Category: Attitude

Florida vignettes, part II: Del Boca Vista

On By StormyIn Attitude, Children, Parents, Relationships2 Comments

So, Dear Readers, you may recall that our Florida story began with a work conference. But after a successful conclusion of that industry event, it was time to leave the luxury resort in Ft. Lauderdale for the second phase of my adventure. Next up? A 3-hour drive to senior-infested Central Florida to visit my beloved parents in their winter haven.

Now, whenever I mention that my parents flock to Florida with the other Minnesota snowbirds, I get the same question, “Is it anything like ‘Del Boca Vista’?” To which I respond, “Yes, but imagine the Costanzas living there instead of the Seinfelds.”

After getting turned around a few times trying to find the route recommended by the GPS function on my iPhone (it seems all of the freeways in Florida are labeled “Florida’s Turnpike”), I pulled into the Carefree Country Club in Winterhaven around five o’clock. The next 48 hours were filled with visiting some of Mom and Dad’s favorite eating establishments (the upside of dining with seniors: I got carded when I ordered a beer), listening to my dad play the organ (unfortunately, he plays about three beats behind the pre-programmed accompaniment) and visiting the local flea market.

I’ll take my fleas to go

A "sharp eye" will spot the transposed letters...
A “sharp eye” spots the knock-off pens

The flea market was interesting. Imagine the 20 worst garage sales you’ve ever been to and string them all together. That was the flea market. One large tent in particular was a veritable treasure trove of shit. Knock-off products of every shape and size jockeyed for the attention of shoppers trying to stretch a fixed income.

I was particularly amused by the “Sharpeis”… Aren’t those the wrinkly dogs? The contrast between that redneck flea market and the oceanfront resort where I had been just one day earlier was both amusing and a bit depressing.

What’s a lifetime of sacrifice worth? Apparently $29.82. 

One of the pleasures of being an adult is the ability to buy your parents a decent meal. I mean, my parents raised NINE children, which obviously entailed a considerable amount of physical and financial sacrifice on their part. As someone farther down the batting order, I know that my existence is more due to the Catholic church’s ruling on birth control than it is based on the fact that my parents really wanted an 8th child/5th daughter. So how does one say, “Hey, thanks for all the love and sacrifice?” Well, in our family, food is always an appropriate way to show love, so my plan was to take my parents out for a nice meal during my visit. Sky’s the limit, I told them. Pick your favorite place. After much debate, Mom chose the local Bob Evans. The tab for the three of us? Under $30–so much for gratitude (I had spent that much just having margaritas on the beach earlier in the week). To be honest, my parents would be appalled to know how much my husband and I regularly spend on eating out, as it contradicts the frugal approach necessitated by raising nine children. But my parents enjoyed their meal, and I, their company. So I guess that’s what really matters.

Check out those gams

Being from a large family, it’s an interesting exercise to speculate on which parental traits have carried through to the next generation.

My mother’s nose is…um…prominent. She inherited it from her father and a couple of my brothers and I inherited it from her. My four sisters all lament the fact that they have no pinky toenail and blame my mother. They all covet my pinky toenail—I guess it comes from Dad. My predilection for colorful phrases comes from my father. My love of reading? That’s Dad, too. My sharp tongue? Weird sense of humor? Mom. And so on…

But check this out:

86 years old!
86 years old!

These are the legs of my 86-year-old father. Not bad, eh? In fact, it’s become a bit of a family joke to kid my father about his gorgeous gams. But seriously, this is an unretouched photo taken from my iPhone last week. Look at those legs! I’m hoping this is one of the physical traits I’ve inherited from Dad (my mother’s legs–having withstood nine pregnancies–naturally show a little more wear and tear). Check back in another four decades or so, and we’ll see whether I won the genetic lottery on legs.

Putting the bite on the sandwich generation

The most difficult part of my visit was revisiting an old argument with my mother: The “It’s-time-to-downsize-and-move-to-an-assisted-living-facility” discussion. The fact is, my parents are no longer able to winter in Florida so far away from the assistance of their kids. My mom has her hands full with my dad, who (in addition to great gams) has dementia and no short-term memory. My siblings and I have jobs and families of our own and can’t always drop everything to help out, although we try our best. We all live in dread of Mom getting sick or hurt, because even the most minor hospitalization would require one of us to immediately fly down there and care for my dad.

My sibs and I would like to planfully arrange for my parents to move into a nice senior apartment where they could retain their independence, yet still have a social life and be able to get help in an emergency–rather than waiting for a health crisis to necessitate an emergency move into whatever substandard place has an opening. Ironically, my father–the so-called demented one–is amenable to this; however, my mother is adamantly opposed to the idea. So we defer to Mom’s wishes and continue to persuade and cajole, but the fact is, we’re stuck. We love our parents tremendously and know that these sacrifices are the ones my siblings and I are required to make in exchange for all those our parents made while raising us. As much as I wish otherwise, dinner at Bob Evans just won’t settle that debt.

Eventually you hit a wall

On By KitKatIn AttitudeLeave a comment

I hit a wall!

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:

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.
  4. 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.
  5. 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.
  6. 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!

The Gym Virgin gets pumped

On By StormyIn Attitude, Fashion/beauty, Health/fitness, Hobbies1 Comment

I’ll concede that I was born with pretty good genes, but there’s a point in time (and if truth be told, I reached it a few years ago) where some effort is required to maintain the chassis. However, as mentioned in an earlier post, I have an aversion to paying for services that I can do myself for free. And since exercise falls into this category, I just couldn’t bring myself to join a gym.

I tried to remedy the situation on my own–by walking, biking, etc., but I knew my meager efforts weren’t quite cutting it. So last fall when a new fitness center opened very close to my house, I thought: Maybe it’s time. For one thing, the gym was running a Grand Opening special. For another, numerous medical studies have concluded that people with my husband’s condition benefit from regular exercise. So having a convenient place to exercise would not only help me get in shape–it would actually be therapeutic for him. Therefore a gym membership was an easy expense to justify for that reason alone. But would joining a gym translate into actually working out?

photoWe took a tour of the facility and signed up for a membership on the spot. The membership included a free consult with a personal trainer (designed for the purpose of up-selling a fitness package), so we scheduled the consult for a few days later. The training director put me through some basic fitness tests that underscored the fact that I needed some help. While my height/weight/BMI were all within a good range, my flexibility, endurance and strength were not. Faced with the offer of special introductory pricing for a package of personal training sessions, I had to make a shrewd financial decision. We had already joined and would be paying a monthly fee—sunk costs. If we never actually went to the gym, we’d join the millions of Americans who pay a monthly membership that funds nothing but good intentions. I knew I needed some accountability, so I signed up for a year’s worth of training sessions.

My personal trainer is a petite, pretty blonde who is probably underestimated on a regular basis by the men she meets outside the gym. And I pity the man who makes that mistake. 😉 To kick off our first session, she asked me some questions about my fitness routine and experience. I told her I was a gym virgin and didn’t even know how to use most of the machines. In short, I told her: “Assume I know nothing. Assume everything needs work.”

With this liberal direction, Marcia got down to business. She took me over to the free weights and handed me a 40 lb. barbell. “Okay, stomach in, butt out,” she ordered. “Girls out! Shoulders back!” she continued, coaxing me into a posture that my mother had been discouraging in me since puberty. “Stick ’em out! Be shameless! Okay, now bend over slowly… There you go!” The back of the gym is where all the serious iron-pumpers hang out, and I could see their amused smirks as my trainer ordered me about.

And so the Gym Virgin mastered the exaggerated, floozy stance necessary to properly execute a Romanian Deadlift (at least, I think that’s what it’s called).

Marcia alternately encourages and challenges me to try progressively heavier weights (check out those squats). And while I still feel like a weakling when I see what Marcia can do, I’ve found that I actually enjoy my workouts. The slow progress is my own darn fault since my training appointment is the only time I get to the gym some weeks.  This proves my accountability theory correct, but I’m sticking with it—and am starting to develop some pretty buff arms.

photo-2Perhaps as important as the physical benefit is the psychological boost that comes from getting out of the house and being active on a cold winter’s evening. Or realizing that I’m still capable of learning new skills and healthy habits. Or maybe it’s just having an excuse to have fun and act a little shameless in pursuit of a better bod. 🙂

True Confessions II: Freak outs and phobias

On By StormyIn Attitude, Children, Random3 Comments

Did you think our earlier post was the full extent of our weirdness? Heck no, we’ve got plenty more where that came from…

Let’s talk about fears, aversions and phobias. Heights? Spiders? Nah, after all those are fairly normal–and one of the things I have a fear of? Being normal. 🙂

Stormy: Centipedes. There’s no reason they need so many legs! Millipedes? 10x worse! I once had a dream that I was laying in my bed and looked up to see a centipede above me on the ceiling. Then it dropped into my bed. I screamed, threw back the covers and leapt out of bed, nearly giving my poor husband a heart attack. At that point, I noticed that the room was completely dark, and there was no way that I could have seen a monkey on my ceiling, let alone a centipede. Frankly, I’d prefer a monkey.

Jaws_KitKat: Sharks. Now that seems like a pretty healthy and normal fear. I mean, sharp teeth, that scary fin circling you as it closes in for the attack, the Jaws theme song … scary stuff. But I must admit, my phobia is a bit extreme. Whenever I am in the ocean, I always make sure there are other people in front of me in the water to ensure plenty of other shark bait, allowing me to run as others are gobbled up. I am often harassed about a fear-induced comment I made once about how I need a gun whenever I am in the ocean so I could shoot myself if a shark was going to eat me. And, don’t get me going on my ultimate fear of my plane crashing into the water and surviving until the sharks attack. Thank goodness for airport bars prior to flying.

Stormy: Like Mitt Romney, I’m no fan of Big Bird. I have nothing against educational children’s shows as a whole (although, let’s face it: most of them are drivel). However, I detest the big yellow bird. His voice grates on me, he’s a bit stupid (bird brain?) and worst of all, he’s just plain dull. Dullness is unforgivable in a Muppet. Give me Gonzo anyday… Or better yet, Animal. He’s kinda sexy.

KitKat: Wet bread. Yuck! I do not get dipping toast in egg yolk, grilled cheese in tomato soup or crackers in chili. It turns a perfectly delicious starch into a mushy, baby food consistency. I am gagging a bit as I type. If I pack a sandwich for lunch, the tomatoes and any mayo is packed separately so my bread won’t have any soggy spots when I eat it. Anyone who wants my help doing the dishes will be extra careful to throw all bread items into the garbage and not the sink. The ultimate worst – dirty water soaked bread. If I even see a piece of wet bread stuck to a plate or floating in the sink, I will call it quits and someone else is on dish duty.

Stormy: Belly buttons. They’re like some sort of mystery portal–a connection between the life force that spawned me and my own individual identity. I know that doctors tie the umbilical cord off after childbirth to create the bellybutton, so part of me worries that the darn thing will unravel and all my guts will spew forth. Is that really so irrational? After all, they were invented by man, not God–and we all know, man makes mistakes! This phobia extends to touching my bellybutton: Don’t go there! I’ll take your hand off with a cleaver if you come within a 3 inch radius of it. (Ask my husband, Stumpy. He once rolled over in his sleep and his arm flopped over on my stomach. Now he’s a lefty.) Navel rings? Over my dead body.

KitKat: What freak ever made satin sheets a sexy bedroom item? There is nothing that would have me running from a room faster, no matter who was under those covers. I can’t stand even a hint of satin trim on anything. The feel of it makes me shudder. My sister used to like scratching on it and then watching me cover my ears and go into a fetal position. It is like fingernails down a blackboard for me. Back when women wore suntan nylons, someone scratching their leg was a form of torture for me. If you have an old pair, feel them–very similar to satin.

Stormy: Wool. As people grow older, it’s recommended that you start communicating your wishes on critical end-of-life decisions to your children. Here’s mine: When I’m in the nursing home, DON’T LET THEM PUT WOOL SOCKS ON ME! OR A WOOL BLANKET! In fact, I’ve mentioned this not only to my kids, but to my husband, nieces, nephews and sibs, just to make sure my bases are covered (BUT NOT IN WOOL!) This is not a quirk fear…Somewhere in my early 30s, I developed an acute sensitivity to wool. I can try on a sweater in a store and, within 10 seconds, identify that there’s wool in it. As little as 5% in a blended fabric can start a rash. I can only wear wool skirts if they are lined and my top is tucked into my tights. And if I wear a wool coat, I have to have a turtleneck or scarf wrapped around my neck. As someone who lives in chilly Minnesota, I live in perpetual fear of wool. Thank God for cashmere!

KitKat: Stormy left an aversion out that as mothers we share: The Berenstain Bears. There are a few things playing against them: To begin with the droning preachiness about every and any lesson you care to know and some you don’t. The Little Brute Family There is no humor behind the stories and boring characters. To top it off, the books are really long. Not the book I am looking to read as I am quickly trying to get my kids to sleep and finally enjoy some quiet time. Check out The Little Brut Family. Stormy gave that to me as a recommended family favorite. Reminded me of my family (before they turned polite), sense of humor,  and a quick bedtime read.

Where did all my visions go?

On By KitKatIn Attitude, Girlfriends1 Comment

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
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.

Frugality vs. Sanity: The fine art of creative rationalization

On By StormyIn Attitude, Health/fitness, Work/careers10 Comments

I was raised by parents who were children during The Great Depression. This has served me well in many ways… My parents instilled in us kids an appreciation for hard work and frugality that has put me into a relatively comfortable financial situation. However, it’s had an interesting side effect on my psyche and that is a knee-jerk aversion toward paying for services that I can do myself for much cheaper. A prime example: House cleaning. As one of nine kids, you can bet I was taught how to clean. However, once my career started to take off, I hated spending my limited free time cleaning—yet hiring someone else to clean seemed so “elite.” It felt like a slap in the face of my mother and mother-in-law, both of whom maintained large family households without any domestic help (well, except for the help provided by the aforementioned large families–did I mention I know how to clean?).

feather dusterA discussion with a coworker at the time changed my view. She relayed some advice from an executive in the company who had similar concerns over hiring a lawn service. He asked himself whether his limited free time was better spent mowing the lawn or focusing on his career, and he chose the latter, knowing his executive salary would more than offset the cost of the lawn service. This perspective made economic sense, as well as career sense. I had found the perfect rationalization to alleviate any guilt I felt about hiring housecleaners: I wasn’t a lazy slug or spoiled princess–I was a competent working mother making a strategic investment in my career. Bam!

Over the years, I was able to apply a similar rationale to a few other paid services. For example, hiring a plowing service is easy to justify with my husband’s disability and I creatively rationalize my rather expensive hair cuts/color by going to my niece who is a senior stylist at a local salon (because I’m supporting a relative in her career, haha).

The one line that I could not cross—until recently—was paying for a gym. This is most directly related to my upbringing. Thankfully, my Dear Old Dad is still on this planet, but if he weren’t, the thought of me paying a company money for the privilege of sweating would make him roll over in his grave. Actually, exercise for the sake of exercise would confound him when there is a world of productive exercise—in the old days we called them chores—just ripe for the pickin’… (And if the “chore” is weeding the yard, that’s a very literal analogy!)

I figured what my Dad doesn’t know can’t hurt him. And I knew that a lack of exercise could have much more expensive consequences down the line–in the case of my parents, consequences like diabetes, joint problems, high blood pressure–things that can be prevented or lessened through exercise. So guess what I decided to do?

I’ll tell you about my fitness adventures in a future post. Meanwhile, they say everything has its price… So I’m curious: What are the jobs that are most worthwhile for you to outsource?

True Confessions…

On By StormyIn Attitude, Children, Fashion/beauty3 Comments

I know what you’re thinking: “These women represented themselves as ‘more messed up’ than me. So far, they’re pretty average… Trouble juggling work and families, blah, blah, blah, trouble keeping New Year’s Resolutions, YAWN. Bring on the idiosyncrasies!”

Okay, since you put it like that…

IMHO, there are two types of idiosyncrasies. 1) The weird thing that you suspect is actually normal and 2) the weird thing you know is weird. Case in point: There are mornings where I have trouble deciding what to wear. I’ll try something on and it just looks bad or I’m not feeling like wearing a wool skirt or whatever. So, I change clothes several times before settling on an outfit and leaving the house. This is weird, but I suspect it’s pretty common, so I don’t give it much thought.

I remember a conversation with KitKat and another coworker where this idiosyncrasy came up. The other coworker–let’s call her Alissa–maintained that she NEVER did this. She simply woke up, decided on an outfit, got dressed and never looked back. While this may be true (Alissa was/is quite decisive and put together), I will submit that she’s the freak in this scenario. This is just not normal female behavior!

Okay, so that’s my example of the first type of eccentricity. The following would be the second type…

Stormy: I sometimes get dressed, will iron something to wear, put it on, notice I missed a few wrinkles and will try to iron my clothes while wearing them–simply because I can’t be bothered to undress again. This is a bit tricky, as my body is not completely flat (although some parts–unfortunately–nearly resemble an ironing board). Also, the temp of the iron has to be just so: Hot enough to smooth the wrinkles, but not so hot that one has to embarrass oneself explaining an odd assortment of second-degree burns to the ER doc.

KitKat: I have a thing for vampires. This is not just a confession to liking tween books such as Twilight. (Though they weren’t bad.) More like if I made my “free list,” it would be filled with vampire stars. It makes no sense, I understand even if they weren’t pretend they would be killers yet I find them completely sexy and fascinating. I root for them in movies and shows and feel a bit (quite a bit) envious of the lucky girls they turn. Interesting to find your self sounding weird and demented writing about your secret confessions.

Stormy: I drink coffee in the shower. In fact, I had a shelf put in at just the right height for my morning cuppa. It’s on the other end of the shower from the showerhead, so no water gets in the cup to dilute it (I like my coffee quite strong, with a liberal amount of half-and-half and some Ghiradelli ground chocolate). Although to the naked eye (get it, naked, because we’re in the shower?) it would appear to be a shelf for shampoo… Don’t judge me.

KitKat: Though no one has ever defined me as a clean freak, anal, or overly particular … actually I would usually be classified as the opposite of all these terms … I have a strange issue with cushions. If one side of my couch gets sat in all the time, I will purposely make time to even it out. This is the same for sides of pillows or any other cushion-like objects that may get unevenly flattened if ignored. Yes, I even keep track of which way I have laid on the couch to read so the next time I can lay the opposite way. I also watch if guests are over-favoring one side and when they leave I give the other some attention. My husband and sister find this oddity of mine an amusing way to torture me.

Stormy: Sometimes when my kids were little and wearing me out, I’d send them to bed. Often they would protest, “But I’m not tired!” to which I’d respond, “Yes, but I’m tired OF you…” For the record, they’re all pretty decent adults now, so I don’t think it scarred them.

KitKat: Though I truly believe my hair gets better not being washed everyday (yes sometimes the third day is its best), I am insane about shaving. I shave every day and often twice if I have plans at night. It doesn’t matter if anyone will see or touch my legs. I want them smooth. I can spend a lot of time shaving over and over the same area not sure what is hair or goosebumps because I am losing my hot water. This also puts me on a constant quest for the perfect razor. I have tried every recommendation and still have yet to come across THE ONE. I am open to suggestions?

Resolved.

On By StormyIn Attitude, Relationships3 Comments

So, it goes without saying that a woman with advanced control issues can’t resist the clean slate that is New Year’s. I’m seduced by the potential of any sentence that begins, “I resolve to…” Heck, I even like the word “resolve.” It sounds so decisive! As I’ve gotten older, I’ve discovered more than 50 shades of grey (no, I haven’t read the book), and I occasionally crave simple, decisive action.

In short, I like resolutions…and while I’ve also been known to make them at the start of the school year and on Ash Wednesday for Lent, what better time than New Year’s to embrace my control-freaky-self and once again Resolve To Do Better?

Sometimes my resolutions are actions I’ve been considering for some time, but need additional motivation to tackle. Sometimes they’re just novelties that pop into my brain–things I think I should try (which explains how I ended up with a pair of snowshoes for Christmas this year). Currently, I have a long “to-do” list of things that other people might consider “resolutions” (you can see some of them on the banner graphic), but this is an on-going, lifelong list–a bucket list of sorts. I’ve been slowly tackling these one-by-one (including the one called “start a blog” wink, wink) and will continue working on them. Consequently, my resolutions this year aren’t going to consist of this type of “action item,” but rather they were inspired by a recent conversation with a friend and a couple of articles I’ve read. They would probably be more appropriately categorized as “attitude adjustments.” Here they are:

  • 1)   Assume good intentions in other people – I decided this would be a good exercise for someone who’s a bit of a cynic (e.g., me) and it has been. But interestingly, I’ve been able to take situations that would have ticked me off in the past and reframed them in my mind, giving the other person the benefit of the doubt. Often my initial negative assumptions actually were wrong (imagine that!) and in general I think this one will help me reap more positive interactions with others and develop a more positive outlook over time.
  • 2)   Do something nice each day for myself and another person – This one sounds a little pathetic—one would hope that this would come naturally and wouldn’t require a conscious effort. But if I’m honest with myself, I know there are complete days (usually workdays) where I operate on autopilot and neglect this very simple objective. I’ve been mostly succeeding at remembering this one, but I’m hoping I can just make it a habit.
  • 3)   Don’t overthink things – This is a great one for me to work on. I’m hypercritical about EVERYTHING and this results in 1) analysis paralysis, 2) dissecting every idea until I decide it’s no longer worth pursuing 3) thinking about an unpleasant task for longer than it would take to actually do it. 4) Generalized anxiety about things over which I have no control over anyway. This resolution has been the hardest one for me to keep. I’ve had some small successes–for instance, it’s been a godsend when it comes to my productivity: When a thought crosses my mind (to workout, to clean something, etc.), I say to myself, “Don’t overthink it” and then just dive in and do it rather than running through mental excuses and stalling. On the other hand, I haven’t been quite as successful at applying it when it comes to those Big Important Thoughts. I still get caught up in worrying thoughts about my aging parents, my husband’s illness, my job, etc.–sometimes looping over and over in my head like that damn Gangnam Style video. 

These obsessing-at-3 a.m.-thoughts are when I truly need to stop overthinking and just get my mind into a different mode, whether it’s getting a good night’s sleep, learning a new language or writing a blog post.

Are there any other resolution-minded, control freaks out there? What are your resolutions and why?