Lately I’ve been sitting on my couch (bed, chair, toilet, whatever…) contemplating my life. Between of course, the kids fighting or whining at me or the dogs wanting to go out or come in. No, I’ve not given the whole “What should I do with my life?” thing a lot of continuous thought because I’m just plain busy. I’m a forty-something year old wife and mother but I like to call myself an Executive Charwoman, which is real life English is a professional servant. Some people would say I don’t need to contemplate my life. I have a life that’s just fine. I have a bang-up great guy for a husband and three kids who, when they aren’t driving me crazy are equally ‘da bomb’. I live in American suburbia; drive my Volvo and lunch with my friends on a regular basis…after I’ve finished my daily workout at the health club, that is. Yes, I have the life. What’s there to contemplate? Ha! I bet all of you Executive Chairwomen reading this are nodding your head, thinking the same thing that I’m thinking. There’s got to be more to life than this.
It’s not that I’m unhappy. Well, maybe for a few days out of the month (the same days I often tell my husband I want a divorce). But the fact of the matter is, I’m happy. Happiness isn’t my issue. Content on the other hand…content poses a bit of a problem. The angel of contentment has been floating around my life like a lightening bug. I try and try to catch her and when I think I’ve got her trapped in my hands, I open them up and she’s not there. She’s simply out of reach. Personally, I think she’s mocking me. Flying around in clear view sticking her tongue out and laughing. “You can’t have me! You can’t have me!” I mean, come on! How rude is that?
So today I’m sitting at Starbucks (something else most Executive Charwomen do) listening to a very attractive woman give me her network marketing spiel, telling me how much she loves her company, how all of her team members are just tres fabulous and that if I’d just give the company a chance I’d find my passion and be rich at the same time! Sign me up! I want to have passion (outside of the bedroom or the bathroom that is)! I want to be rich! Show me the passion and the money and I’ll show you one content Executive Charwoman! But am I really going to find my passion in a nice shiny but light bronzer? I’m thinking no. Needless to say, I didn’t sign up. That’s another $29 I’ve saved my husband today, thank you very much. Never say I can’t save money when I want to.
I’ve been so desperate to figure out my life I even bought a self-help book to help. The Success Principles: How to Get from Where You Are to Where You Want to Be. In the first chapter it tells you to define your life’s purpose. Once you’ve done that you can move on to chapters two, three and finally to the end of the book where you’ve done each and every thing the book’s detailed and in only 64 chapters you’ve reached all of your goals and are living the life you’ve always dreamed! I’ve had the book for over a year now and I still haven’t made it past chapter one. Everyone’s gotta have a life’s purpose. The problem is figuring out what the hell mine is.
I’m still on the path to discovering myself. I thought I’d done that when I had a great career, traveled often, worked out daily and weighed a whopping 107 lbs soaking wet. Life was good. I was past the bar stage, wasn’t really interested in dating and honestly felt I would never get married. With that thought in mind I decided it was time to stop paying someone else for my housing and start paying a larger establishment; Chase Bank. With the purchase of my quaint little townhouse in a small community full of old people (I hate hearing the loud banging of my neighbors stereo so old people worked well…I just had to listen to endless repeats of Matlock if I stayed home during the day), I felt it was time to trade in the old pink, mauve and gray floral furniture so popular in the early 80’s for something more ‘single woman pretending she’s not a spinster’-like. And this is where my life began its warp speed change.
Wouldn’t it be my luck…while walking into the furniture store an incredibly attractive man with the tightest little buns I’ve ever seen walked by me. (Really now, how many good looking men with nice butts are there in the world? Was it fate one just happened to walk right by me at that exact moment? I think so.) We both just about broke our necks looking at each other. The next thing I knew it was four months later, we were engaged and I was living with him and his two very young daughters. Oh, and I was pregnant. We still have that damn townhouse and I still feel sad when I think that I only lived in it for four months!
Fast forward eight years later and fifteen pounds heavier and now I’m out of the professional world and rarely travel to anything but cheerleading competitions in places like Chattanooga, TN and Macon, GA. I still workout every day but the life I have now and the life I had then are vastly different. Things happen on a daily basis that make me look up to the sky and scream, “Are you kidding me? I did not sign up for this!”
And still, I contemplate my life, searching for its purpose. While doing ten loads of laundry and giving the dogs their allergy pills in pieces of cheese.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Monday, November 9, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Children are Like Chickens...
I have this magnet on my refrigerator. I bought it as a joke right before moving in with my fiancée and two young daughters. Eleven years and a son later, I curse myself for not taking the magnet seriously and running no, bolting in the other direction. The magnet says, “Raising children is like being pecked to death by a chicken”. Clearly that magnet was created by a mother. Probably one who got out before it was too late.
Throughout the years of my marriage, I’ve awaken the same way. In bed or on the couch (or the backseat of my SUV, depending on how loud my husband snored that night). I slowly open one eye. If I’m lucky, it’s not glued shut from the allergy jam that settled in it that night because if I have to move anything other than that one eyelid, all hell breaks loose. My two dogs are then notified to my awakeness and jump to attention, expecting to be pet or fed or walked or told for the billionth time how cute they are. If luck persists, I can lie still for a few minutes and allow my body and brain to physically wake up. Sometimes I’m even able to move, pet the dogs quickly and get them out the door without much sound. Of course at that point the fifteen pound cat who thinks she’s a dog throws herself on the floor in front of me and does her daily ritual of roll-overs to impress me into petting her fluffy fat body. Which of course I do because she’s cute and if I don’t, she’ll howl loud enough to destroy my plan of getting five minutes of quiet time before everyone else wakes up.
I then get to tip toe through the house to the coffee pot so I can quietly make a pot of decaf coffee. Personally I think the decaf is pointless but the damage my already hyper husband would do to the walls while pinging off of them all day from caffeinated would stress me out so I sacrifice.
Once the coffee is made I tip toe with it to the couch (a skill I’ve mastered and should have amazing calves for but don’t because God is clearly a man) and I sit in sheer, orgasmic silence, sipping my sacrificial unleaded coffee until I hear the pitter patter of my sons feet down the stairs. This is usually about 20 seconds after I sit. His timing is impeccable. Goodbye alone time.
Honestly I don’t mind that he gets up when he does. He’s sleepy and mushy and always wants to snuggle; something I enjoy and try not to take for granted. The snuggling is quick, just as long as I can hold my breath because once I breathe I am engulfed in the stench of whatever it is that crawled into his mouth while he was sleeping, took a dump and then died . Really, I have my limits.
Once I’m ready to breathe again, I get up and my son turns on the TV. Usually it’s Nickelodeon. The worst network. Ever. I’ve considered sending death threats to its management but I’m pretty sure millions of other mothers have already and they probably wouldn’t take me seriously. And if they did, I don’t want to spend my life with my finger in the pocket of Big Sally, my new girlfriend, if you get my drift.
Before I know it, everyone is up and the whole, “Mom can I...”, “Mom, did you...”, “Mom,” “Mom,”, “Mom,” thing starts and the next thing I know it’s eleven years later, I’m forty-two, my thighs are expanding, my hair is graying and I think being institutionalized doesn’t sound all that bad. If only I’d realized the truth behind that magnet.
Throughout the years of my marriage, I’ve awaken the same way. In bed or on the couch (or the backseat of my SUV, depending on how loud my husband snored that night). I slowly open one eye. If I’m lucky, it’s not glued shut from the allergy jam that settled in it that night because if I have to move anything other than that one eyelid, all hell breaks loose. My two dogs are then notified to my awakeness and jump to attention, expecting to be pet or fed or walked or told for the billionth time how cute they are. If luck persists, I can lie still for a few minutes and allow my body and brain to physically wake up. Sometimes I’m even able to move, pet the dogs quickly and get them out the door without much sound. Of course at that point the fifteen pound cat who thinks she’s a dog throws herself on the floor in front of me and does her daily ritual of roll-overs to impress me into petting her fluffy fat body. Which of course I do because she’s cute and if I don’t, she’ll howl loud enough to destroy my plan of getting five minutes of quiet time before everyone else wakes up.
I then get to tip toe through the house to the coffee pot so I can quietly make a pot of decaf coffee. Personally I think the decaf is pointless but the damage my already hyper husband would do to the walls while pinging off of them all day from caffeinated would stress me out so I sacrifice.
Once the coffee is made I tip toe with it to the couch (a skill I’ve mastered and should have amazing calves for but don’t because God is clearly a man) and I sit in sheer, orgasmic silence, sipping my sacrificial unleaded coffee until I hear the pitter patter of my sons feet down the stairs. This is usually about 20 seconds after I sit. His timing is impeccable. Goodbye alone time.
Honestly I don’t mind that he gets up when he does. He’s sleepy and mushy and always wants to snuggle; something I enjoy and try not to take for granted. The snuggling is quick, just as long as I can hold my breath because once I breathe I am engulfed in the stench of whatever it is that crawled into his mouth while he was sleeping, took a dump and then died . Really, I have my limits.
Once I’m ready to breathe again, I get up and my son turns on the TV. Usually it’s Nickelodeon. The worst network. Ever. I’ve considered sending death threats to its management but I’m pretty sure millions of other mothers have already and they probably wouldn’t take me seriously. And if they did, I don’t want to spend my life with my finger in the pocket of Big Sally, my new girlfriend, if you get my drift.
Before I know it, everyone is up and the whole, “Mom can I...”, “Mom, did you...”, “Mom,” “Mom,”, “Mom,” thing starts and the next thing I know it’s eleven years later, I’m forty-two, my thighs are expanding, my hair is graying and I think being institutionalized doesn’t sound all that bad. If only I’d realized the truth behind that magnet.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Rethinking the Whole 100 Things in 100 Days Idea...
It's not that I don't 'want' to do it. It's more that maybe I need to rethink the time frame. The people who started the "100 Things in 1001 Days" are probably right. It's easier to extend the time. Some things I just won't be able to get done in that short of a time frame. Plus, some things will require more time. So I'm going to rethink the time frame and once I figure out a reasonable amount of time, I'll start.
Probably in about 10 years. Okay, maybe not but close. At least that's the way I'm feeling right now. Overwhelmed. Tired. Fat. BUT...the good news is that I'm going to do this. Most likely. If I can motivate myself. No, wait. I AM going to do this just after I get my list done.
Wow, I need help, don't I? Geesh.
Probably in about 10 years. Okay, maybe not but close. At least that's the way I'm feeling right now. Overwhelmed. Tired. Fat. BUT...the good news is that I'm going to do this. Most likely. If I can motivate myself. No, wait. I AM going to do this just after I get my list done.
Wow, I need help, don't I? Geesh.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Parenting has Become a Joke.
Today I read a syndicated column in the AJC. I don't typically read the AJC however it was on the table at Starbucks and I thought I'd pass the time while enjoying the extra whipped cream on my mocha. Yum, I get a craving just mentioning the words. Oh, sorry. Back on track.
The column is a parenting column written by some psychologist or something or other named Rosemond. I went to his website (www.rosemond.com) because I felt a pressing need to respond to his column. I couldn't. What a bummer. Instead, I'll respond here.
This weeks column was about dinner. The concept of dinner is that the parent makes a meal for all family members to eat and all family members eat it. He goes on to say that many people feed their children different things for one reason or another. One woman apparently feeds her kid hot dogs or something because the meal she makes everyone else gives him reflux. Rosemond's response was to feed the kid what everyone else gets and put a basket next to him. When he's done throwing up, make him start eating the regular meal again.
I almost peed on myself when I read this.
I guess I'm old school. Maybe it's my type A personality. I'm not sure which but I do not believe that kids should be given everything and catered to. We eat what I make and if you don't like it, fine but don't expect anything else. There are a few things that I do that my kids, especially my teenagers, think make me a terribly cruel parent. I'm hopeful someday they'll see it differently.
Here's the terrible things I do to my children:
1. I make them do chores every day. They clean the kitchen up in the morning and evening. They also feed the animals. On the weekends they have a few other chores like dusting, cleaning their bathroom, emptying cat liter, etc. And the hook, I DO NOT GIVE THEM AN ALLOWANCE. Each member of this family is responsible for maintaining the integrity and cleanliness of this home. Everyone must do their part to contribute. I don't get an allowance for cleaning and frankly, why should they? They can receive an allowance for chores over and above their regular ones but often do not want to do that. They expect to be paid because they're friends receive money for doing nothing. I've suggested if they want things that way to sit down with those parents and see if they can adopt them.
2. I make my daughters (my son is only 10, he will start at 13) do their own laundry - once a week. How dare me.
3. I make my daughters pay for their cell phones. My 15 year old hasn't had the money (she doesn't babysit but that's an entirely different blog post for a later date)so instead of paying with cash, she pays with extra chores. She had the phone, free of charge for over 3 years and is paying for that. Right now she has the phone only when she leaves the house and she hates it. Our 17 year old has full access to her phone now - we used to take it away at night but since she's got a 3.8 GPA we decided she can have it all night but if her grades drop, it's ours after 10 PM. She has paid $22 a month for that phone since she got it in 7Th grade. Our son has a phone he does not pay for. He doesn't use it to call his friends. He doesn't text. He takes it with him when he's in the neighborhood so he has it to call me and tell me when he's going to someone else's house. He does it. I can call him on it and he answers. I'm not looking forward to the day that stops. Of course both girls feel this is unfair because they didn't have a phone at 10 and I continue to tell them they rarely left the house thus not requiring the need. My son walks in the door from school or wakes up in the summer and is usually gone until 6 PM. That phone is for MY personal comfort, not his.
3. I have a annual budget for clothing. Each kid gets a specific amount in the fall and spring. They can pick their own clothes but I don't go over that amount. One year for school my oldest spent $500 on one shirt, 2 pairs of jeans and two pairs of shoes. After she started working, she stopped buying such expensive clothes and realized the value of designer isn't all it's cracked up to be.
4. My children are required to put HALF of any money they get into savings FOR COLLEGE, not for ANYTHING else. My oldest works and each paycheck gets split in half. Oh, by the way, her cell phone bill and the car insurance she pays come out of her half as does the gas for the car she drives.
5. There are no TV's in our kids rooms.
6. "Because I said so" is a perfectly good explanation in my house and if they don't like it, that's just too bad.
7. We have a car that my daughter drives (mostly because she works until 11:30 at night and I don't want to pick her up) but she pays her gas. She also doesn't get up and leave when she wants and first must ask to use the car. She hates it but such is life. It's not a BMW. It's not a Volvo. It's a 2002 Mazda Tribute. She told me any car we got her "had to have a CD player because she needs one" and I must admit, I looked hard to find a car without one just because I thought that was pathetic. Sadly, they rarely make them without them anymore. She thinks it's wrong that she has to pay for her insurance coverage too.
8. We actually DO read our kids emails and text messages. We have a computer for our oldest and we just took off the parental controls so she could get a Facebook page. The other two use my computer when they need to and are not allowed to do so without my permission...it's password protected. My 15 year old wants a myspace and a Facebook page but has neither.
9. Our kids are actually paying for their college...we will pay part of it.
This is just some of the things that we do. I'm told by my kids how cruel we are and how no one else has any rules and while that may be true for some, I think it might be a slight exaggeration.
People believe they should be friends with their kids. It's not my job to be my child's friend. My job is to raise them in a healthy and secure manner, allowing them the opportunity to succeed in their lives and get the heck out of my house. I am required to keep them as safe as possible and make decisions for them they may not be able to make for themselves. I am not required to do whatever they want because they think I should nor am I required to keep up with the Joneses.
I truly believe that parents who overindulge their kids are doing a disservice to their children and in the long run, it will come back to bite them in the butt.
This is of course, just my opinion. I welcome yours.
The column is a parenting column written by some psychologist or something or other named Rosemond. I went to his website (www.rosemond.com) because I felt a pressing need to respond to his column. I couldn't. What a bummer. Instead, I'll respond here.
This weeks column was about dinner. The concept of dinner is that the parent makes a meal for all family members to eat and all family members eat it. He goes on to say that many people feed their children different things for one reason or another. One woman apparently feeds her kid hot dogs or something because the meal she makes everyone else gives him reflux. Rosemond's response was to feed the kid what everyone else gets and put a basket next to him. When he's done throwing up, make him start eating the regular meal again.
I almost peed on myself when I read this.
I guess I'm old school. Maybe it's my type A personality. I'm not sure which but I do not believe that kids should be given everything and catered to. We eat what I make and if you don't like it, fine but don't expect anything else. There are a few things that I do that my kids, especially my teenagers, think make me a terribly cruel parent. I'm hopeful someday they'll see it differently.
Here's the terrible things I do to my children:
1. I make them do chores every day. They clean the kitchen up in the morning and evening. They also feed the animals. On the weekends they have a few other chores like dusting, cleaning their bathroom, emptying cat liter, etc. And the hook, I DO NOT GIVE THEM AN ALLOWANCE. Each member of this family is responsible for maintaining the integrity and cleanliness of this home. Everyone must do their part to contribute. I don't get an allowance for cleaning and frankly, why should they? They can receive an allowance for chores over and above their regular ones but often do not want to do that. They expect to be paid because they're friends receive money for doing nothing. I've suggested if they want things that way to sit down with those parents and see if they can adopt them.
2. I make my daughters (my son is only 10, he will start at 13) do their own laundry - once a week. How dare me.
3. I make my daughters pay for their cell phones. My 15 year old hasn't had the money (she doesn't babysit but that's an entirely different blog post for a later date)so instead of paying with cash, she pays with extra chores. She had the phone, free of charge for over 3 years and is paying for that. Right now she has the phone only when she leaves the house and she hates it. Our 17 year old has full access to her phone now - we used to take it away at night but since she's got a 3.8 GPA we decided she can have it all night but if her grades drop, it's ours after 10 PM. She has paid $22 a month for that phone since she got it in 7Th grade. Our son has a phone he does not pay for. He doesn't use it to call his friends. He doesn't text. He takes it with him when he's in the neighborhood so he has it to call me and tell me when he's going to someone else's house. He does it. I can call him on it and he answers. I'm not looking forward to the day that stops. Of course both girls feel this is unfair because they didn't have a phone at 10 and I continue to tell them they rarely left the house thus not requiring the need. My son walks in the door from school or wakes up in the summer and is usually gone until 6 PM. That phone is for MY personal comfort, not his.
3. I have a annual budget for clothing. Each kid gets a specific amount in the fall and spring. They can pick their own clothes but I don't go over that amount. One year for school my oldest spent $500 on one shirt, 2 pairs of jeans and two pairs of shoes. After she started working, she stopped buying such expensive clothes and realized the value of designer isn't all it's cracked up to be.
4. My children are required to put HALF of any money they get into savings FOR COLLEGE, not for ANYTHING else. My oldest works and each paycheck gets split in half. Oh, by the way, her cell phone bill and the car insurance she pays come out of her half as does the gas for the car she drives.
5. There are no TV's in our kids rooms.
6. "Because I said so" is a perfectly good explanation in my house and if they don't like it, that's just too bad.
7. We have a car that my daughter drives (mostly because she works until 11:30 at night and I don't want to pick her up) but she pays her gas. She also doesn't get up and leave when she wants and first must ask to use the car. She hates it but such is life. It's not a BMW. It's not a Volvo. It's a 2002 Mazda Tribute. She told me any car we got her "had to have a CD player because she needs one" and I must admit, I looked hard to find a car without one just because I thought that was pathetic. Sadly, they rarely make them without them anymore. She thinks it's wrong that she has to pay for her insurance coverage too.
8. We actually DO read our kids emails and text messages. We have a computer for our oldest and we just took off the parental controls so she could get a Facebook page. The other two use my computer when they need to and are not allowed to do so without my permission...it's password protected. My 15 year old wants a myspace and a Facebook page but has neither.
9. Our kids are actually paying for their college...we will pay part of it.
This is just some of the things that we do. I'm told by my kids how cruel we are and how no one else has any rules and while that may be true for some, I think it might be a slight exaggeration.
People believe they should be friends with their kids. It's not my job to be my child's friend. My job is to raise them in a healthy and secure manner, allowing them the opportunity to succeed in their lives and get the heck out of my house. I am required to keep them as safe as possible and make decisions for them they may not be able to make for themselves. I am not required to do whatever they want because they think I should nor am I required to keep up with the Joneses.
I truly believe that parents who overindulge their kids are doing a disservice to their children and in the long run, it will come back to bite them in the butt.
This is of course, just my opinion. I welcome yours.
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