Life didn't end with Bad Hair.

The days are shortening, and the evenings are starting to feel a bit like autumn.  The skies of the prairie are starting to take on the harvest technicolor we are blessed to have here in North Dakota.  All of this signals the return of the Great American Drama, also known as School.

I recently did a little "research" on Facebook, asking friends who have known me for at least 20 years, their perceptions of me, back in our school days.  One of the beauties of social media is the ability to stay in contact with people I met 35 years ago.  My intent of asking for feedback was to see if the perceptions held of me were similar to those I had of myself, or completely different.  I was delighted to see my friends play along and generously obliged me with feedback.

The unscientific data resulted in many descriptions, including kind, outgoing, smart, athletic and determined. More than one person mentioned my great laugh and that I was funny.  I was also described as an "includer" and "maternal."  Some of the people who responded knew "of me" and some of them knew me well.   I'll be honest, I was kind of shocked by these perceptions.

I found the responses hugely interesting, because the reality is I felt incredibly insecure and as though I didn't really fit in any particular group.  I felt more comfortable talking to teachers than most classmates.  I was in band, but played percussion, so I was "one of the boys." 

7 to 2.  Us girls were slightly outnumbered by the boys, but we ROCKED those painter caps!

I was a skater and golfer, but didn't view myself as "athletic" because I didn't play the big-gun sports of volleyball or basketball.

Sweet rolled jeans!

A Senior Picture back in the day when they didn't look like soft porn...

 I was smart, that I knew; however intelligence doesn't always rate high on the list of things high-school guys look for in prospective dates.  I really didn't view my GPA as more than a way to get $100 out of my older brother since he bet me I couldn't graduate with a 4.0. 

Bad Fashion & I were BFFs.

I made the hugely unwise decision of chopping off my hair into a cut usually reserved for phy-ed teachers.  This occurred at the same time most of my class was killing the ozone with Aqua Net hairspray.  I learned the hard way that if you cut your hair during puberty, it will take eons to grow back, so I couldn't rock the big hair that didn't fit in margins of year book pictures.  

We couldn't afford the latest trends of clothing, so when others sported their "Coke" rugby shirts,

 

Guess

or

Girbaud jeans, I did not.  And in High School this seemed to be, in my mind, the stuff of what fitting in was all about.

I had often wondered if the discomfort in my own skin may have actually come across as being aloof or haughty.  My 'research' apparently disproves this concern.  It also shows that my own self-perception was really distorted.  I want to make it clear that these internal conversations stemmed from no comments or interactions with people, as we today would call "bullying." Nope, it was just that annoying little voice in my head whispering negative crap to me.

My senior year I got involved in theater.  If there was ever a place to be accepted, it was the "pit," as the locker bay behind the theater was referred.  I don't know if universally, theater is the land of misfit toys, but it was in 1991-1992 at MCC.  And it was glorious, and freeing, and wonderful. I just wish I had discovered this refuge of beautiful miscellaneousness earlier in high school.

Just a tiny portion of Pit Dwellers. Beautiful girls who became fabulous Women!

Quite a few years ago, I remember telling my niece, "Just get through High School. Just survive. I would NEVER ever do High School again!"  Her sweet face looked at me with sheer bewilderment.  "Really?!!" she exclaimed.  I realize now, more than ever, that these precious beings, teens and pre-teens can not see beyond the chaos that is their world.  Their worth is dependent on the labels they wear or their number of "Likes" or "Retweets."  Their value depends on achieving thigh-gap and looking flawless like the airbrushed facades in magazines. 

I want to take them all, the walking vessels of hormones and angst, pull them close and whisper, "It doesn't matter! NONE of it."  I was filled with self doubt in a time when my constant movement wasn't recorded on social media.  I didn't have to worry about my number of "friends" "likes" or "shares."  My own insecurities stemmed from my interactions which I, more or less, had control over in a real world, not from instances that could be created in a cyber word. 

For the teens I love, this terrifies me.  I want them to know that none of that stuff matters. It doesn't matter now, and as "research" shows, it won't matter in 20 years.  What will matter is the stuff of character and attitude.  What will matter is how you made someone feel and not the bling on your buttocks.  Your laugh will take you further than your model of car.  I want young men to understand that masculinity is not determined by the number of girls they "got with" over a weekend, but from integrity and respect they show to others.  I want them to know they shouldn't trust that naggy little voice filling their head with negativity, because it's usually a liar.  I want them to know that this, the time when EVERYTHING is important, it is just a blip. A single yellow dash on the curvy highway of life.  It is just a moment.  Just survive and get through it. Just breathe and know that all those insecurities you feel, everyone else is feeling them too. Trust me on this.  Your self discovery is just beginning and 20 years from now you will be amazed where the highway has taken you.

My Summer of Everything and Nothing

As summer starts to wind down and the days become slightly shorter, I find myself in hives and palpitations seeing the displays of overpriced backpacks, not-the-right-colors crayons and every glue except the required one at Target.  I am just not ready for the grind to begin yet.  I run into people I haven't seen for a few months and the usual "How has your summer been?" or "What have you been up to this summer?" is inquired.  What have we done? Everything and nothing. I'm not sure how to explain it.

Going into this summer, I really did not want the kids to be scheduled to the Nth degree with activities. After the spring we had, I just wanted very little structure. I wanted to them to sleep in, and stay up late. I wanted them to be kids.  Selfishly, I didn't want to sit at the ball diamond for 2.5 hours a day, 4 days a week with the third wild wheel (the 3 year old) in tow, spending our retirement on ring-pops at the concessions.  With the Good Doctor's new schedule, I wanted to be able to play on the pontoon on a Wednesday, if he was off, and mostly, I just wanted to be.

I've been asked if I have given up writing, or have been training for any races. The reality, it most days I wasn't sure which day it was, since there has been just a beautiful lack of any schedule this summer.  Thus, that was usually my reason for missing the deadline for the local paper.  I haven't been running. Not for any real reason, other than I am still battling a tendon issue, but I haven't been inactive either.

I have spent countless hours in our yard.  It is sizable, and the reality is we inherited a lot of maintence to catch up on when we moved in here five years ago.  I have spent time breaking a sweat doing the kind of manual labor that leaves one utterly exhausted, sore in the haunches and shoulders,  salt covered but joy-filled at the end of the day.  I have torn back thorny bushes.  I have broken soil, by hand, to sow seeds and plants.  We got a new family member, an Alpine Goat named Bill, who has attachment (as in he thinks he's a human) issues, so I have pounded fence posts.  I have trimmed, pruned, raked and mowed.  I have helped the Good Doctor rebuild our deck with a lot of sweat and some tears, when he stepped on a screw.  (Not a nail... a screw...)   And through all of this I have thought and thought and thought.

There is something about doing this kind of work that makes me feel connected, in the moment... alive. As I trim the unruly bushes, I discover pines underneath that have been growing despite fighting for sunlight and nutrients.  

The unruly bushes are drug to either the goat, who feasts on the tender green leaves, or to the firepit, where the dead branches will provide us with warmth, light, toasted marshmallows and laughter.  It, we, are all connected.

I have had a lot of time to practice letting go this summer.  Being outside for hours means the 2 bigs are pretty much on their own inside.  The little is usually by my side with a clipper, cutting things I wish he wouldn't.  The bigs have learned a lot more self reliance this summer, and although self reliance may look like a pile of ICEE wrappers or an apple core, I take joy in the fact that they took it upon themselves to NOT come 2 acres out in the yard to ask me to get them something to eat.  They have had to  learn to play with each other better, and work together more without me in constant sight.   I have realized if I am going to play gardener, yard keeper and chef, there will not be time to play housekeeper.  I am SO lucky to have a husband who gets this.  We will have guests over for amazing meals, on the DECK. My outside will be inviting and welcoming, my bathroom will be relatively clean, the rest of the house? Nope. Not gonna happen.  I've come to accept and appreciate that those who come over, really don't care about the way my house looks.

This past winter was too long and too stinking cold to be inside. Plus, I had about 6 weeks of staring at these walls, wondering what lay ahead in my life, to continue to sit and look at these same walls.  I have not been able to get enough of the outside.  The wind rustling the leaves, my daughter calling to the mourning doves and having them answer her with their sad song.  I've needed to feel dirt on my hands, and smell the dampness of the evening as dusk settles around us.  I've wanted to lie on our deck, holding my youngest under a blanket, and count the stars as they fall to Earth.  I've let the belly laughs of a 3 year old wash over me as his big brother pushes him, in a way only brothers do, on the tire swing.  I've found myself in awe that I can smell the sunshine in my line-dried towels when I finally get around to folding them, 3 days later.  I've needed to just be. 

The grind and schedule of school and activities will start again soon.  The checklists, the homework, and the fundraising.  The days will consist of mostly "shoulds" "need to dos" and "requireds."  The drama that accompanies elementary school relationships will once again have a daily matinee and  anxiety will probably accompany it as the oldest moves to a different school.  But for now I will do my best to milk every last hour from this summer before the routine starts again.  It hasn't been a summer of amazing adventures and trips, but one of presence, love and observation.  Those are the things that are not easily captured on film, but more so in the heart and soul.  My hope is not just captured in mine, but in those hearts of those I love.

Learning about Happy

Tonight I had the rare pleasure of some great adult female conversation.  We sat on the deck, sipping adult beverages, with minimal interruptions of truly important things like "THE BOYS ARE TAKING THEIR SHIRTS OFF!!" and "I NEED MARSHMALLOW MATIES NOW!!" and "No, you can't play Wii (for the 7,365th time.)" 

Somehow, as women's conversation often do, the discussion turned to that of relationships, particularily failed ones.  I was suprised to find that we both, at one time in our lives, had thought, "Go ahead, just hit me and then I can walk."

My friend is an educated woman.  She is extremely well read, intelligent and compassionate. I consider myself the same (except for the book part, most of mine are written by Suess.)  Yet her admission to having this thought did not surprise me in the least.  I told her I knew exactly from where that wish, to be physically harmed, stems.

Many moons ago, I was in a relationship with a guy.  He was a few years older than me.  I spent over 4 years with this individual, most of it being long distance. My first red flag should have been that every summer I returned from college we started to bicker and fight.... mmmm.... Did I love him? Of course. Looking back, was it a healthy relationship? Absolutely not.  I can see that now, but the reality is, I think I always knew it wasn't good.  Sure there was some verbal stuff, and his startling increase in alcohol intake... But it wasn't necessarily bad, I mean, he didn't hit me or anything....

That's the funny thing about relationships, especially when one is young, and still really trying to figure out who oneself is, how can be known what is wanted out of a partner when one don't know what is desired out of oneself?  How can you know who will compliments your strengths, or empower you, when you don't really know yourself?

What I did know is that I was never really all that happy with him.  I wasn't unhappy, but I wasn't happy.  And this is the most tricky thing.  I KNOW that a person doesn't make you happy and happiness comes from within. I knew that then also. However, was my unhappiness enough reason to end it? No. In my mind it wasn't enough of a reason.  Because it's not like he hit me.  I never felt like I was one of those girls who HAD to have a boyfriend, and so I wasn't afraid to be alone, I just didn't really feel like my reasons for ending it would be valid, and worth the pain I knew I would cause him.

After college I moved 5 hours from him to start my first nursing job.  I knew just a handful of people in that city.  I wouldn't trade that move, and that year, for anything.  It was the first time I wasn't Allen's daughter, or Mark, John and Steve's little sister.  I wasn't XXXXX's girlfriend.  I was Diane, RN.  It was a fresh start.  I allowed myself to really observe people's reactions to me. I allowed myself to hear their words, their compliments, their criticisms.  I started to see myself through the eyes of people around me (smart, funny, pretty), and not through my boyfriend's eyes (mediocre looking, not as smart as him,only lovable by him.)  I observed how people treated each other, and the qualities couples with long-lasting relationships possessed.  I learned that varying opinions didn't have to be labeled as "dumb" or "stupid" as I previously had been so used to hearing.  My job in an extremely busy Critical Care unit allowed for a lot of people watching, especially how people interacted in times of high stress.  

It was a time of metamorphosis for me.  I had my first apartment, my first real, very demanding, job. I had a paycheck and bills. I then had a cat.  I spent many evenings those first months renting movies, movies that I wanted to watch (that someone else would say were stupid) with my cat.  Some may view this as depressing or sad.  For me, it was life-saving.  

A few months after my move, I drove the 5 hours home to see him.  I stood in the same room with him, chatting with his family, and he didn't make eye contact with me for 15 minutes.  I had a lightning bolt moment of clarity when I thought, "I would rather be alone, in my apartment, watching movies with my cat, then here right now."  That weekend was filled with fighting, yelling and bickering.  At one point, he was in my face, pushing on my shoulders and I just thought, "Hit me, and then I can just walk."  The relationship ended shortly thereafter.

I really had to come to terms with the fact that me, an educated woman, was wishing for abuse.  Wishing for a physical mark to explain, what I couldn't put into words.  I know that as my wings had grown and my desire to fly, stronger, the more he was trying to shut the cage door.  I can't explain his reasons, for that is his story.  I just know my side. I now know the happiness I wasn't feeling was because of the lack of support, encouragement, and friendship.  It was the lack of feeling respected and equal.  It was the terror of committment that he continually and firmly expressed driving me to wonder why I was wasting my time, and why I wasn't worthy of a committment.

Tonight my friend and I discussed "being happy" in regards to our young daughters.  How do you teach them that someone will not be responsible for their happiness, but not being happy is also a sign of a troubled relationship?  Maybe the key is to teach them all the things that happy, and more so, healthy relationships consist of: support, encouragement, respect (of her ideas, her body, her time, her opinion) friendship and laughter.  Maybe it is teaching her what unhealthy relationships feel like: condescending, one-upping, nasty, manipulative, abusive, negative and dramatic.

Happy is a complicated word.  But ultimately a choice.  I think the more I experienced the qualities (support, encouragement, respect) that nurtured me, in that first job, the more I realized what was lacking from him.  I learned that, regarless of what he said, people would and did like me.  I learned that I really liked me and was happy with me... the me that wasn't with him, the me that was watching movies with my cat. Alone.  And I chose to be happy.

The Challenges of Unadvised Performance & Investments i.e. Parenting is hard

In my past life, when I used more of my brain and much bigger words, I was a Critical Care Nurse.  I had responsibilities, used critical thinking and decision making skills and even if someone died on my watch, I got a paycheck.  I was subject to peer reviews, feedback, giant boxes of "Thank You" donuts from families and validation for the work I performed.

Boy has life changed.  I chose almost 10 years ago to stay home with my curtain climbers. This is where I WANT to be and my calling for now.  I do not miss working outside the home, but what I do miss is the feedback that comes with having a "real job."  

They do not send along manuals with those sweet smelling creatures we bring home from the hospital.   And they stay sweet smelling for approximately 9 minutes, from my experience.  Parenting does not come with many "Standards of Care" that most professions possess.  Short of "Keep them alive, don't let them play on the highway or with knives, lay them on their backs and don't put plastic bags in their cribs" the directions available to take in your parenting styles are as numerous as Kardashian faults.

A friend and I recently sat discussing parenting dilemmas we are experiencing with our 9 year olds, for over an hour.  Eventually I said, "You know, I would bet my mother rarely wasted hours on end worrying about her parenting!" If she had a friend "to visit" over coffee, we were outside playing.  I would imagine as long as no one was breaking bones or windows, parenting was successful.  I know I am probably oversimplifying the parenting generation of the 60's and 70's, but I think for the most part, most parents were on the same page.  Their world did not revolve around ours, the kids'.  It was not a child-centered world.  We were spanked, we ate lead paint, and we were to be seen and not heard.  We had a couple racks at K-Mart or Sears to pick from for clothes, not entire stores.  We had a couple hours of TV to watch, not dozens of channels.  Our parents had bridge, gossip, Communists and Soap Operas to discuss, not which method of positive reinforcement to use, which apps to allow on smartphones, and how to control a Minecraft addiction.

Now we are bombarded with "Styles" of parenting. Do I want to be a Helicopter Parent? A Free Range Child Parent? Use Dr. Spock? A granola-crunchy, no dye, gluten, casein, high-fructose corn syrup or taste parent? Do I want to never lie to my child? (Tell me how that works with Santa and the Tooth Fairy....) Do I let them cry themselves to sleep or CoSleep? Do I want to spare the rod and spoil the child? Should I make sure I control them and show them I'm boss? Should I never say no, because it may damage their soul forever? The styles go on and on and on.  I don't think our parents realize the assault of opinions regarding Parenting we are under.  And this doesn't include the competition of Parenting that can exist either. (Thanks a lot Pinterest.)  I know what I want the end product of my childrens' upbringing to be, but there is no clear navigational beacons to get to that point.  I want to give them pieces of what I had growing up, blended with pieces I wished I would have had.  But the reality is many times I feel like I'm floating in a boat on an ocean of parenting buzz words, wondering if today is the day that will be extracted from my kids' subconscious minds after a mere 2 years in therapy when they are in their 30's.  

We are so quick to brag up our kids. Their grades, their looks, their successes and wins.  We crave the feedback and accolades.  However rarely do we post on Facebook: "My daughter said I was the worst mom EVER!" or "My son said he hates me, and I ended up in a puddle of snot and tears in my bedroom." But we should. We need to.  However with honesty come vulnerability.  

Parenting doesn't come with Peer Reviews, but that is, hands-down, what I miss most about my "real job."  I wish I could get a quarterly review from my peers that says something like, "Great job on keeping the processed food-stuff to a minimum, but you could work on your shouting.  We find your chore chart highly effective, but you need to monitor your tendency to cave to their relentless begging."

Too often, the only feedback we get, here in the trenches, is not glowing.  It is the stink-eye from the woman in the grocery store when there is a meltdown over the wrong Lunchable available.  It is the 30-something single man in front of you in the airplane groaning because your 3 year old has discovered the tray table.  It is the well-meaning advice from loved ones that you appreciate, but wished it was served with any heaping side of accolade.  

There exists no skills checklist in Parenting, and many days I don't know how the hell I am doing.  Somedays I feel like a rock-star, and many I feel like I just suck at it.  A close friend who is a few years ahead of me in the trenches assures me this means I am doing it well. I don't know, but she has paid a lot of money and done a lot of years of schooling to be a councelor, so maybe I will trust her.  

When I am floundering in a sea of self-doubt in my parenting, it is my Mom I miss the most. She stayed home for years with us, and let us all live.  I just wish on those days when I want to hide under my bed because my daughter is on her third meltdown by 9:30am over breakfast choices, the dog has eaten the pile of poop left in the yard by my 3 year old, I can't sufficiently explain WHY, to his liking, my 9 year old can NOT play 6 hours of video games, the 3 year old has locked the keys in the car, and my daughter has yet to let me comb her hair in 4 days, she was still here.  She could say something. Anything.  She would get it.  

THIS

is my life.  The Skull & crosswrenches seem so appropriate.

The reality is, being a Mom is who I am now. It is most of my identity. I am not a teacher and a Mom, or a Physician and a mom, or an exotic dancer and a mom. I am a Mom, with some hobbies.  And that is probably why I fret and worry and stress about how I am doing.   I don't have a lot to fall back on... 

"My children grew up to be a serial killer, a professional Hobo and a Cougar's boytoy,

BUT

I cured cancer, and created an app to remind Mothers to put on pants, so all is good." 

Nope, that isn't going to happen.  My current work is with investments that are long term. 

As with any investments there exists a risk of it all crashing down, and market analysis of the last 9+ years shows steady growth with some hills and valleys.  And definately a lot of Bear and Bull activity... 

 I am staking everything on these 3 investments, and I know that they and more so, their characters, are going to be the legacy on which I will hang my pride... hopefully.  

I sure hope so!!! Kids=ulcers