarely puts any "music" out that is maudlin. It's all hair whipping, arms in the air kind of stuff.
Thing 4: Along those lines, "Glee" and "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia" and "Family Guy". No matter what's happening in your world, Glee will give you that momentary feeling of well glee with an undercurrent of "thank GOD I'm not in high school anymore" mixed with a tiny bit of dirty. Sunny is just plain out there dirty, nothing subtle which is exactly what this girl needs sometimes. And Family Guy disguises itself as a cartoon but is really smarter than anything on Fox News or MSNBC. Watch them and see if you don't giggle a little.
5: Something to look forward to. I look forward to coming up with an idea and writing something here. So, little things like that work. But not as well as big old things like vacations or babies (Colleen and Laken and Amanda!) or when winter boots go on sale. Sorry, I love all you hellions, but I really love a warm sunny beach and 50% off boots.
6: Sephora. Son of a broke ass girl. That place is heaven and hell all in one bright, shiny black and white with a splash of red package. If you're a make-up and products kind of person I'm torn between telling you to run not walk to Sephora and telling you it's the devil. Because you'll walk out with a tiny little bag and a maxed out credit card in about 10 minutes. The good thing about Sephora's physical store is you can test everything, so no more picking a lipstick only to get it home and realize it makes you look like your Great Aunt. If they sold shoes and hand bags, it would be my happiest place on Earth.
7: A memory that you don't have to add to or take away from to make better because it's perfect on it's own. You know, that moment where you're standing there in the middle of something and you know you'll always remember it just this way. Landon saying my name clearly. Filthy dirty martinis with Mandy. Singing your ass off on a party bus with some of your best friends and a guy named Chad. Sitting on a couch at night with the doors open so you can hear the ocean at your vacation beach house. The first time someone says they love you and you know they do.
8: Finding the best Christmas cards to send to your friends and having friends who love how irreverent said cards are.
9: Missing someone you know you'll see again. I'm talking real life living people you just don't get to see everyday. Don't get all "hereafter" on me now. It is one of my favorite things. They don't say absence makes the heart grow fonder for nothing. If you know you'll actually get to put your hand on the back of their necks when you hug them the next time or make fun of their taste in music while you're riding in a car, missing someone makes you appreciate every minute you get with them.
10: OK, now I'm getting all nostalgic and smushy writing this. So I'll go ahead and get this out of the way... my cousins who make me feel like I always belong somewhere... Maddy, Delaney, Gavin, Sydnee and Landon who cannot possibly know the size of my heart because of them... The SBJ girls and the TCs and the Julies and Big D and Lid who have likely saved me. Stacie, Randy and Shannon without whom I'd have no anchor. Aunties Pam and Ruby who make me behave and be a lady, because someone needs to do that. My Mother for putting up with my hell for 40 years and even the 40 weeks before I got here. Ugh, this whole paragraph is icky.
11. Living in a country that values women (at least 75% as much as they do men), where you can tell a telemarketer to stop calling and they will, where there's mostly peace unless you're watching the pundits on cable "news", where I can turn the channel if I don't like what I'm watching, where I can wish you Happy Holidays or Christmas or Kwanzaa or Hanukkah or nothing at all with only a little bitching about how I'm saying the wrong thing.
Last thing: You. Because I know you have other things, better things, to do with your time than read some chick overuse the word hell and prattle on and on about her life. You, because your comments and emails and words for or against what I write make me want to write more just to see what you are thinking. Thank you for visiting my hell, because you, yes YOU keep it fresh.
Merry and Happy whatever you celebrate this year... I hope it's covered in sparkly.
Let me just get this smarmy stuff out of the way up front, obviously my family and friends and health and job (Big D is reading this over my shoulder) are some of my favorite things. I'm not taking that for granted, I'm just thinking I'll save that for an annoying Facebook status on Christmas Day.
Thing 1: The time of night when you're low on sleep and high on coffee and every single thing is funny. You know, "slap happy" or "punch drunk". This mostly happens around people you really trust and love. Or at 3 a.m. listening to my brother's nicknames for people like "Hill-Billy Highlife" while wrapping presents.
2: Party. Bus. Cannot say how much love I have for the party bus. If you get a good mix of people on it, it's fun on an entirely new level. If you get the right bus (air conditioning, potty and a driver who wears a cap) you feel like a freaking rock star. Throw in some mini sandwiches and you'll want to just stay on the bus. But there must be aisle dancing and lap dances and someone has to fall asleep by the end of the ride or you just don't deserve a party bus.
3. Britney Spears still being alive. I think my friends Kate and Sarah have willed that woman to live and be less wacko. You have to admit she makes you shake your ass a little, and she rarely puts any "music" out that is maudlin. It's all hair whipping, arms in the air kind of stuff.
Thing 4: Along those lines, "Glee" and "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia" and "Family Guy". No matter what's happening in your world, Glee will give you that momentary feeling of well glee with an undercurrent of "thank GOD I'm not in high school anymore" mixed with a tiny bit of dirty. Sunny is just plain out there dirty, nothing subtle which is exactly what this girl needs sometimes. And Family Guy disguises itself as a cartoon but is really smarter than anything on Fox News or MSNBC. Watch them and see if you don't giggle a little.
5: Something to look forward to. I look forward to coming up with an idea and writing something here. So, little things like that work. But not as well as big old things like vacations or babies (Colleen and Laken and Amanda!) or when winter boots go on sale. Sorry, I love all you hellions, but I really love a warm sunny beach and 50% off boots.
6: Sephora. Son of a broke ass girl. That place is heaven and hell all in one bright, shiny black and white with a splash of red package. If you're a make-up and products kind of person I'm torn between telling you to run not walk to Sephora and telling you it's the devil. Because you'll walk out with a tiny little bag and a maxed out credit card in about 10 minutes. The good thing about Sephora's physical store is you can test everything, so no more picking a lipstick only to get it home and realize it makes you look like your Great Aunt. If they sold shoes and hand bags, it would be my happiest place on Earth.
7: A memory that you don't have to add to or take away from to make better because it's perfect on it's own. You know, that moment where you're standing there in the middle of something and you know you'll always remember it just this way. Landon saying my name clearly. Filthy dirty martinis with Mandy. Singing your ass off on a party bus with some of your best friends and a guy named Chad. Sitting on a couch at night with the doors open so you can hear the ocean at your vacation beach house. The first time someone says they love you and you know they do.
8: Finding the best Christmas cards to send to your friends and having friends who love how irreverent said cards are.
9: Missing someone you know you'll see again. I'm talking real life living people you just don't get to see everyday. Don't get all "hereafter" on me now. It is one of my favorite things. They don't say absence makes the heart grow fonder for nothing. If you know you'll actually get to put your hand on the back of their necks when you hug them the next time or make fun of their taste in music while you're riding in a car, missing someone makes you appreciate every minute you get with them.
10: OK, now I'm getting all nostalgic and smushy writing this. So I'll go ahead and get this out of the way... my cousins who make me feel like I always belong somewhere... Maddy, Delaney, Gavin, Sydnee and Landon who cannot possibly know the size of my heart because of them... The SBJ girls and the TCs and the Julies and Big D and Lid who have likely saved me. Stacie, Randy and Shannon without whom I'd have no anchor. Aunties Pam and Ruby who make me behave and be a lady, because someone needs to do that. My Mother for putting up with my hell for 40 years and even the 40 weeks before I got here. Ugh, this whole paragraph is icky.
11. Living in a country that values women (at least 75% as much as they do men), where you can tell a telemarketer to stop calling and they will, where there's mostly peace unless you're watching the pundits on cable "news", where I can turn the channel if I don't like what I'm watching, where I can wish you Happy Holidays or Christmas or Kwanzaa or Hanukkah or nothing at all with only a little bitching about how I'm saying the wrong thing.
Last thing: You. Because I know you have other things, better things, to do with your time than read some chick overuse the word hell and prattle on and on about her life. You, because your comments and emails and words for or against what I write make me want to write more just to see what you are thinking. Thank you for visiting my hell, because you, yes YOU keep it fresh.
Merry and Happy whatever you celebrate this year... I hope it's covered in sparkly.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
I know, I know...
it's the time of year that I'm supposed to be all warm and fuzzy, and I promise I'll do a favorite things blog next week, but sometimes something gets stuck in my brain and if I don't get it out, I'll drive myself mad. And I'll annoy the hell out of the people around me. Plus, I think I've overdosed on all the saccharine sweetness that are the made for TV holiday specials. I mean really, how many times can one watch a modern day Scrooge find his/her Christmas spirit, or that sweet lovely girl find the man of her dreams on New Year's Eve? Perhaps you could think of this blog entry as the Chex Mix in the middle of all the Christmas cookies.
I was having a conversation with a friend about how differently we see the world. My friend is a he and I am certainly a she. I said to him, "You are definitively a male and I am definitively a female." His instant reaction was, "I can be sensitive!" Okay. Yes, he can be. But it made me start thinking about how my simple statement could be construed as something negative or even dismissive about our behaviors. Think about it, I know my girls and I have said, "MEN!" as if that one simple word explains everything about a situation. (And it does.) My male friend will often say to me, "You can't help it, you're a girl." At which point the top of my head blows off. But isn't there some truth in both of those statements? Is that truth such a terrible thing, really?
Here's where I am, when did we decide that possessing what has traditionally been thought of as gender based behaviors or attitudes become something one must defend? Don't get pissed. Try to follow me a bit before you judge what I'm saying as "bad" or "good". We've long heard the old adage, "Boys will be boys" or "Girls will be girls", when did we decide this was problematic? Or maybe not a problem but just something to be discouraged or made neutral or fixed?
Please don't misunderstand, what I'm trying to express here is that it seems a bit that we're all working so hard at not stereotyping or pigeon-holing someone based on their gender that we're trying to do away with what comes naturally to some. Now, if naturally a boy is more sensitive or compassionate than boys of generations past we all applaud his enlightenment and assume his parents are doing something "right" in raising such a well-rounded child. But if a boy shows a natural tendency to be rougher or more aggressive or less affectionate we all assume he's a bully or that his parents are trying to make him into a sports star or a "real man". What if that rough boy is just simply a rough boy? What if that's what his personality dictates? Should we try to shame that out of him and make him into something he isn't simply because we think it's better for him?
Now take a girl, say her name is Lisa and when she was young she was a tomboy, by necessity and by choice. Little Lisa lived in a neighborhood with mostly boys and a brother only a year younger. If Lisa wanted to play outside, she was going to be playing with the boys. And she didn't mind that at all (she still doesn't). She played football and rode bikes and climbed trees and did what was considered "boy" things, keeping in mind it was the middle to late seventies. Obviously, I'm that Lisa. And I got hit and shoved and knocked down, never intentionally, but just through regular play. I remember getting the wind knocked out of me once and hearing my brother whispering to me "Don't cry. You're a girl, if you cry they'll never want you to play again." Now, that kind of thing has served me well as an adult. As much as I want to cry, I've realized that crying is seen as a weakness and it's best left to doing in private or around people who love you. But why is that a prized behavior in a girl? "There's no crying in baseball!", right? Why? If you're a girl and you want to cry, why shouldn't you? Why shouldn't you get to storm off in a huff, or be ridiculously dramatic or unreasonable if that's who you are? (OK within reason, let's not get too diva-crazy here.) Why does a girl have to push down what's considered her "girlness" so as not to be dismissed as weak?
My point with all that is, not only are we trying to potentially push boys who don't list "sensitive" high on their list of personality traits into being more emotionally expressive, we're trying to force girls into being "stronger" in order to be successful women. Huh. So in the process of trying to be open minded and allowing for boys to be softer and girls to be harder, we've started taking away some kids' personalities. We've taken something that is inherent to those kids' beings and made it something to be viewed as a flaw. In a quest to find gender neutrality and acceptance of those who do not fall into a spectrum of traditionally average behavior, we've vilified those who are on that spectrum. Oh crap, I hate when we go too far, don't you?
My 9 year old nephew doesn't like playing baseball. He's played for a few years and just never got into it. Now I'm sure this is a bit of a bummer for my brother who played baseball his whole life and loved it. But Gavin gets to be Gavin and he's lucky enough to have parents who will allow that. Gavin is also very sensitive about kids being left out or bullied or differently abled. And he's lucky enough to have parents that just realize that sensitivity is part of his personality. Don't get me wrong, the adults in Gav's life aren't perfect. His Mom and Grandma and Aunt Lisa baby the hell out of him. And sometimes his Dad and Grandpa and Uncles push him to be tougher and "man up". But hopefully, we balance each other out and he ends up just being definitively Gavin. A bad ass video game playing, sister torturing, basketball stud with a kind heart. I'll take that.
I see kids on Gavin's sports teams whose parents want it more than the kid. I see boys who would rather be drawing or cooking than standing in the outfield praying no one hits the ball to them. I see little girls in my niece's dance recitals who'd rather be digging in the dirt. And forcing those kids in those "gender typical" roles is no more right than putting a bat in the hand of a little girl who just wants to twirl in a tutu or an apron on a boy who just wants to make a tree fort.
Around the barn to get to here (you know that's how I do), I get to be me. I started being me when I was very young. I like knowing how cars work and I love putting on too much eyeshadow. I like ruffles and cute shoes and watching the Bears blow it in overtime (Vikings fan, duh). I'm lucky that my parents let me wear a dress with shorts under it while playing stick ball in the neighbor's yard.
Perhaps we all need to just let kids be. Stop trying to make them into anything but kind, strong, independent, productive and healthy little people in the way that is most true to themselves. Let them find the spot that makes them most happy and just be glad they're standing there, even if it's not what we pictured or hoped. Maybe let the boy decide what "being boy" means to him and the girl decide what "being girl" means to her. Because I think one of the worst kinds of hell for a kid is worrying that they're a disappointment because of who they can't be.
I was having a conversation with a friend about how differently we see the world. My friend is a he and I am certainly a she. I said to him, "You are definitively a male and I am definitively a female." His instant reaction was, "I can be sensitive!" Okay. Yes, he can be. But it made me start thinking about how my simple statement could be construed as something negative or even dismissive about our behaviors. Think about it, I know my girls and I have said, "MEN!" as if that one simple word explains everything about a situation. (And it does.) My male friend will often say to me, "You can't help it, you're a girl." At which point the top of my head blows off. But isn't there some truth in both of those statements? Is that truth such a terrible thing, really?
Here's where I am, when did we decide that possessing what has traditionally been thought of as gender based behaviors or attitudes become something one must defend? Don't get pissed. Try to follow me a bit before you judge what I'm saying as "bad" or "good". We've long heard the old adage, "Boys will be boys" or "Girls will be girls", when did we decide this was problematic? Or maybe not a problem but just something to be discouraged or made neutral or fixed?
Please don't misunderstand, what I'm trying to express here is that it seems a bit that we're all working so hard at not stereotyping or pigeon-holing someone based on their gender that we're trying to do away with what comes naturally to some. Now, if naturally a boy is more sensitive or compassionate than boys of generations past we all applaud his enlightenment and assume his parents are doing something "right" in raising such a well-rounded child. But if a boy shows a natural tendency to be rougher or more aggressive or less affectionate we all assume he's a bully or that his parents are trying to make him into a sports star or a "real man". What if that rough boy is just simply a rough boy? What if that's what his personality dictates? Should we try to shame that out of him and make him into something he isn't simply because we think it's better for him?
Now take a girl, say her name is Lisa and when she was young she was a tomboy, by necessity and by choice. Little Lisa lived in a neighborhood with mostly boys and a brother only a year younger. If Lisa wanted to play outside, she was going to be playing with the boys. And she didn't mind that at all (she still doesn't). She played football and rode bikes and climbed trees and did what was considered "boy" things, keeping in mind it was the middle to late seventies. Obviously, I'm that Lisa. And I got hit and shoved and knocked down, never intentionally, but just through regular play. I remember getting the wind knocked out of me once and hearing my brother whispering to me "Don't cry. You're a girl, if you cry they'll never want you to play again." Now, that kind of thing has served me well as an adult. As much as I want to cry, I've realized that crying is seen as a weakness and it's best left to doing in private or around people who love you. But why is that a prized behavior in a girl? "There's no crying in baseball!", right? Why? If you're a girl and you want to cry, why shouldn't you? Why shouldn't you get to storm off in a huff, or be ridiculously dramatic or unreasonable if that's who you are? (OK within reason, let's not get too diva-crazy here.) Why does a girl have to push down what's considered her "girlness" so as not to be dismissed as weak?
My point with all that is, not only are we trying to potentially push boys who don't list "sensitive" high on their list of personality traits into being more emotionally expressive, we're trying to force girls into being "stronger" in order to be successful women. Huh. So in the process of trying to be open minded and allowing for boys to be softer and girls to be harder, we've started taking away some kids' personalities. We've taken something that is inherent to those kids' beings and made it something to be viewed as a flaw. In a quest to find gender neutrality and acceptance of those who do not fall into a spectrum of traditionally average behavior, we've vilified those who are on that spectrum. Oh crap, I hate when we go too far, don't you?
My 9 year old nephew doesn't like playing baseball. He's played for a few years and just never got into it. Now I'm sure this is a bit of a bummer for my brother who played baseball his whole life and loved it. But Gavin gets to be Gavin and he's lucky enough to have parents who will allow that. Gavin is also very sensitive about kids being left out or bullied or differently abled. And he's lucky enough to have parents that just realize that sensitivity is part of his personality. Don't get me wrong, the adults in Gav's life aren't perfect. His Mom and Grandma and Aunt Lisa baby the hell out of him. And sometimes his Dad and Grandpa and Uncles push him to be tougher and "man up". But hopefully, we balance each other out and he ends up just being definitively Gavin. A bad ass video game playing, sister torturing, basketball stud with a kind heart. I'll take that.
I see kids on Gavin's sports teams whose parents want it more than the kid. I see boys who would rather be drawing or cooking than standing in the outfield praying no one hits the ball to them. I see little girls in my niece's dance recitals who'd rather be digging in the dirt. And forcing those kids in those "gender typical" roles is no more right than putting a bat in the hand of a little girl who just wants to twirl in a tutu or an apron on a boy who just wants to make a tree fort.
Around the barn to get to here (you know that's how I do), I get to be me. I started being me when I was very young. I like knowing how cars work and I love putting on too much eyeshadow. I like ruffles and cute shoes and watching the Bears blow it in overtime (Vikings fan, duh). I'm lucky that my parents let me wear a dress with shorts under it while playing stick ball in the neighbor's yard.
Perhaps we all need to just let kids be. Stop trying to make them into anything but kind, strong, independent, productive and healthy little people in the way that is most true to themselves. Let them find the spot that makes them most happy and just be glad they're standing there, even if it's not what we pictured or hoped. Maybe let the boy decide what "being boy" means to him and the girl decide what "being girl" means to her. Because I think one of the worst kinds of hell for a kid is worrying that they're a disappointment because of who they can't be.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
It's the most...
wonderful time of the year! Or at least that's what the song says. I don't know, seems like a lot of stress and schedule juggling and general running around. Maybe it's just that you have to go through a lot of hell to get to the wonderful.
My little group of SBJ girls and I were having a discussion about how disappointing Christmas can be. That's right. You know it can be true. There's all the money and time spent trying to find the perfect gift, only to get the wrong size or color or gaming system. There's the overall crabby moods of the crowds, because they, like you, have a million things to check off their lists. It's just hard to recapture that unfiltered glee that Christmas brought when you were a child. And when your children are bigger, it makes you long for the time they simply woke up on Christmas morning and a little miracle had happened right under their Christmas tree.
Kids seem to expect every single thing they ask Santa for and if they don't get it, they are actually angry. Do you ever remember being disappointed at Christmas? I sure don't. Not because I got everything I wanted, but because I simply GOT. We didn't get things all year long, no big over-the-top birthday parties, no every-whim-satisfied, no trophies for simply participating. We got a birthday gift and then Santa came and I can never remember sitting there with my loot around me pouting because of something I didn't get. But then I was very likely the only perfect kid in the history of the world.
Things are just so different now. Some of the magic seems to be gone. I think the pressure to keep up with what your kids' friends are getting, so that your child isn't the only one doing without whatever the hell the video gaming industry has come out with this year can overwhelm and perhaps we forget that giving and giving and giving only creates a society of expecting instead of earning. It breeds a general feeling that nothing is ever quite enough. I know I have this, but if I just had THAT, I'd be happy. Except there's always another "that" to be had.
Advertisers know this. They are clever little bastards aren't they? The commercials start before Halloween, and I know I've said to my Littles "wait until Christmas" a lot lately. I remember how it seemed like forever until Christmas when I was a kid. Now it's here in a blaze of cartoon wrapping paper and bows and tiny little parts to be pried out of their impossible packaging. But perhaps I'm looking at this as too much of a grown up and forgetting what it looks like through little eyes.
Lest you think I think all kids are greedy little brats, I don't. Most of the kids I know are appreciative of what they receive. Of course they're disappointed if they don't get that one big thing they asked for, but that's kind of our fault as adults. Kids don't know how to handle disappointment, because we rarely allow them to be disappointed. I remember telling my Aunt Ruby that I wanted a certain doll when I was a kid and she said, "If everyone has one, why wouldn't you want something different?" I of course, thought she was nuts. I didn't get the doll, I got something else and I'm pretty sure I completely forgot I even wanted it until I was at a friend's house playing with hers. The thing is, she was sick of it, so my toys were exciting to her and I was sick of my toys so hers were a big deal to me. Imagine if we all had received the same things, you'd be bored no matter where you were. I think the adults just want to make everyone happy, which isn't a bad thing, but we forget that kids are happy as a rule. They don't need lots of stuff until we start giving them lots of stuff. Maybe we should just back off and let them experience the feeling of the holiday and less the getting of the holiday.
I think now that I'm older Christmas can be somewhat melancholy because I can't recapture that feeling I had when I was a kid. Oh it's an absolute joy to watch the nieces and nephews open gifts and be so so excited. Maddy has always had the best surprised face and I work at trying to find a way to get to see it each year. But as they get older and their lists are less whimsical and fantastic and more practical or completely out of the realm of reason, it makes me a bit sad and nostalgic. Because you can never, ever recapture how you felt when you were a kid. When you still believed beyond all probability and reason that reindeer indeed could fly.
I still feel little bits of that. When I hear how excited people are to see my brother's Christmas lights. When I watch "It's A Wonderful Life" and I get a lump in my throat as George runs down the main street of Bedford Falls yelling "Merry Christmas movie house!" The smell of real pine and how my Christmas tree makes my whole house feel warm. Holiday parties and cookies and candies. Chex mix by the handful. Wrapping gifts with my brother and his wife while drinking coffee or some holiday ale. Watching Landon's eyes get big and hearing him say "WOOOOOWWWW!" every single time he notices the Christmas lights in his front yard. Having Syd sit on my lap and explain to me how Santa gets in her house since they don't have a fireplace. Remembering how soft and warm everything felt when I was young. How my mother would leave the tree lights on all night Christmas Eve. Thinking of my brother when he was six years old coming into my room to wake us up on Christmas morning and how it seemed that my dad would never, ever get up so we could open presents. The smell of waffles and bacon for Christmas brunch. Walking to my grandma's to tell her what we got from Santa. Going to my Grandma Huber's house where it was always a bit too warm and a bit too loud, but full of laughter and cousins to play with and amazing foods.
My Christmas wish for you and yours is simple, that in the swirl of wrapping and shopping and cleaning and eating you breathe in some peace and joy and remember how it feels to not just believe in the magic of Christmas but to know it to be real. To be transformed and warmed and merry and bright because you're part of creating that sort of sense memory for others. Before we know it, our little ones will be the ones in frenzied haste to complete their holiday tasks before the big night. And they'll be waxing nostalgic about how it was back when they knew Santa was on his way. You're making that happen for them now. You're creating that. And even if all the holiday craziness feels like hell to us, you know to the little ones it's pure magic. And that's what makes it the most wonderful time of the year.
My little group of SBJ girls and I were having a discussion about how disappointing Christmas can be. That's right. You know it can be true. There's all the money and time spent trying to find the perfect gift, only to get the wrong size or color or gaming system. There's the overall crabby moods of the crowds, because they, like you, have a million things to check off their lists. It's just hard to recapture that unfiltered glee that Christmas brought when you were a child. And when your children are bigger, it makes you long for the time they simply woke up on Christmas morning and a little miracle had happened right under their Christmas tree.
Kids seem to expect every single thing they ask Santa for and if they don't get it, they are actually angry. Do you ever remember being disappointed at Christmas? I sure don't. Not because I got everything I wanted, but because I simply GOT. We didn't get things all year long, no big over-the-top birthday parties, no every-whim-satisfied, no trophies for simply participating. We got a birthday gift and then Santa came and I can never remember sitting there with my loot around me pouting because of something I didn't get. But then I was very likely the only perfect kid in the history of the world.
Things are just so different now. Some of the magic seems to be gone. I think the pressure to keep up with what your kids' friends are getting, so that your child isn't the only one doing without whatever the hell the video gaming industry has come out with this year can overwhelm and perhaps we forget that giving and giving and giving only creates a society of expecting instead of earning. It breeds a general feeling that nothing is ever quite enough. I know I have this, but if I just had THAT, I'd be happy. Except there's always another "that" to be had.
Advertisers know this. They are clever little bastards aren't they? The commercials start before Halloween, and I know I've said to my Littles "wait until Christmas" a lot lately. I remember how it seemed like forever until Christmas when I was a kid. Now it's here in a blaze of cartoon wrapping paper and bows and tiny little parts to be pried out of their impossible packaging. But perhaps I'm looking at this as too much of a grown up and forgetting what it looks like through little eyes.
Lest you think I think all kids are greedy little brats, I don't. Most of the kids I know are appreciative of what they receive. Of course they're disappointed if they don't get that one big thing they asked for, but that's kind of our fault as adults. Kids don't know how to handle disappointment, because we rarely allow them to be disappointed. I remember telling my Aunt Ruby that I wanted a certain doll when I was a kid and she said, "If everyone has one, why wouldn't you want something different?" I of course, thought she was nuts. I didn't get the doll, I got something else and I'm pretty sure I completely forgot I even wanted it until I was at a friend's house playing with hers. The thing is, she was sick of it, so my toys were exciting to her and I was sick of my toys so hers were a big deal to me. Imagine if we all had received the same things, you'd be bored no matter where you were. I think the adults just want to make everyone happy, which isn't a bad thing, but we forget that kids are happy as a rule. They don't need lots of stuff until we start giving them lots of stuff. Maybe we should just back off and let them experience the feeling of the holiday and less the getting of the holiday.
I think now that I'm older Christmas can be somewhat melancholy because I can't recapture that feeling I had when I was a kid. Oh it's an absolute joy to watch the nieces and nephews open gifts and be so so excited. Maddy has always had the best surprised face and I work at trying to find a way to get to see it each year. But as they get older and their lists are less whimsical and fantastic and more practical or completely out of the realm of reason, it makes me a bit sad and nostalgic. Because you can never, ever recapture how you felt when you were a kid. When you still believed beyond all probability and reason that reindeer indeed could fly.
I still feel little bits of that. When I hear how excited people are to see my brother's Christmas lights. When I watch "It's A Wonderful Life" and I get a lump in my throat as George runs down the main street of Bedford Falls yelling "Merry Christmas movie house!" The smell of real pine and how my Christmas tree makes my whole house feel warm. Holiday parties and cookies and candies. Chex mix by the handful. Wrapping gifts with my brother and his wife while drinking coffee or some holiday ale. Watching Landon's eyes get big and hearing him say "WOOOOOWWWW!" every single time he notices the Christmas lights in his front yard. Having Syd sit on my lap and explain to me how Santa gets in her house since they don't have a fireplace. Remembering how soft and warm everything felt when I was young. How my mother would leave the tree lights on all night Christmas Eve. Thinking of my brother when he was six years old coming into my room to wake us up on Christmas morning and how it seemed that my dad would never, ever get up so we could open presents. The smell of waffles and bacon for Christmas brunch. Walking to my grandma's to tell her what we got from Santa. Going to my Grandma Huber's house where it was always a bit too warm and a bit too loud, but full of laughter and cousins to play with and amazing foods.
My Christmas wish for you and yours is simple, that in the swirl of wrapping and shopping and cleaning and eating you breathe in some peace and joy and remember how it feels to not just believe in the magic of Christmas but to know it to be real. To be transformed and warmed and merry and bright because you're part of creating that sort of sense memory for others. Before we know it, our little ones will be the ones in frenzied haste to complete their holiday tasks before the big night. And they'll be waxing nostalgic about how it was back when they knew Santa was on his way. You're making that happen for them now. You're creating that. And even if all the holiday craziness feels like hell to us, you know to the little ones it's pure magic. And that's what makes it the most wonderful time of the year.
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