You may be noticing by now that Stormy and I both have a few quirky traits. Or perhaps a long running list of them is more accurate. One that I haven’t mentioned yet is my actual list-making/note-taking methods. To keep me on task, I prefer jotting my thoughts or reminders on random scraps of paper. You can often find multiple documents torn in weird shapes spread over my desk or kitchen table. My handwriting also is considered what some call “chicken-scratch.” Even my husband, after 13 years, has never made it through a full shopping list of mine without having at least a few words for me to decipher.
I think it may be because having one organized list that looks clean and neat is too easy to ignore. It isn’t begging for attention. Random notes tossed all over are a good reminder about what needs to be attended to. If I am in a meeting and having to use a professional-looking notepad, I never write on the lines. My takeaways are jotted in all different angles across the paper. People are baffled that I can read and follow my notes. If I haven’t proven myself to be very organized, it may be a source of concern for many in my office, but it eventually turns into a constant source of amusement.
This weekend at the cabin, my girlfriend looked down at one such list on the counter while making us a Bloody Mary. Shaking her head about my writing, she challenged me to come read what I wrote. I walked over and rattled off what it said:
Planting trees
Ant Dr.
Charlie’s Angels
Hair off Barbie
Advice from Grandma
Bumping into the sign
Naked PowerPlate
Her response? First there was silence. A bit later with a grin, she mentioned “I don’t even know what to say or ask. You left me speechless.” I think she was a bit scared to know how I would explain that random list–which made perfect sense to me. See, there is a reason no one should be able to read my notes!
I’d be interested if anyone could figure out what that list was for. Come on, take a guess!
Well, I am back, and not too happy about it. As Stormy mentioned in her last post, I was off enjoying Spring Break with my family. Now usually, I would say “enjoying” a family vacation is a bit of a stretch. It usually means whiny kids out of their element, too much together time and expectations set way too high on the quality memories we would create together. Plus, family also includes my parents who we stay with in Arizona. This adds to my personal stress of keeping my children from disrupting their calm lives and of wanting to show off how great my children are turning out due to our fabulous parenting skills. (This usually is when my parents witness all of us at our worst, as I try to force the unrealistic image of a perfect family which then turns into a complete family meltdown.) Toward the end of vacation, I usually start dreaming about my escape back to work. But, this trip was different.
Perhaps my children have reached a new stage. Now they are old enough to also appreciate the difference the warmth of the sun and relaxed schedule can make to them and their parents’ mood. Nor, do they need the same strict routines to function like somewhat tolerable human beings. Or, it could be that I have
View from my throne
relaxed a bit and decided if my five-year-old daughter wants to do her normal nonstop morning chatter to her grandparents, instead of me, there is no need to intervene. Instead, I took the selfish approach of picking up my book and enjoying the morning quiet. After a couple days, it became the morning routine and household joke as I stumbled through the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, waved to all (without a word) and headed outside to my lawn chair to read. “There goes Mom again.” I’d be joined a couple hours later as the kids jumped into the pool. Which leads me to another great stage, I didn’t have to be in the pool morning till night watching the kids play. They both can swim on their own now. I could pretend to watch (with my sunglasses masking my gaze) all the “look at me” and “watch this” tricks poolside. Once in awhile I would make my appearance as the special guest jumping in and getting lots of excitement and applause for it.
Aside from a few outings, we pretty much just hung out, relaxed and enjoyed the setting. (One outing was on horseback, a favorite activity since childhood of mine that I will post about in more detail later.) I didn’t even check in at work more than filtering through emails once a day. Pretty impressive with a new website launching the day I returned. I do have to give my unplugged-from-work credit to my great and completely self-sufficient staff, who told me (and meant it) to STOP whenever I tried to check in. It was the only time I actually liked being told to “STOP” and I paid attention and took the advice to quiet my rambling thoughts. For ten days, I truly relaxed. I won’t get into full boasting of all of the luxuries and other tidbits that made this trip so perfect, but it was simply a fabulous escape from reality.
What goes up must come down. And I realized this up in the air, just before midnight on Sunday and about 30 minutes away from landing back in Minneapolis. I had planned the late return thinking the kids still had the following day off to catch up on sleep and after all of my rest, certainly one day short on sleep wouldn’t be too hard to handle in exchange for taking full advantage of my vacation time. But on that last leg of the plane ride it suddenly all hit me. Tomorrow, instead of leisurely walking outside groggy from so much inactivity, I would be running to a work in 30-degree weather after only four hours of sleep. I would be faced with issues from a website launch, a frantic pace of catching up on all that sat idle waiting for my return, and to top it off, it was my birthday. Yes, I was turning 44 up in the air and I certainly didn’t see it as a something to celebrate. As I mentioned in a previous post, I had lost an entire year and only recently realized it wasn’t my 43rd birthday. With midnight looming, it looked like I was facing my own Cinderella story.
It was no fun realizing I was right. I kept a good face on at work but inside I was miserable. All of the things that had made me so happy had been swept up and taken away. I kept trying to be mature and told myself I was lucky to have had that time to enjoy, but the more rational I tried to become, the more irrational I felt. I wanted my fairy tale back.
It would be a shame to end the post that all was lost and it was a horrible, no good, very bad day (I loved that book as a kid!). There was a slight happy ending that I made for myself. I did what any mature working woman/overstressed mom would do. I came home, put on my pajamas, and hid in my bed with a bottle of wine. Under the birthday disguise, I claimed a free night and wanted my servant children and husband to bring me food as needed. After spending my night with hours of T.V. (all favorite shows I had recorded but never time to watch) and a few too many glasses of wine, I finally dozed off, content.
Looking at the forecast ahead, the temps are rising so hopefully my mood will follow. Onwards and upwards! I won’t give up hope on for my own happy-ever-after ending though.
Texting and venting with Stormy the other day, she sent me a line that goes through my head often: “I don’t want to be a grown up!”
I believe the only people who think being a grown up is fun are those who are not grown up yet. What does being a grown up mean?
Paying bills (When there is money to pay them.)
Working – at work and/or at home (The to-do list just keeps growing in both spots.)
Setting a good example for your kids (Still working on that.)
Biting your tongue in certain situations, even if you know you are right (That’s a tough one.)
Making responsible choices (That’s boring.)
The aging process (That’s horrible and can be its own blog post.)
Giving up things you want for the sake of the greater good (e.g., I can’t run off and sell toe rings on the beach.)
That list does not sound enticing! As a kid, you get to make selfish decisions based just on your wants; you can be impulsive and not overly worry about the outcome. You have your whole life ahead of you to make bad, and fun, mistakes … and a life ahead of you to then fix them. There is plenty of time later to figure out your perfect path.
And to think how I wistfully waited forever to become a grown up. Spent much of my childhood trying to be a grown up. I remember each year seemed to take so long to pass. I couldn’t wait to be in my 20s and do what I wanted, when I wanted it – never having to ask permission. I’d picture myself in my 30s, all wise with my life perfectly figured out. Well, I am now in my 40s and still waiting on this. I don’t have complete freedom as people are dependent on me. I still often have to ask permission. And, I seem to be even further from having my life figured out. A big problem now is that the years are flying by. I actually even lost a whole year. I was certain I was 42, but with an approaching birthday, I have now been told I am about to turn 44. I seriously do not remember turning 43, and I can’t afford to skip any years at this point!
My daughter asked me the other day if I ever get tired of being big and said she was tired of being little. Oh sweetie, I sure do. I wish I could have made her understand all the things she should be enjoying right now. But, I knew it was a lost cause. It would be just another rambling of an adult not getting it. It would be that Charlie Brown teacher’s voice making no sense and just a background noise. It is not something adults, or children, can explain to each other – that wish to be exactly what you aren’t at the time. Looking at that little face, I knew we would both be totally up for some Freaky Friday action.
Now, I suppose I should end with something about why getting old is better. Instead, I want to take a different approach. I am going to make a few decisions that I simply can because I am an adult with a car to get around and a credit card to splurge in case of emergency. I am going to set the appointment to cover my grey peeking through, call my aesthetician to discuss more miracle cures for aging skin that I can sink some money into, and ask a girlfriend to meet me out for a glass of wine and laughs. I am not mature and wise, yet, so instead I’ll embrace where I currently stand and with childlike hope continue to imagine all the places my selfish self would bring me. And as I am doing all the “grown up” things I am mandated to do – I will hope I don’t forget another year!
If you’re wondering what the hell a Yeti is, you’re not alone. I found myself googling it during my son’s hockey game as I heard the parent next to me shout it out as our boys came onto the ice. I was already having trouble keeping up with understanding the game … icing, offsides, cross-checking … I never could figure out why the referee was blowing the whistle. (I called him an umpire till my son scoffingly corrected me on a drive home one evening.)
I’m assuming you’re already getting the impression I am not the world’s best hockey mom. And, if you had asked me what sport I would be managing my life around—that is if I actually had to choose one—hockey would not have been it. For starters, I hate the cold. I already live in Minnesota, so why would I add on the torture of standing inside a cold arena? There’s not even a chance to warm up from the below-zero walk from the car. Plus, I was not so ignorant about the sport to not know that the costs and time dedicated to it were much higher than for those of many other activities my son could choose to participate in. But, in tandem with how the rest of this parenting gig has seemed to go, nothing turns out as I would plan it. He fell in love with hockey.
With three practices a week and at least one game, hockey has become the center of family activities. We plan around it. The schedule hanging on the fridge at home is synched with my Outlook at work. There have been times we have been dragging kids out of bed for a 7:30 a.m. game and others starting a long drive home from an outlying rink an hour past normal bedtimes on a school night. My daughter’s most whined phrase has become, “Do we have to go to hockey again?”
And let’s not forget the mandatory volunteer duty. As my son moves up the hockey ranks, so do the hours as parents we are committed to serve. Twelve hours this year that my husband and I had to work off at the concession stand. Looking on the bright side, it saved me a lot of snack money and calories once I actually had a behind-the-scenes look at the preparations.
It was looking to be a long season. Never having been an active sports participant or fan, I just didn’t get it. Well, then I started to.
Something happened as I watched these boys play together as a team. It was something I had never before seen in my overly competitive and fairly self-centered son. Everything was bigger than him when it came to this group of boys. It was all about The Team. If one of them had a bad game, there was no finger-pointing or griping as I witnessed too many times in even a casual game of kickball in our front yard with friends. These boys rallied around each other. Every scored goal was an exciting win for all. I would hear detailed recaps of all the parts played by each team member in getting that puck to just the right position. I would watch the team hurry back to protect their goalie when the other team grabbed the puck. Never was a goal blocked or scored without everyone on the ice patting our goalie in congratulations or “good try” before lining back up for the next face off. And they weren’t the best team. In fact, the season started with a 12-1 loss to a farm team who towered over ours and skated rings around all our players. But these boys grew together as a team. Soon I found myself cheering and yelling for each of the boys by name right along with the others. I took pride in watching each of their huge strides in development as individual players and as a team: Proving their growth as they lost only 5-4 in overtime to the same team two months later.
And it wasn’t just on the ice they were a unified team. These boys bonded as friends. It was very different than their relationships with school friends. There were no pretenses. They didn’t have to act cool, dress a certain way or have a pecking order. They were just the crew. At an out-of-town tournament, I would watch my son wake up in the morning grab a hotel key and throw on a hat to meet the other boys at breakfast. This was the same boy who normally would want me to find out where the other kids were, determine whether or not they were they in their pajamas and wouldn’t join others till invited in the group. I heard other parents on the team saying the same thing. There were no insecurities. They could fully just be themselves and fit right in.
I met some great parents, too. None of us were too intense about the standings, but we all would be jumping up and down on a good play and nervously pacing as we watched our kids in a final shoot out to end the game after two overtimes had past. (I did learn some of how the game worked!) We knew each other’s kids and cheered for them as loudly as our own. We knew how each boy would react to a win or a loss.
Well, the season is now coming to an end. At our last game, the kids were begging the coach to get them all on the same team again next year. They didn’t want to play with anyone else. Well, that isn’t how it works, and the coach promised them they all had a lot of hockey ahead of them including other great teams to be part of. I found myself feeling sad, and I can’t believe I am saying this, but I’m already looking forward to starting it again next year. It was fun to be part of something. Working (or cheering) together and sharing in both the wins and the losses. I also now understand why you hear so much about the importance of girls also playing team sports, especially during high school years. A feeling of being part of something beyond yourself is so important, plus feeling like you belong somewhere. That team dynamic I had never experienced. (It was pretty amazing just witnessing it.) But, I will make sure my daughter does, and I am happy to tag along on my son’s journey for now.
One thing I won’t mind is a small break from the dictating ice-time schedule. This week, as I invited friends over for dinner, I had to add the caveat, “…that is, if we aren’t placed in the evening bracket.” Though my friend’s response was, “We’d love to. But, I can’t say for sure till I know how my son’s basketball tournament pans out.” With the end of the season, I can take back control of my schedule. That is until baseball starts.
And, if you haven’t googled it yet, a yeti is another name for the “abominable snowman” who is pictured on our Storm team’s jerseys. “Fear the Yeti” became our team chant. It may also make for a good vision board slogan next year, I find it seems to help me as a meditative chant in my mind that both makes me smile and feel some power. Much better then that “ohm” stuff that has never worked for me.
I am tired, and when I get tired things start to drop. It starts with one or two small things. But then the momentum hits, and soon I am buried in a list of have-to-dos that have been missed.
This isn’t my norm. The majority of the time I can go to work and successfully manage an overworked marketing staff that supports six sales divisions. Afterwards, I can come home (down a glass of wine) and transform to mom mode and successfully manage two young children (and a husband) to keep our chaotic household and schedules running fairly smooth. In addition to these major commitments, I get my workouts in, and keep up on emails, finances and my favorite shows. Admittedly when things are up and running, I sometimes impress myself with my seemingly superhuman energy and well-performed juggling act.
But right now I am not keeping up. Things are dropping on every side. I am showing up late and missing school events. (Why is my child always the first to perform? Five minutes later and I would have seen it.) My family is now dressing straight out the hamper of clean clothes that I planned to put away but now is almost empty and it is time to wash everything again. I screwed up a date scheduled with my husband and completely forgot my dad’s birthday. There is a major homework assignment due for my son and I somehow missed the month of preparation available to avoid the last minute crisis and cramming session. And, I have no idea what deadlines I have missed on all of the projects piled on my desk. In the midst of this downpour of dropped balls, workouts don’t stand a chance – though it hasn’t seemed to slow down my eating.
I have been here before, so logically I know it will pass. I will pick myself up, regain my stamina and get back into my rhythm to once again skillfully manage my work/life balance (never really balanced nor manageable – “organized chaos” may be a better description).
But currently the logic of waiting it out seems to be overridden with three intense urges:
Stand in the middle of my living room stomp, cry and scream – throw a full-blown tantrum.
Wiggle my nose like Samantha from Bewitched and magically fix everything. (I am not as cute as her wiggling my nose. Yes, I have tried in the mirror!)
Run away (not an option but a blissful fantasy).
So instead, I am trying to take the piece of advice my mom always gives: Just breathe. This may seem easy, but it truly is work for me to try to calm my mind for a minute and take a few deep breathes. But I am willing to try. Breathe and remember that in a few days I will be in my happy place again. Thank goodness for girlfriends, a cabin and a good local dance bar!
And if this breathing thing doesn’t work, I will continue to just keep topping off my wine glass to help sedate me or I will be joining my daughter in throwing a fit in the living room.
Now with my home and work schedule–multiple lists of tasks that need to get done, self-imposed deadlines, staying on top of an insane workload, ensuring the kids’ homework and activities don’t get missed, and continuing to maintain a fairly active social life–it seems evident that I would eventually hit a wall. But this was an actual, not metaphorical, wall, and I hit it with my forehead.
Though klutzy and stupid, you may not see this as a big deal. Who doesn’t trip or stumble here and there? But what started out as a not-bright move, not only created a visual crime scene effect with all the blood, it also left me with a concussion and whole new way of living (for a week).
Before, I delve into my experience with a different brain, I will answer the question I got a lot: How in the world did you run into a wall? It was night, I was checking on my daughter. I even thought to myself, “Perhaps I should turn on the hall light.” I didn’t (the thought of waking up a sleeping child deterred me). And a second later, I was stopped in my tracks by the corner of the wall.
After a few minutes to realize what happened and that my head was a bloody mess, I called for my husband. In return, I recieved an annoyed voice from upstairs complaining that he was in bed and to stop hollering at him. Even in my pain, I took some pleasure knowing he would pay for that when he saw what a mess I was. (Admittedly, I probably would have pretended I couldn’t even hear him if tables were turned.) Well, after I got my heartfelt apology and was cleaned up, I went to bed with one wish on my mind – please no scar!
The next morning, minus the throbbing head, I couldn’t believe my luck. The wound was hidden in my eyebrow. All was fine and off I went to a crazy day ahead, packed with meetings.
After a few dizzy spells running between meetings, a pounding headache, and a complete lack of being able to focus or provide any meaningful input, I realized I was off my game. I functioned better after a night with one, or a few, glasses of wine too many. I mentioned the hit to my boss who pointed out that she wondered what was up when I kept inserting out-of-place words in my sentences and told me to get it checked out. Diagnosis: mild concussion.
The fix was simple. Get some rest and your brain will heal. And, actually it wasn’t even a choice. Like a broken foot where you just can’t walk on it, my brain was calling it quits, which included:
Any conversation that was too long or complicated, I would forget what I was saying or start stumbling for words. It doesn’t take long for people to stop talking to you much or for you to avoid conversations that would get you raised eyebrow stares. It was a very quiet, peaceful week.
Anything that was multiple steps went painfully slow as I had to keep thinking of what I had already done and then what was still left to do. After one time of trying to prove I was capable of making a recipe I gave up in defeat. I didn’t try any projects that my five-year-old couldn’t easily do. And, actually a Dora the Explorer puzzle would have been way above my ability.
There was no chance of doing two things at once. Multitasking skills were completely gone. It was like walking around with my husband’s brain. I couldn’t do wash, talk on the phone and pick up toys at the same time. So I steadily just worked through the task at hand. Boy, it must be nice to live like that always.
I could easily forget what I had just done. I could spend minutes trying to remember if I put creamer in my coffee or why I opened the refrigerator. I was continually retracing my steps to figure out what my goal was. Eventually, you just make sure you aren’t doing much.
I slept. I headed to bed between eight and nine, saying goodnight before the kids were tucked in. I would sleep ten solid hours a night. On the weekend I would get up and enjoy some coffee and a couple hours and then head back for a nap. This is from a girl who is usually thrilled to get five straight hours in a night.
I had no strong emotion. I could get agitated easily but everything was more of an annoyance than an issue. I let things go quickly if they bugged me (not usually a trait of mine). I found myself way too sleepy to overanalyze or worry about anything too intensely. Plus, I didn’t seem to have the brain capacity to come up with all my normal imaginary scenarios to agonize about.
Aside from the constant jokes about wearing my helmet, coworkers took my injury in stride. They expected less. They cancelled my meetings. I was able to get some routine things done that had been piling up. My office wasn’t its normal hub of surprise drop-ins to brainstorm the “next best idea.” Everyone wanted me to take it easy. Well that, but after a few stilted conversations with me, most probably figured what was the point?
At home, I napped and didn’t do much else. My family seemed to enjoy me coming home and not pulling out my list of things to do and interrogating each of them if they completed their own lists. With the family conductor absent, we probably missed some things. And they all watched way too much TV as I slept, but I am pretty sure I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the rest.
I (the me I know) was back today. I knew it during a meeting when I started throwing out ideas – good ones – that would make a project for my already-bogged-down department bigger than originally conceived, while at the same time emailing another idea that came to me to a different department head. My brain’s recovery was confirmed as I walked into my house tonight. As I was poured my glass of wine to help me transition from worker to mother mode, I railed off a list of things we needed to catch up on. I think I heard my husband mumble to the kids, “Mom’s back.” (I am sure he meant it in an adoring way!) But, I was too busy getting things done to have time to question its meaning.
I will say, not expecting a lot of myself (nor fulfilling the expectations of others) was a nice break and the sleeping, a godsend. But, I do prefer my overly active brain and am glad to see it coming quickly back to full speed. Now, if I could only find a healthy way to knock some sense into it, so I could take some needed downtime once in awhile. Another thing for my list!
Well I had my blog topic all planned out tonight. It was going to be written between 9:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m., after tuck-in, and as I enjoyed a glass of wine and some quiet. Instead, I spent the night consoling a crying nine-year-old who said he wasn’t going to go school anymore because he was being picked on. It is now almost 11:00 p.m., my plan is thrown off, and I am distracted from my original topic.
This was one of those moments I felt totally unprepared to be a mother. Instead of having words of wisdom or advice on how to fix the problem, it took me right back to some memories I’d rather just forget. All I could think was, “Yeah, it sucks and you really can’t stop it. You just have to get through it.” I know, not a very encouraging mom perspective.
Now if you ask me why he got picked on and I told you … you’d say it is pretty silly. Minor stuff. Actually, fairly ridiculous. But if you were ever teased, you know that even someone saying, “You are too smart, pretty and rich,”—when said in a mocking voice—would make you want to give it all up just to fly under the radar. As a kid, you just want to be liked and fit in.
I still clearly remember going into seventh grade, starting at a new school, and a popular girl asking (in a really mean way) if I was wearing eye makeup. I wasn’t and said so. But sensing my vulnerability, I soon had a group of girls surrounding my desk teasing me for looking like I wore mascara. I went home and cried. Every day, I would walk into that junior high class knowing I had an hour to be tormented for having dark, long lashes. Looking back with my adult brain, I have a ton of comebacks and can’t believe that upset me. But at that time, being singled out in a crowd was devastating. I am not sure I am ready to go back through the emotions of reliving those school years again. Another thing no one warned me about when becoming a parent (an ever-growing list).
So what do you do as a mom? I can’t say it is stupid and just don’t listen to them. (Who doesn’t take it personally when mean things are said about them?) Nor, tell a teacher. (That makes it worse if peers know you snitched.) Or, if you don’t let them see it bothers you, they will stop. (They probably won’t ’til they find someone else to bother.) The truth would be to say: “It is going to hurt like hell and this probably won’t be the only time you go through it.”
So there I sat. I held a crying kid with no words. I knew what not to say and had no idea of the right thing to say. Rack up another mother moment where I just cross my fingers that my kids can get through my lack of suave parenting skills. I swear I remember my parents as all-knowing and full of advice in situations like these, but they probably struggled, too. (And, I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow and call my mom and ask what to do!)
For me, there is nothing in the world like being out dancing with girlfriends. I probably should be saying something like “having children,” “watching a beautiful sunset,” or “accomplishing a long-term goal.” But if I am being perfectly honest, my true happy place is out with girls dancing. It is the perfect pairing of two favorite things.
Dancing: My husband and kids know at any time Mom may throw on a playlist of a random genre and start a dance party around the house. It may be pop, glam rock, alternative, heavy metal, hip hop or even country (usually inspired by my last visit to the cabin and the local dance bar). Lately my morning routine has been blasting “Chicken Fried” and singing and dancing for the family. They find me a bit annoying but I’m hoping somewhere … deep down … they secretly find me fun and silly. How else do you break up a morning of crabby kids, a grumbling husband and facing another crazy day at the office? Especially since running away does not seem to be an option.
Girlfriends: I don’t think I have to do too much explaining on this. Most likely, just seeing the word made you smile. These are those to whom you can say whatever you want to and they just get it. Some are really close and know all your intimate secrets. Others are fabulous neighbors, coworkers, workout partners or a even random meet-up. They are the honest women who don’t try to tell you life is perfect, but are just there and get it with you. They make life perfect. Okay, I am gushing, but I do recognize when I am blessed.
So, combine these two fabulous things that make me feel completely free, totally myself, and always put a huge smile on my face – mix in with a couple drinks (the cherry on the top) – and I have a moment of selfish bliss. And that moment helps get me through a lot of other kinds of times.
I am hoping there are others out there who would consider volunteering or overcoming a challenge to be their happy place. They help add some balance to this world. (My runner-up happy place is on the couch – quiet with no one else around – with a glass of wine.) But, the important thing is knowing where it is and visiting it as often as you can.
Well, this year’s vision board was not as smooth of a process as last time. Perhaps it was a bit of the first-time novelty wearing off. Or, since I threw out to the online world that I would share it, I knew/I felt like everything I selected would be scrutinized by any followers (since there are only a handful of you at this point, this probably was a bit silly, but I have never been one who likes to look like an under performer).
Now don’t get me wrong. The swilling-of-wine and laughing-with-friends part of this project was a blast. But, I could not find the right pictures. Actually, I had no idea what to put on my board. Instead of inspiring, it had turned into a to-do list project. Witnessing others easily pull theirs together did not help matters.
So there my board sat empty, except for the smiling girl in the rain brought over from last year. I did find a photo of a kid blowing bubbles forming the word dream. That seemed like an obvious one since I had no big aspirations for 2013 – I might as well prepare for 2014.
“Knock off a few easy ones,” a friend suggested, “don’t just think big.” That got me on a bit of a roll…take better care of my nails, try wearing my hair in different styles, a clock to remind me of stricter time-outs with the kids along with adding a “drop everything to read” ritual to try to get control over my children (spurred by a turn off-the-electronics battle as I left the house).
Other easy ones to add an were photos representing getting into better shape. With finding-the-perfect-stomach-and-butt-photo a common search for everyone, the Yoga and Shape magazines were very popular. And soon a drinking game was created: Toast and drink every time someone calls out a spotting of the “It’s a Yeast Party” advertisement. Yes, I am serious that is an actual ad (and placed enough to create a game out of it).
By the end of the night, I had a board put together. It was fine. (Anyone who knows me knows fine is not a word I like or aspire to in any aspect of my life.)
This weekend I decided to head up to the cabin to “clean” with a girlfriend (a post later on that). I decided to grab my board, thinking maybe I would be able to add something. I wasn’t quite ready to give up.
Well, flipping through magazines I happened upon a photo of a girl. (Is it more proper to say woman? Sorry if I offend anyone, but I am still in denial about my age and prefer girl.) Now I can’t explain what I liked about the photo. Sure she was attractive, but she also just seemed put together in an eclectic way. Confident. Interesting. Not perfect. I don’t know exactly what it was, but something clicked. I tore off my last year’s spokesperson and put on the new girl. That was it. I finally looked at my board and felt inspired.
KitKat’s vision for 2013
I didn’t achieve that pure happiness of the blonde in the rain from last year’s board. And, I didn’t feel compelled to achieve it this time. This is a different year and I am different. I still want to settle my mind, teach myself to live in the present, and embrace contentment. But, maybe I want pieces of my weirdness, craziness, longing for more to also stay part of me. Be confident to be me … temperamental, quirky, goofy, stubborn, spontaneous … the whole mishmash of stuff (naughty and nice) that—as a whole—people hired me, befriended me and married me for. I want to improve me without losing me – the good as well as the not-ideal. In this business of life, marriage, kids, career, I have already given up enough of me.
And I’ll tell you … sounds a bit silly, but a few times when I’ve felt my head judging myself, worrying or over-analyzing, I have focused on that picture, stopped myself and switched gears. (Well, and a few times I went down my crazy rabbit hole – but the girl in the photo I picked would give herself a break for an occasional slip up!)
I won’t bore you with what all the photos and words stand for (I will refer to them here and there in other posts) – but I’d love to hear some things others would put on their board. Remember, don’t just think big. I actually got the nail polish out and did my nails after walking by my board and being reminded. Maybe these things really do work. Heck, even Oprah.com promotes doing one.
Unlike Stormy, I usually forget about setting resolutions. By the time January 1st passes, I am still catching up on my normal tasks such as scheduling a mammogram (could the postcard reminder I received in September be right – didn’t I just have one?) and getting my oil changed. (Yes, I realize oil should be changed more often – baby steps.) It is usually not until someone asks me about my resolutions that I quickly throw some out to the world….umm, eat healthier, start a budget, don’t over-schedule myself…basically the same things I have been saying and not doing for years.
Well last year, I was convinced by a group of girlfriends to try a vision board. If you don’t know what this is, it means creating a collage of photos and placing it where you will see it daily to inspire you to achieve your goals. Sounded a bit hokie to me but I decided sitting around with girlfriends, having wine and giggling over silly wishes would make up for the crafty, spiritual part of the assignment. What did I have to lose?
It was a great night of flipping through magazines together looking for just the right imagery clearly emulating our goals for 2012. Even more fun as the evening progressed and the wine bottles emptied. And, you can always count on girlfriends to see you clearly and provide some honest suggestions you hadn’t even thought of. I came home excited, lighthearted from a night with the girls and ready to give it a whole-hearted try. And true to form, the first couple weeks I looked at it every day. I even knocked off a couple of goals right away. Create some play lists on my phone – check! Organize my closet – check again! January hadn’t even ended and I was rolling through my goals.
And then also true to form, it lost my attention as I was side-tracked by other things. That is until two days ago when I got the email that it was time to meet, share what came true, and make a board for 2013. Yikes! I couldn’t even remember what was on mine. I also knew some of the other girls really nailed theirs. (It is a bad sign when you remember other’s goals more than your own.) For example, one girl had visions of meeting someone, falling in love and getting married. I remember thinking, shouldn’t she just start with the meeting someone this year? Well I was proven wrong. She got married a month ago. The pressure was on. Especially since, I seem to look at even vision boards as a competitive sport. I dug through my closet and pulled out my board to see how I did.
KitKat’s 2012 Vision Board
Tennis – check! I took two lessons with Stormy.
Concentrate on career – big check! I got a new, higher-level job.
Yoga – check! I took a few classes.
Start writing – Now that’s interesting, I totally forgot about putting that on. The blog has to count. Check again!
Girlfriends – check! It has been an amazing year of building even stronger bonds with my friends. (More on that in later posts.)
Kids – Work in progress. If I remember correctly my intention was to do more things with them, enjoy them while they are young, and be a better mom. (Does forgetting this goal make me a bad mom?)
Make time for my Grandmas – check! I haven’t visited them but I have been calling and emailing much more. (Love that one of my grandma’s discovered email, even if her caps lock always seems to be turned on.)
“Stop” – unaccomplished. A word I get told once in awhile when my mind is whirling and over analyzing (when I am caught in a loop) to remind me it is all in my head. That one may need to move to this year’s board, along with the stomach I wanted and haven’t achieved. Actually, I don’t like that word and my head won’t stop – I am who I am. That one won’t move forward to a new year. I don’t need to fail two years in a row.
Overall, I was a bit shocked to discover how many of the forgotten things on the board had actually become part of my year. Perhaps it is like a horoscope that you can always twist to make things mentally fit your scenario.
This year, I am not sure what to put on my board (besides the perfect stomach). Maybe, simply the picture of the woman smiling in the rain. I put her on last year’s board because she looked so happy. Not just content, but joyful. Perhaps this year it is as simple as figuring out what things bring that joy to me. And finding ways to fully enjoy those things (and STOP continuing, worrying about or analyzing those that don’t).
I’ll share my 2013 board next week. If you have some good ideas for my board I’d love to hear them, especially a few that I can knock off quick. I also just snatched up a Living Social coupon for a private horseback lesson giving me one more check for my 2012 board. I have always worked best under pressure!
Easier Said Than Done 